Interlude
Opa leaned back in the rocker and let his voice change, drawing the spell to a close.
"But perhaps that is enough for one night. It is time for the little ones to be in bed."
A collective cry of protest arose from the children.
"Oh no, not yet!"
"Another one, another one."
"What happened to Jean, Opa?"
"It's not bedtime."
Opa straightened, raising his hand, and the children reluctantly quieted. It was Christa who protested, leaning forward to avoid waking her youngest son, now fast asleep in her arms. "The children can stay up a little longer, Storyteller. After all, we won't have a chance to hear you again for another year. Maybe you could tell just one more, a short one? Something a little more, well…."
"Cheery?" he finished for her, smiling at her sheepish nod.
He looked around at the rest of his listeners, seeing the eager glimmer of their eyes in the dark. He could feel the energy dancing in the air around him, like the ghosts of tales untold, demanding to be heard. Perhaps he should let the ghosts speak.
He nodded. "Well, I might at that."
He paused to refill his cup with cordial, then settled back once more. The chair was comfortable, the night still warm, and he could never resist the glitter of starlight in wide, waking eyes. "We've heard enough of Cavaliers, for the moment. It is time for a tale of a Ranger."
"I like Rangers," said Mariah. "Shadoweb was a Ranger."
"Was not," said Peter. Christa shushed him.
Opa merely smiled as he continued, undisturbed. "Now, in Tir na n'Og, there are many tales of the tricksters who play their games with unsuspecting humans. But sometimes, a human turns the tables."
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 22
