Leaves Falling in a Quiet Place

by R J Darby

  “Quite so, I think.”

  The title was all that Naimh needed to see. It stirred something deep within her, an ancestral memory of this tale which he had believed to be a complete legend. Or at least you would have if she had even considered it. With her finger tracing each line, she read on.

  The Four Treasures

  These four items were crafted deep within the realms of the earth. They have the power to create a weapon capable of defeating the darkest of powers within the seven worlds.

  The Four Treasures were deemed to be too dangerous and for the most part, were removed from history. The almighty power of these items, when combined, is capable of unthinkable things. However, they were not destroyed, due to a prophecy giving from the banshee Queen Elestria in the time of the winter war. It was believed that these items would cause the death of Caoranach: The deadly serpent creature which has been banished to the bottom of the Lake. Elestria was executed for starting this fearsome rumor that the great serpent would rise again and bring with her an undead horde. Writings about Caoranach and the Four Treasures have been banned because of this reason. I feel that it is my duty, as one who was a great lover of my royal lady, to put into words the truth of this matter. I could not let her prophecy go unseen, even though stealing away to write this under the threat of death, meant that I missed my last moment with her. Perhaps it was a blessing.

  Naimh paused. “How sad, to have lost love because of the truth being feared.”

  “It sounds familiar, doesn't it. Lucky for us, this man did not heed the warning of those who would no doubt have killed him for writing this down.”

  “Lucky that it has survived all of these years.”

  “I don't think a lot has anything to do with it. Keep reading.”

  She let her eyes fall back to the page.

  Caoranach may well become a legend as many in the town which are currently hiding me have taken to telling their children the stories. Hopefully, through oral tradition, at least some of the fear will live on and allow other generations to be safe. Nobody, however, will discuss the matter of the Four Treasures. That is very much forbidden, so much so that any discussion of the matter results in the death of entire families, generally assassinated in their sleep.

  In some ways, it is lucky that I no longer have anyone. Should I come to stop my heart while it beats, they will find that it stopped beating the day that they killed my love. I have none to protect, beyond myself, and once my beauty is done I will have no need to be on this earth. For this reason, I risk my life and write down everything that I know. I pray that the spirits of stone will protect over this until a time comes when it is needed. Therefore when I am done relaying to you all the time I possibly can, I will place this book within the walls of the library in the newly-built Kingdom. Here I hope that the spirits of the stone which built those walls will stand for many years to come and protect this information. More so, I hope that it will never be needed. However, it is with great sorrow, but I respect me preternatural power of my lady, knowing that her prophecy will come true.

  “So, the very walls protected this writing from us?”

  Naimh understood then why those walls had felt so refreshing when she had trailed her hands across it the day she had left the walls of the Kingdom.

  “Until now, when it is needed.”

  “If this was written when the Kingdom was first built, it must have been thousands of years ago. I dread to think how much strength Caoranach has gathered in all this time.”

  “Enough to gather a legion of fear gorta.”

  “The book talks about an undead horde, and this must mean the fear gorta.”

  “I thought as much, so I looked it up, and indeed, that is what they used to be called. The prophecy really is fulfilling itself. Thank goodness that is poor chap.”

  “And all of the others who have fallen.” Naimh helps but think back to the redhead whose remains rested in the cairn they had taken to escape. That seems so long ago. It was like a different lifetime. Then she remembered, it was probably because she was a different person. The loss of her children had taken a part of her with them.

  There were still more pages to go.

  The Four Treasures were left to a Bean Sidhe after being removed from the grasp of a malevolent leader. It was feared that giving them to a banshee, giving their closer connections to the noble families, would result in more death. The aristocracy could not be trusted, and given what they have done to their own Queen - a banshee at that, I am inclined to agree.

  I'm sad to say that this is where the waters get a little murky. There are two endings to this story, and I am not sure which is true if any. The first ending claims that this Bean Sidhe was attacked by a Peisteanna, a most fearsome beast of the lake where Caoranach had been trapped. In this version of events, a banshee who had seen the death of the Bean Sidhe came to the location and hurried away with The Four Treasures as the great beast tore this most spiritual being apart.

  The second version says that the Bean Sidhe was as true and faithful to Queen Elestria as me, and knowing that the banshee could be trusted, delivered these treasures to the Forest of Phantoms.

  Three of the Four Treasures were passed on to trusted, noble families to ensure their protection by the banshees. One, however, is said in both stories to remain in The Forest of Phantoms. To my knowledge, nobody has gone to search for this because of the obvious dangers. I have heard rumors that the forest is also filled with Sluagh, though I am not sure if there is any truth in this. Just in case I would recommend that should you stop in the forest for any length of time, or perhaps even near it, you should keep your west-facing windows closed.

  With all of this said, I have nothing more to tell you. I wish that your journey is simple and that you get more success facing these challenges, and those of our time did. The Serpent must be stopped at all costs. We are to feel pain, but we are to use it as fuel to pushes onwards. I however have gone on as far as I can without my lady. To which I now bid you farewell and good luck. May the blessings of the banshee be with you.

  Rowan took a moment to pause. While his wife was absorbing everything that she had just read (something which had taken him several read-throughs), he had been pondering on another thought, one which he knew he was going to have the voice to his wife. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Once more this repeated before he could finally manage to spit it out.

  “The question is, what do we do with this now? If we stick to our original plan, we will be able to sneak out and go to the Forest of Phantoms but...” His voice trailed away, only to be picked up with hers.

  “But many will die because of our choice. The only other option would be to tell the council of the seven fairies, but I can't see that it would do as much good. And yet, a part of me feels like they deserve to know this information, while another part is screaming at me to keep this hidden.”

  “I think that settles it then.” Rowan rubbed his wife's back, making ripples in the green fabric of her dress.

  “I don't know what you mean.”

  He chuckled. “I think that must be a first, you being the one not to understand.” They laughed together.

  “Well?”

  “If you are hearing a voice screaming you, well, maybe it is a sign of your banshee blood. A scream is a scream, but it may also be an omen.”

  “We continue with our existing plan, then?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Because I have as much faith in us as this man had to his Queen, you are my queen.”

  “I could not do this without you, my King.”

  Chapter Ten

  Divide and Conquer

  Waiting for the fear gorta to come was long and tedious. The inhabitants trapped within the walls were starting to feel like this so-called sanctity was becoming a prison. There was no escape and food had become rationed for all that lived in the lower levels.

  The only way to predict when the hoard would arrive was by
the sprinkling of survivors that staggered to the Kingdom. Naturally, the council let them all in. The poor fools had no idea that they were going to be cannon fodder for the upcoming war, and neither Rowan or Naimh had the heart to tell them.

  After all, what would such a thing achieve? Most of them wanted revenge on the fear gorta, and telling any others would insight a riot. It nearly had on the day that the leprechauns of the Quiet Place had arrived, and the Kingdom was overflowing with fear now. The rocks could practically be heard creaking under the weight of incoming beings. With the power of the spirits inside, it held fast, cradling the survivors as best as it could.

  Naimh was starting to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing. Or if she was already dead, and this was her punishment for some hideous crime she had committed in another life. That seemed unlikely, though, so did all of this.

  Rowan was reviewing the city map in the library when the call was heard. A great horn was blown and screams spread across the Kingdom. They came from no direction in particular, and people scattered. The librarian ran out, leaving Rowan to push a couple of books in his bag and get to the holding place of three, out of four, of the Four Treasures. The book had said that they were kept below the foundations in a chamber just off from the council rooms. He would have to wait a while if his nerves could withstand it. They would be putting on their armor; great golden pieces that usually hung on the walls without been used. Honestly, Rowan wondered if they had ever been used for anything other than the ceremony. The soft metal would be completely impractical against weapons, and they were lucky that their enemy fought with bare hands and the wilderness of their instincts. Gold should never be used as a base for armor, yet as a connoisseur of the opulent shade, he saw the beauty in it. At least the troops would be able to spot their leaders on the battlefield as they barked orders. So too, would the enemy.

  With watchmen at every corner, the gorta would have been spotted at a far distance, so as Rowan hid in the shadows, he could hear two of the council men talking. He recognized Erin right away while the other spoke second - Caradine.

  "My lord, they have been seen on the horizon. The seekers on the walls have said that they walk closer, but that their numbers are so many that the grass has not yet appeared behind them."

  "They were described as a moving shadow. What else did you expect?" His tone was even more callous, while hers was notably tinged with fear.

  "Perhaps we should consider an evacuation."

  "To where? Tighten this strap for me."

  "Of course. Anywhere but here."

  "Tighter... better." He didn't bother to thank her and continued. "If we run, then their numbers will only grow. You may think that I do not take heed of those simple folk, but I know numbers. The way they describe things, it suggests that the closer they get to the red lake, the larger their numbers. Soon there will be nowhere to run."

  As much as he did not want to agree, Rowan could not help but do so.

  "Are we prepared?"

  There was a snap in his voice, as brittle as dry bark. "Whether we are or not is the fault of your family."

  Rowan breathed in so sharply in his hiding place that he was certain they would hear him. Luckily, they had far too much to worry about.

  The air began to chill. Knowing the gorta would not be upon them yet, the leprechaun had to assume that it was the mood that froze the air.

  "I am aware."

  "Leannán-Si descendant, why we need your kind on the council I will never know." Caradine spat on the floor as they walked, so close that Rowan could see it.

  "I would have expected more understanding from a Pooka. You of all people should know that we should not be judged because of our blood."

  "Hmph." They passed Rowan. Or at least they would have if Erin had not caught the arm of the other. Her eyes met with Rowan's in the shadows for a second, and then she turned so that Caradine had his back to the leprechaun. Still, Rowan did not breathe. She may be comfortable with his presence, but there was still Caradine to contend with. He did not want to be seen by him. The Pooka was readying for war, long hair shapeshifting slowly into a dark mane as it dripped down his back like an unnatural tar.

  "Remember, not all Pooka are evil. One of yours helped a mortal named Phadrig once."

  "I know the legends of my own race. Dead harvests, chickens not laying for weeks after the sight of us. Pooka, the most feared of fairies." There was pride in his tone, making him sound even more deadly. The tale of Phadrig, the human who saw prosperity and marriage to his sweetheart, had not been brought up for the council member but Rowan.

  "I am just saying that not all depends on the blood."

  "Spare me the arguments to protect your Leannán-Si line. It was your kind that freed Caoranach from slumber."

  An uncontrollable gasp left Rowan's throat, but Caradine did not hear it as it was muffled by a yelp from Erin.

  Caradine's blade was lodged through her center and he moved closer as her breaths shook; pain moving up her body as the leprechaun held his hand over his mouth. He had seen the battle and knew what to do. Never had he seen such treachery and hatred.

  Erin dropped as the blade was pulled out. The silver shimmer dripped with red, which he dragged across the woman to clean.

  "Cara...dine..."

  "Your sister was responsible for the freedom, such beauty enchanting that foolish man to sacrifice himself to those locks. Yet you had the chance to slay her and did not... this is the price you pay for putting my Kingdom at risk."

  Caradine walked with a blade in hand, knowing he would never be caught for this with how much death was bound to come. Once out of sight, Rowan dashed forward.

  "My lady!"

  "G... go... I know," she swallowed but was soon spitting out blood, "... I know that you seek... seek the two..." Her sentence fell short.

  Rowan closed her eyes as he had done to his children and ran the length of the then empty corridor. His thoughts set on Naimh.

  On the other side of the Kingdom, Naimh saw the gorta as they reached the gate. She was sat on top of it with her heart in her throat. Her responsibility was to wait for Rowan to emerge and have the horses safe and ready. The fear gorta would devour those too if they reached them, but with so many pressing on the gates like water building up against blockage of fallen leaves ready to explode with pressure, there was no safe way to get the horses out until at least some had pushed through.

  The oak gates heaved, looking like a ribcage inflating and falling in the last breaths.

  Quite fell.

  Nothing.

  The gate ceased to bellow.

  Soldiers and brave citizens held fast.

  The quiet before the storm.

  More waiting.

  Quiet.

  Quiet.

  Quiet.

  Crash!

  With the communal weight of the monstrous fiends, the gate gave way; splinters killing two already. One was impaled through the eye and another through the neck. His blood is spewing from the jugular and half blinding another to his side.

  Flames rained down from archers with blazing arrows, and with howls, the acrid stench of the gorta was toasted, smelling like burnt mutton. Two were taken down - more than the Quiet Place could ever have managed. Indeed, Naimh recognized one. Its arm was shredded from it's run-in with the leprechaun. Yet there it was, gnawing on with one limp arm that it wore like a cloak, untethered as it tore into the face of a woman who had only staggered it with her shield bash.

  Naimh wanted to help. This was not the time, though. The Four Treasures were more important. It didn't stop the burn in her that twitched, almost jumping down. Only held back by the memory of her children, it was as though they gripped her to her place on the wall, knowing from their spiritual dwelling that fate had more in store for her. She was needed.

  The one-armed gorta craned its head, red-veined and yellowing eyes capturing the sight of the leprechaun woman on the wall. With
saliva and blood dribbling from it, it lolloped from the swarm. Its footsteps printed against the white stone as it slopped away from the slaughter. There was a leprechaun that smelled good, one that had alluded his ragged jaws before.

  Naimh could not get down, there were too many still outside, but the creature could get up. It put it’s hand on the ladder, crudely dragging itself up one rung at a time with its mangled arm swinging. It slowed it down, yet there was no stopping it. She had nowhere to run. Naimh was going to have to face the gorta alone, and if she could not survive, neither would Rowan.

  She stood shakily as it's fingers wrapped around the stonewalling. She stamped! Crunch! At least two fingers broke under her foot, but it moved on. So many bones already hung from it that her attempts meant nothing.

  Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Crunch! Crash! Click!

  It pulled over, salivating. There was no way she could kick again, not if she wanted to keep her toes. Or her life...

  Rowan had found the room with the pieces of the Four Treasures. It was lit by torches, glowing with a pale blue light. The room though felt cold, and as he placed a hand near the first torch, he found it to be quite cool. With a little hesitation, he swooped his hand through the flames, just like they had dared each other to do with candles as adolescents — still nothing.

  "How curious," he murmured before holding his hand within the blue. The glow was soft and make his fingers appear like a damsel fly's wings. Transfixed, he watched it dance on his hand as he rotated it.

  A lesser man might have been stuck there, but Rowan was a leprechaun. He knew better than to fall for such a trick. His hand snatched away.

  "Trickster spells! You can't trick a trickster. A good defense my friends, but not good enough."

  Progressing, he found many cabinets that seemed to be lidded with carved crystals. Each one could have been a trap. In fact, several were. He had seen the triggers and pressure plates far before he was even close to triggering them as was supported by his keen, lime eyes of the leprechaun.