by R J Darby
His eyes widened and pulse racing.
What is the other banshee thought that this was his fault? How would he ever find the silver birch tree? Was it so important that the rest of the round lived, that innocent people must make a sacrifice? He would keep his promise, wouldn't he?
Rowan fell, face hitting a rock and his view becoming shadowy.
By the time he awoke, he was under the protection of the banshee, and the river had quite subsided. They offered him their home, as she had done, and scared to step outside, he accepted.
Two deaths what on his hands in this very forest. All he wanted to do with sleep. Sleep forever.
Destiny is a very impatient alarm clock.
Chapter Seventeen
A New Chapter
With an aching heart and an even more wracked mind, Rowan went on to make his exchange for the final treasure. The walk was arduous, but he did not remember a single step; his mind was on his beloved and the inevitability of his own death. Since finding out the true nature of his banshee wife's power, he had wondered what it would be like to know how long he had in life. He thought perhaps that it might force him to make the most of the time he has left. In a way, he supposes that that was what he was doing by going after Caoranach. He had also considered, but he might be frightened, knowing that his end was to come. Without Naimh's presence on his arm, he found himself welcoming it.
Before leaving, Rowan had spent two nights with the banshee, not sure of how to move on and take his place in the world. For that, he had not come to a conclusion. The only realization that had been gleaned from his time with the revered spirits was that he must hurry to his grave. Partially because it would be easier on him, but also because his following would be costing other families their lives.
For a time, he had been bitter about this. After all, why should they have a happy ending that he deserves for all of the work he was going to do when he wasn't going to get one himself? He cursed himself for thinking like that.
“What a twisted and cruel little fairy I have become,” he would spit at himself one evening. So pathetic in his self-loathing that even the banshee gave him a deflated smile and moved along, not bothering with such a lost cause.
His melancholy dragged out well into the journey.
He wondered if this was what being a hero meant. All of the legends and ballads would talk about being dedicated wholly to the cause. What they didn't tell him, maybe because the writers didn't want to admit it, that the only reason for this wholehearted determination was because it was all they had left. Being a hero was a pitiful thing, and he felt sorry for any man or woman who had that title forced upon them.
Rowan kicked a tuft of earth, sending it flying and showering blades of grass along the path. He could have just left it there. It wasn't hurting anybody. His body had begun to swell with something unfamiliar that made him acutely aware of how many things were wrong in the world. That poor clot of misplaced grass on the carriage track was just unfortunate enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The leprechaun had needed something to kick. It could have been the dead head of a flower, making the arrangement look unkempt. It could have been a mushroom that had grown slightly irregularly. Honestly, it could have been another man's head as he just needed to lash out at something. Unfortunately for the clod, that had been the first thing he saw.
He grumbled, feeling guilty at what his wife would have said about this action.
Denial. Anger. Frustration. Pain. Guilt. Melancholy. Relief. Blame. Each one of these emotions passed through him hourly until he was totally exhausted that only the stronger feelings remain; most ardently, a loathing for the snake which had never caused events which led to the death of everything he cared about.
It wasn't even everyone. Caoranach and her actions had taken away, even material things. His home. His village. It even felt like his spirit has been ripped from his being and he was walking with the mechanical instinct of a Sluagh.
Oh! How he wished that he could be a Sluagh instead of a leprechaun at that moment. As a proud man, he had never wished for anything like that, seeing his kin as the most noble of all fairy races, but right then, he despised it. Why could he not be a mindless Sluagh? All they had to think about was walking West, finding food, and adding members to their group. Judging by the dead looking Jeremiah's eyes, they had no semblance of who they were before. What a delight that would be! To have nothing.
Rowan had nothing physical left, but he did have emotions that haunted him day and night. The little sleep he got was filled with nightmares, and whenever he awoke, the image of Naimh dripping with blood was all he could say.
Wouldn't it be lovely, he considered, to be a completely mindless creature?
The idea continued with him for many miles before being consumed by rage.
“Damned Caoranach! Damn that beast to the underworld! If I am only to have one happiness left in this life, it will be the moment, but I take her life with my hands, or with the sword... Or an ax... Or anything I can get my hands on. That bitch!” Rowan didn't like much to swear, and being quite traditional, he likes even less when such gruesome words were directed at a woman. Caoranach was not a woman in his eyes. She was nothing. And no word he could think of was harsh enough.
Hatred burning him until darkness fell. Each time it faded, another memory of what he had lost worked like a flint, sparking it up again and turning it into a roar.
He found a clearing in the woods and laid down on a patch of moss, irritated by its comfort. Why should he have any comfort? And if he was going to have any, why was it not the arms of his wife? Why would it have to come from a soggy plant? Never in his life had he felt such disdain for everything around him.
“I wonder if this is how people become human,” he grumbled.
The spout of his emotion boiled over like a hot kettle left whistling until almost dry. Tears bled from his eyes. For the first time since being a wee boy, Rowan cried himself to sleep, having a most peculiar dream where he has been reunited with his leprechaun love.
When he awoke, it was the sound of stream water and gentle sunlight stroking his cheek. He would be with his family soon, and what a reassurance that was.
All he had to do, was follow the stream, make the trade, and attack Caoranach. The plan seemed like a much easier one after that dream, and his feet felt lighter, along with his heart, which was now beating again. The quest was on. He had the people of his realm to save before reaching the bliss that would be death, and so he walked; plowing onward, until he found the spot.
For somewhere that inhabited so much evil, the lake was truly a sight to behold. Its waters glistened like crystals refreshing themselves in the sunlight, and the shallows were many schools of fish. They started about in a happy collection, turning this way and that and completely unbothered by the presence of the leprechaun, and they went about their day with seemingly no care.
It would have been easy to catch them as looking through the river was as easy as gazing through glass. Rowan cupped his hands to take a drink only to find the little critters splashing out of his grasp. He chuckled but stopped as he thought about how much his children would have liked this place. Although it had not been many days since they had passed, he was already starting to feel a little differently about the situation. Memories of his wee babies still made him sad, as could only be expected, but now it also gave him strength, a reason to push forth and look at the world with fresh eyes.
He found his way to the spot by the single silver birch.
By the time he had finished the song, his voice had deepened, etched with the throaty rumble of his ancestral family.
A glow grew in the water, like the most beautiful gold that he had ever seen, and as a leprechaun, that was a great deal! His eyes remained on it, and he slumped down on one knee like a knight taking a bow to his beloved King. The sword was made entirely of gold. The tides could wear away glass; he knew that. He had collected the smooth sec
tions as a child, thinking them crystal - making his father chuckle at his misunderstanding as was the power of the tide.
The Claíomh Solais was as sharp as a weapon straight out of a blacksmith; one designed to be held by royalty. It sliced it's way so cleanly out of the water that it scarcely caused the surface to ripple. It's point pierced the day as if carving it's the way to the sun itself.
Yet, Rowan found himself leaning back as it rose further, seeing an opaque hand closed around the hilt.
There was no running, though — not this time.
As the form holding the blade came into view, no words were exchanged.
The woman who held his sword was like no creature, no man or fairy, that he had ever seen. Her nude form was made of water, somewhat darker than the lake itself. As her torso came through the surface, the long waves of her hair dripped, all matching like a statue carved of ice except for her eyes, which shimmered like the mother of pearl.
Rowan bowed his head.
An elemental; this was one of the great goddesses of the water. They had not all left Tír na nÓg.
With a twist of her wrist as slow as the water soaking into the ground after a rainstorm, she turned the blade horizontal. It rests then across both of her hands, and her head dipped. Water dripped from her arms, making the water's surface look as though rain kissed its steady flow in only one spot.
Rowan extended both hands, slipping them under the blade and finding the metal both light and dry as he took the weight with her finger unwrapping.
With another look from those pearlescent eyes, she began to sink. Her language so old that even Rowan could not understand it, he heard her thoughts.
"All thanks, sacred warrior."
Down she sank until only the light of her eyes showed. After a blink, those were gone too.
Rowan stood by the water. The irony was not lost on him. What would send Caoranach to the depths would need to be pulled out of it too. It was like a legend he had heard from a Merrow who ventured far across the sea to the land of Avalon, the isle of life and death. The Merrow had said that there was a rule started there which resonated around the world. That was a balance. Something given must be placed with something lost, and visa versa. Souls, powers, life; it all followed this rule. As Naimh had made clear, though, drawing up the sword was a lead to a bigger gift. That meant two sacrifices: Caoranach and the leprechaun who was about to summon it.
He cleared his throat, ready to sing in the words of old. The last time he had set his larynx to the song was at the equinox festival. How long ago that felt.
Glaoim ort, ó Shord na Solais,
(I summon you, oh Sword of Light,)
Chun teacht ar mo thalamh agus an dúchan seo a dhíothú!
(To come to my land and banish this blight!)
Na Ceithre Seoda atá agam i mo lámh,
(The Four Treasures I hold in my hand,)
Ach is gá domsa mo sheastán a dhéanamh.
(But I need you to make my stand.)
Fiú má chríochnaíonn mo thrialacha bás,
(Even if my trials end in death,)
Beidh rath ar an domhan agus d'fhág mo chnámha.
(The world will thrive with my bones left.)
Is íobairt í seo atá toilteanach a dhéanamh,
(This is a sacrifice I'm willing to make,)
Déanfaidh mé é seo ar mhaithe le gach cineál.
(I'll do this for all of my kinds sake.)
Tabhair anáil do mo ghníomhas, le do thoil,
(Please give breath to my deed,)
Agus lig dom a bheith ina shíol thorthúil,
(And let my passing be a fertile seed,)
Tugann sin cothaithigh dóibh siúd atá i ngátar.
(That brings nutrients to those in need.)
Éist le Oh Sword of Light!
(Oh Sword of Light hear my plea!)
Do neart a sheachadadh ar mo lámh,
(Delivery your strength to my hand,)
Lig dom a bheith mar bhia don talamh.
(Let me be food for the land.)
Is timthriall é gach duine sa domhan seo,
(All in this world is a cycle I know,)
Cuidigh liom sa ghníomh seo ionas go bhféadfadh an saol fás.
(Help me in this action so life might grow.)
Glac le mo neart i gcorp agus i gcroí,
(Accept my strength in body and heart,)
Agus tabhair do dhílseacht don tús úr seo.
(And give your allegiance to this fresh start.)
Oh lann daor caithfidh tú a bheith ar an eolas,
(Oh dear blade you must know,)
Tabharfaidh mé gliú nua don domhan.
(I will deliver the world a new glow.)
Mar sin chuala mé Sword of Light,
(So hear me Sword of Light,)
Agus lig mo bhás deireadh leis an gcontúirt seo.
(And let my death bring the end of this vile plight.)
With that, holding the sacred weapon, he thought long and hard about where he had been and where he was yet to go. So much has passed in such a short time.
There was only one thing left to face.
Chapter Eighteen
A Battle
It took only a few hours to find where Caonarach rested. Rowan had not intended to sleep. He had intended to wait at the nearby village, but they had been long, and the sword gave him a great amount of energy. He was feeding upon the essence of the world via the grip on the blade. The world allowed him to do this. Through the sword, it was handed to him, not just the weapon which he needed to defeat Caonarach but the spiritual means as well. It recognized in him the very essence of what it was trying to accomplish.
He rounded the lake where Caonarach was peering from the water, by a sparse handful of dead trees; two Rowan and others so ancient and fossilized by her presence weeping into the soil that it was impossible to identify them. He looked her dead in the eye, unafraid, with the strength of the thousands he was willing to save on his side. They didn’t need to be there for him to feel their strength.
“I demand to know who comes my way,” the serpent said with a hissing of her voice. Rowan could see that they would have been some beauty in her if it wasn't for the evil that emanated from every inch of her. It made sense that a creature of her nature could create something so alluring as a siren or other enchantress. Her features were refined, and her body carved such beautiful curves that she could have been a statue. Her skin was completely unblemished, except a few sections which were scaly before moving into her serpentine lower half, which wrapped itself around her lower body in a tight curl. These scales glimmered in a most unusual manner, yet beautiful eerie. It was like seeing oil on the surface of water, dancing in pearlescent patterns over the black but all the while knowing that it choked anything that came near.
Her eyes were perhaps the only think about her but lacked some level of refinement. They were overly wide, almost like a doll, and the most toxic shade of yellow that looks like disease incarnate. In the centre of them were skinny slits, as tight and narrow as the mass of fangs which shone out brightly as her mouth killed into a type of smile - the kind of grin that the cat gets before the kill as it plays with a tiny mouse which it has no desire to eat, just for the sheer fun of it. Yes, she would have been stunning if it weren't for the darkness that seeped out of her every pore.
Rowan would be lying if he said he wasn't frightened. Being in front of the horror makes him feel small, smaller than the already was. For the first time in his very many years on the earth, he understood what it wants to be at the bottom of the food chain. Terror struck him like the venom of a snake, stinging in one place that first then spreading with an uncomfortable heat throughout his body. He could not even want to imagine what kind of toxicity was within those teeth. No, within that very being. Naimh's foretelling only made it worse, but then, the memory of her face reminded him of his place within the journey. T
aking a long blink to capture his recently departed wife's essence once again, Rowan felt that he had an antidote to whatever poison might be dealt.
If he was to die, so be it. It would take this scourge down with him.
“I am Rowan, a simple man of the Fairy Kingdom, a leprechaun, the husband of a deceased wife, and three lost children who all suffered at the hand of the fear gorta.”
“Ah,” she wrapped her tail around herself tighter in a strange yet seductive manner as though she was undressing, not for this was possible given that her clothing was made entirely of her own scale, “I see you have encountered the rise of my babies. What wondrous creatures they are. I must thank you for giving them not one, but for delicious morsels. They are always so hungry, and I have many future children coming that will need to be nutrition from my breast.” Caoranach was clearly delighted by her ability to strike so much pain with only a few words. She spoke in a way that would lash harder than any whip, including that of the Dullahan.
He gripped his sword tighter in his hand, becoming one with the metal. Being a cobbler, he was used to small knives and pointed instruments of sorts, and yet this noble weapon sat as comfortable in his palm as the tools they had handled for years. Just looking at Caoranach seemed to take some of the weight out of the heavy blade. It was not quite as light as a feather, but it was something that he could handle with ease - and he intended to do such.
“I am here to slice through you and send you back to your water abyss, gods, and goddesses rest your soul... If you even have one.”
She gave a seductive giggle and flipped her long black hair with a wave of her slender hand, something that the leprechaun realized were tipped with long nails sharp enough to cut through iron. “My dear little creature! How quaint. I do love the ones who think that they can take me. In fact, I find it utterly adorable. Now, since my last battle, I am not the kind of woman to take a challenge for granted. I make a conscious effort not to underestimate an opponent. In this case, however, I feel rather safe. My good sir, oh Pitiful leprechaun! Why could you not have been the kind of fairy that I might make the good acquaintance of? A Leannán Sí or handsome Gancanagh perhaps? You are no more than a snack.” Her jaws cracked together.
