Shriek: Legend of the Bean Sídhe

by Jennifer M. Barry

  She followed her cousin into one of the wings of the huge stone building that surrounded the quad. Inside, a long corridor was lined by ancient stones, standing sentinel.

  “These are called Ogham stones,” Fee explained. “They’re basically old rocks that people in the old times wrote on. Kind of like grave stones.”

  Sara leaned over and eyed the scores in the rocks. They lined the edges of the tall, rectangular stones.

  “They kind of look like…” She gasped. “Dad!”

  He hurried over, expression wary. Poor guy. She’d given him a fright. Dad probably thought she’d seen Sealgair somewhere in the crowded hall.

  “No, no. I’m okay. It’s just—” Sara pulled her phone from her back pocket and opened the photos she’d taken the night before. “Doesn’t the writing on these look a little like the symbol here?”

  Her father squinted at the photo and then back at the scored lines on the stones.

  “Jaysus,” Fee whispered. “They’re all up and down on the stones, and that one there on the paper’s not, but, yeah. I think you might be right.”

  Sara nearly dropped her phone, her fingers trembled so hard. They’d stumbled across a new clue just by doing some sightseeing!

  “Is there anything here that might help us translate this?” Sara didn’t even know if there was a translation for the ogham writing, but she hoped.

  The three glanced up and down the long corridor, looking for some kind of guide. Many of the stones had individual descriptions on small placards, but there didn’t seem to be one source for translation.

  She opened a search engine on her phone and typed in “ogham translation.” The first page that popped up offered to translate English into ogham, which wasn’t helpful. She bookmarked it anyway, because she wasn’t above typing in every letter in the alphabet until she matched up the symbols.

  The next page was more helpful. The three bent their heads over the tiny screen, squinting at the hash marks and searching for the letters that coincided.

  “Here, this first one is an O.” Fiona ran her fingers over the screen. “And the next is a B.”

  They painstakingly searched out every letter until they put together O-B-R-I-A-I-N. The old spelling of O’Brien.

  “Well, that’s a dead end. We already knew we sing for the O’Briens.” Fiona huffed and stalked away.

  Sara didn’t even watch her go. Instead, she pulled up the second photo and began to translate the second word.

  C-L-I-O-D-H-N-A

  “Clee-od-na,” she murmured. That was a new one. None of the family names matched. Was it even a name, or some ancient Irish word?

  She turned to her dad, questions ready, but he just shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to ask your grandmother, or one of the other grans. Maybe even Fiona knows.”

  They found Sara’s cousin at the end of the long hall, talking to a tall, thin man wearing an oversized sweater and a pair of eyeglasses that he kept shoving back up his nose while they talked.

  Fee’s cheeks reddened when she saw them waiting for her. “This is, erm, Eamonn Connor. We were in secondary school together.”

  “And maybe in some classes here in the fall,” Eamonn added, hope shining in his eyes as he stared at Sara’s beautiful, blond cousin.

  “Connor, huh?” Dad glommed right onto that one. Not even Sara had remembered the family name. “Was it once O’Connor?”

  Eamonn finally blushed the same light pink as Fiona. “Yeah. I got teased a lot as a kid for that one.”

  “It means his family took the soup,” Fiona offered. “During the famine, the English offered food to any Irish who’d give up Catholicism and the Irish language. Basically, give up being Irish. To prove it, they’d drop the O’ or the Mac in their last names.”

  “And people still teased you about it ten years ago?” Sara was appalled. Who’d have the nerve to pick on someone for something their ancestors did a hundred years ago?

  “They still tease me about it now,” Eamonn said with a wry grin. “I just don’t care as much. I’ll see you later, Fee. Class is starting soon.”

  “He’s such a geek,” Fiona said, watching him go. “Who takes summer classes?”

  Her affection for Eamonn was obvious, but Sara couldn’t be sure how strong it was.

  “I think he likes you!”

  She couldn’t resist poking a little fun at Fiona during her cousin’s one short moment of weakness.

  “I know he does.” Fee glanced back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “He’s liked me since we were kids. He’s just too nice for me to tell him to fuck off.”

  He was nice. Very nice. Soft spoken, respectful of Fee’s disinterest. And also an O’Connor.

  “Do you think you might scream for him someday?” Dad asked the question before Sara could, and Fee froze.

  Several seconds passed, along with a range of emotions over Fiona’s pretty features.

  “I really hope not,” she finally said. “I may not want to date him or anything, but he’s one of my best friends. He wouldn’t deserve that.”

  And there, Sara thought, is the real reason that Fiona had come down from her power trip high to find the true horror in their situation. She discovered that she might someday scream for someone she cared about.

  Sara thought back to Ridley. He, too, might suffer a terrible fate simply because of his family name.

  Later, as they climbed the tower steps to the top of Blarney Castle, Sara turned her thoughts back to the ogham writing. The signs on the stones said they dated back to the fourth century. Did that mean banshees had been around that long? Wherever that transcription from the journal had come from, it had to be at least fifteen hundred years old. When they reached the top of the castle and stepped toward the battlements, Sara again lost her train of thought.

  There before her was someone’s long ancient kingdom. An ancient Irish nobleman or even king had once stood in her very spot to look out over all that was his. Though modern houses dotted the landscape, the fields must have looked very similar hundreds of years ago. Wide patches of the greenest green, separated into quilt pieces by trees or stone fences.

  Her own ancestors may have even lived there. Maybe not in Blarney Castle, but perhaps another one somewhere in Ireland. Or even a manor house, or a charming Irish cottage. By the end of her trip, she vowed to know more about her family line and where they fit in this great country’s history.

  “There has to be a way to stop this,” Fiona said, breaking into Sara’s thoughts.

  She turned from the emerald blanket below and leaned against the stone wall. “I know someone with the wrong last name, too.”

  The worry in Fiona’s eyes sparked into interest. “Do tell.”

  Sara sighed. “His name’s Ridley, and I do like him more than as a friend.”

  She thought she heard her father snort from somewhere behind her. After shooting a quick glare in his direction, she turned back to her cousin.

  “We translated the other ogham photo while you were talking to Eamonn.” She opened the notes app on her phone to show her the word. “I have no idea what it means. Maybe another name? Maybe a word?”

  Fiona glanced down and said, “Oh, that says klee-na.”

  Sara stared at the letters. C-L-I-O-D-H-N-A. “Of course it does.”

  “It’s another name. One we didn’t know yet.” Fiona’s voice rose in excitement. “That might be an actual clue.”

  “I was thinking, too,” Sara started. She turned and looked back out over the little village of Blarney below. “What if O’Briain was written on the page about Sealgair because that’s his name? What if Sealgair is actually from the O’Brien family?”

  Fee was silent for a minute. “I suppose that makes more sense than some rando getting involved in a family feud. One of these clans we sing for would want to stop it somehow. I guess killing us is a pretty effective method.”

  Sara pictured Sealgair in her mind, his dark hair and e
yes materializing easily. She’d only seen him a handful of times, but it wasn’t a face one would easily forget. Still, she’d somehow forgotten that he was human. Lurking behind trees and across crowded rooms as he had, she’d nearly convinced herself he was a demon or spirit of some kind.

  If she saw him again, and she was sure she would, Sara would call him O’Brien to see how he reacted. Would he worry that she knew that much about him, or would it only amplify the thrill of the chase?

  She tried to pay attention to the sights as they flew past in Fiona’s car—the rolling green fields, the crumbling rock walls lining the tiny roads, the old street signs pointing in every direction at the intersections. When they stopped at a quaint little pub on the edge of a cliff near the Old Head of Kinsale, she stared out over the churning water and pictured her ancestors doing the same.

  Ireland seeped into her soul minute by minute, the connection only stronger because of the menace she faced. Her answers were here, somewhere.

  “Pack a bag. We’re off to Killarney.” Fee shouted up the stairs the next morning, dragging Sara from her slumber.

  Oy, how shrill that voice must sound when screaming for the dead, Sara thought. But then, Fiona probably heard someone else’s voice when she screamed, too. The Cailleach who possessed them and made them sing.

  After a quick shower, she stumbled down the steps with her bag in hand. The smell of sausages filled the air, and Sara’s stomach growled. True to their words, everyone had switched straight to cereal and other light breakfast foods for several days, so Sara craved the taste of the black pudding again.

  “How did you know I’d want this?” she moaned as she plopped down into one of the dining chairs.

  “Bren’s had a breakthrough on one of her stupid forums,” Fee said as she set a heaping plate of sausages on the table. “We’ll be climbing mountains and tromping through fields, according to her. Better keep our strength up.”

  After breakfast, Aoibhe, Fiona, and Niamh climbed into one car, and Sara followed her dad and gran into another. They set off in a caravan through the city and then the mountains, stopping finally at a posh hotel just outside of Killarney. From the parking lot, Sara could see the rolling hills all the way up until they disappeared into a proper Irish mist.

  Brenna and her grandmother had already checked in. The three grans were staying in a room with Aoibhe, Dad had his own room, and Sara would bunk with her cousins.

  Bunk was a funny word, she realized, as she stepped into the suite.

  “Party room,” Brenna declared the moment the door shut.

  “Uh, that sounds good, but maybe you could fill me in first on what we’re doing here before we let loose?” Sara dropped her bag inside the door of one of the bedrooms, figuring she’d take one to herself and let the cousins share.

  Fiona tossed her own bag onto the couch and started digging through it. She produced a large bottle of something, likely alcoholic. How would Sara’s dad feel about that? Maybe she just wouldn’t tell him.

  “So, when ye told me about the ogham stones at UCC, I realized there might be more somewhere that haven’t been excavated.”

  “Well, we know there are plenty out in farmers’ fields, but most of them have been translated, even if they haven’t been preserved,” Fiona interjected.

  “Right. We might find a name or a date on the stones that have been translated, but a story this juicy would be everywhere if someone had already found it.”

  “And you found something?” Sara leaned forward, breath coming in small gasps.

  “Yeah, I think. I asked in some forum if anyone knew where some stones that haven’t been excavated were. Worth a shot, I thought. And I got an answer. The three of us are going out there tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

  Sara’s pulse quickened. Alone? What if someone was there? Someone like Sealgair?

  “What about the grans?” she asked. And her dad? Why couldn’t her dad go?

  “Can you see your gran tromping through a muddy field? They’re staying here with your da until we get back.” Brenna changed into a pajama top as she talked, revealing several tattoos on her chest and shoulders.

  “Besides, this is our fight. My gran already went through hell on her own, and yours did, too.” Fiona cracked open the bottle and started pouring the contents into the hotel glasses.

  Sara cocked her head, still wishing that her dad could come along for moral support, and maybe even protection. But they were right. She was the banshee now—not her dad, and not Gran. At least they had each other.

  “And for now, drink,” Fee squealed. “I got cider, because it’s easier to like for a first-time drinker.”

  Cider didn’t sound too bad. And if her dad asked, it actually sounded pretty innocent. Sara accepted the glass that Fiona had filled nearly to the brim and the girls all clinked them together in a toast.

  “Sláinte,” Brenna and Fiona said.

  “Sure,” Sara added.

  “It means ‘health,’” Fee explained. “It’s like saying cheers.”

  “Oh, uh, slahn-chuh.”

  “Close enough. Now drink!”

  16

  Cider was not at all innocent. It was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. When Brenna and Fiona started moving around the next morning, Sara contemplated their deaths. Or hers. Whichever made her head stop hurting.

  Fiona flung open her bedroom door and pranced in with a tray of food. “You’ll need all of this.”

  Sara opened one eye and saw the Irish breakfast and a large glass of orange juice. For a moment, she wondered if she could even keep it down, but then her stomach grumbled loudly. She sat up and accepted the plate, and then the two little pills that Fiona followed it with.

  “Like I said, you’ll need all of it.”

  A half-hour later, she felt better but not at all good. The ibuprofen had only barely touched the headache, and she had a raging case of cotton-mouth. The shower had made her human again, but she hoped she never saw the cursed cider again.

  She climbed into the backseat of the car, listening to her cousins chatter away, and wondered how they could be so chipper. After a few minutes of being irritated with them, she just let the talk lull her to sleep, waking only after the car stopped.

  “Where are we?” Sara asked as she stepped from the car. Her headache had blessedly disappeared.

  They had pulled over to the side of the very small road, only barely off the tarmac. On either side, hills stretched up into the mist, and she could see a lake shining dully in the distance.

  “What d’ye mean?” Brenna glanced down at the map on her phone and started walking, leaving Fee and Sara to follow.

  “I mean… Is this a park? Or some kind of public place?”

  “Ah, no.” Brenna took a sharp left and nearly trampled Fiona. “It’s some farmer’s land. See the sheep just over there?”

  Sara stopped dead in her tracks. “We’re trespassing?”

  “Ah, sure, he won’t be bothered. People come here all the time to see the stones. How do ye think I found out about them?”

  Since discovering the ogham writing in Caoimh’s journal, Brenna had been hitting up online forums asking about any undiscovered stones. The ones on display were obviously no help, or they’d have had some answers by now. According to the grandmothers, hundreds of stones likely lay unreported across Ireland, Scotland, and even Wales.

  Brenna’s first hit about some secret stones led them to Killarney, and then to the Ring of Kerry. Several had once been found in an underground tunnel near a place called Coolmagort. The rumor online was that there was another cave nearby with more stones.

  Sara stood in the shadow of the rocky hills and stared over the stranger’s field. The signs she’d read at the university flashed in her mind again. Ogham hadn’t been used in more than fifteen hundred years. They were past talking in centuries. Millennia. A millennium and a half. She staggered as her knees went weak.

  Brenna cocked her head toward the hills, beckoning Sa
ra and Fee to follow. “This says it’s right ahead, probably behind those trees.”

  Sara squinted into the distance for an opening in the side of the mountain. They were at least a quarter of a mile away, tromping over soggy, green grass and sheep dung. She pushed forward, her legs like jelly. The closer they got to the hill, the rockier the terrain became, until the grass disappeared and all that was left was sharp gray stones and some scrubby trees.

  She craned her neck up to see how tall the hill was. Back home in North Carolina, this would barely be considered a mound, but there was a pretty sharp incline that topped out at a couple hundred feet.

  The girls started to climb toward a copse of trees about fifty feet up. Brenna seemed to think the map on her phone led directly to that spot. After the first ten feet or so, the incline leveled out some, making the last few steps easier than the first.

  Even from a few feet away, Sara could see the opening in the rocks. Her pulse soared, pounding in her ears. She hadn’t actually expected to find anything, but there it was, just as the guy from Brenna’s forum had promised.

  “Wait,” she said, as Fee parted the branches to look inside. “Think there’s anything in there that could kill us?”

  “Hmm, no mention of that in the forum,” Brenna replied. “I think enough people come here to party that any kind of wildlife has been scared away.”

  Sara wasn’t appeased. Wild animals weren’t the only danger on her mind. She let both cousins duck through the trees into the cave’s mouth and waited for screams.

  “Come on, ye cow,” Fee called. “There’s nothing but beer bottles in here.”

  With her cell phone out and flashlight app turned on, Sara took a deep breath and plunged through the scrabbly branches. Just inside the mouth of the cave, a shadowed figure crouched, ready to lunge.

  Sara shrieked and ran forward, turning to see if whatever it was would follow. There was nothing—only the opening in the rocks with weak sunlight filtering in. She turned to follow the others, and a bright streak of light meandered overhead.