Emily's House

by Natalie Wright

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  As Bian Sídhe wailed, Dughall, Cormac, Macha and Cian ran through the Grove on the old, hidden path to the Well. The wood was thick and cut into their ankles and wrists as they ran.

  In time, the copse began to clear, and it opened to reveal a circle of stones around a well. Dughall burst into the clearing and there, lying beside the stones was Saorla, her body lifeless, her skin pale alabaster. Saorla’s fingers were still curled around her dagger, wet with her own blood.

  Dughall barked orders to Macha. “Remove her cloak so I may take my prize,” he hollered.

  “It is not here, you fool,” Macha replied.

  “What do you mean?” he yelled back.

  “Do you not remember a thing that I speak to you? She killed herself so the torc would release. She probably had someone take it. If she did, they are long gone by now.” As she spoke, Macha pulled Saorla’s cloak aside to reveal her right arm, bare now that the torc was gone.

  Dughall was silent for a moment then began a low, guttural scream that soon rose higher and higher until it vied with Bian Sídhe’s own wailing. Dughall’s fury encompassed him. He pulled his sword and in one quick movement, swung his sharply honed blade at Cormac and cut his head clean off his body. Cormac’s body fell with a thud, blood gushing from the gaping wound where his head used to be.

  “Feel better now?” Macha taunted.

  “Watch your tone, pixie, or you will be next. I grow weary of the sight of you,” he replied.

  “You will not kill me,” she said.

  “Give me one good reason why I should not lay waste to you, the old man there, and everyone in my path?”

  “Because this old man and I are the only ones that can help you achieve your greatest desire.”

  “I have listened to you and tolerated this insipid old fool. Look what it has brought me. This young girl has outwitted us all.” Dughall punctuated his statement with a kick to Saorla’s limp body.

  The ground began to rumble and shake. The sky blackened further and thunder bellowed. All around Saorla’s body the ground began to crack. Up through the cracks came grass and vines that wound around Saorla’s corpse. Within a matter of seconds, the ground swallowed her and her jeweled dagger whole.

  As quickly as the rumbling and shaking had begun it stopped. The cracks disappeared. The sky returned to its overcast grey. The thunder ceased. There was no trace of Saorla. Even the bloodstains on the ground were gone. It was as if she had never existed.

  Even after seeing the pixie and Dark Wizard magick; even after his run-in with the Lianhan Sídhe; after seeing the vines and trees come to life to protect the Grove; even after all the magick he had seen, Dughall still had a hard time believing what he had just seen. For a moment, he questioned whether any of it was real.

  “Ah, ashes to ashes,” broke in Cian. With that statement, he turned to leave.

  “Where do you think you are going?” asked Dughall.

  “It is done here,” he replied. “You have failed, oh angry one. Time for you to go on to your next conquest.”

  “I do not accept failure,” Dughall hissed. “Someone took that torc, and whoever has it cannot be far away from here,” he said.

  With that, he turned on his heal and ordered Macha and the Dark Wizard to come with him. I will find that torc if it is the last thing that I do.

  14. SEARCH FOR THE TORC

  Dughall tromped through the thicket and back to the Great Hall. When he got there, he expected to see his men finishing off the last of the women he had ordered them to kill. Instead, he saw his soldiers fleeing. Grown men ran from the hall and screamed like little girls.

  “What is the meaning of this insubordination?” Dughall charged up the steps of the Great Hall and opened its doors. Inside, he saw piles of bodies, mostly his own soldiers, lying in heaps. And there, at the center of it all was Bian Sídhe. Like her sister Lianhan Sídhe in her fearsome aspect, Bian Sídhe had large red wings covered in scales like a dragon. Her long, dark hair whipped wildly about her head and shoulders. Full of anger and fury, her red eyes shot flames at all that stood in her path.

  The women warriors and faeries stood behind her, guarding the younglings, their weapons still drawn. And fighting at Bian Sídhe’s side was Madame Wong. The ancient spirit warrior hurled her little body about and wielded a sword in each hand. Any ill-fated man who happened to get close would either be incinerated by Bian Sídhe or sliced and diced by Madame Wong.

  Upon seeing the scene, Dughall understood why the men fled. There was no point in fighting. As he left the Great Hall, Dughall barked out the order for his soldiers to torch the place. “Burn it all down,” he yelled.

  “I would not do that if I were you,” Macha curtly said.

  “Again you tell me what I must not do, Macha. You excel in speaking of do nots yet you seem fresh out of dos,” said Dughall. “I may well regret asking this question but I shall ask it all the same. Why should I spare this pathetic group of shacks?”

  “Because there may be clues here. Clues about the torc and where it has gone. Clues about the portal and how to get in,” she coolly replied.

  In his anger, Dughall had not thought of the possibility that he could still find anything of use inside the grove. Yes, search for clues and find the torc. Its power would be mine.

  Dughall, Macha, and Cian split up and searched the sleeping huts and other buildings for clues. Macha happened upon Saorla’s own small thatch-roofed cottage. As she rifled through her belongings, at the very back of a high shelf Macha came upon a small leather-bound book with vellum pages. As she opened the book, she knew she had found exactly what they looked for.

  She quickly flew to Dughall with her prize. Macha’s wings were a shimmery luminescent orange. “Here,” she said as she flung it at Dughall.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “Open it and see. That is, if a brute like you can read.”

  “Of course I can read, you impudent insect,” he snarled.

  As Dughall opened the book, his eyes grew wide. He could not believe what he had. All that I hoped for and more. This is a written guide for the secrets of the Sacred Well. In my hands I hold immortality.

  “Macha, you endearing little gnat,” he beamed. “I shall spare your life after all.”

  “How kind of you,” Macha retorted.

  “What does it say?” asked Cian.

  “What does it say? It holds the key to the whole thing, old man. According to this, it was not the torc at all. That sly minx. Putting all off the trail.” Dughall’s eyes flitted frantically over the pages.

  “What is the key, then?” asked Cian.

  “A chalice,” replied Dughall.

  “A chalice?” asked Cian.

  “Yes, old fool. Is there an echo in here? A chalice. A cup,” replied Dughall.

  “That does not sound right. It may be a trick,” said Cian. “I do not recall ever hearing about a sacred chalice in all my Druid days. The torc yes, but not a chalice.”

  “It was a well kept secret then, was it not?” replied Dughall. “These deceitful women hid their secrets even from you Druids.” Dughall laughed.

  “But if the key to the portal is a chalice, why did she hide the torc?” asked Cian.

  “Who knows, maybe it has some magick to it too. But I am not interested in charming little spells. I will find this chalice. I will find it and when I do, I will open the portal once again and I will have all that I desire.”