by John Lenahan
‘The Fili after the Fili war,’ I said out loud as much to myself as to Brendan.
When he turned back his eyes were shining. ‘See? That’s why I thought this was all a dream at first. I loved those stories when I was young, but when I got older I stopped believing in them. Mom, though, never stopped believing. I started to think that she was stupid and later … crazy. Who’s the stupid one now?’
He dropped his head and was silent for a while. I put my arm around his shoulders. Finally he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stood – shaking off his heavy emotions. ‘I’m glad my girl is with her now and I hope Mom is telling her s all a dre same stories. I have to get back, Conor. I have to tell them both that it’s all true.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Fire Dancing
As we travelled along the coast, a foggy drizzle blew in from the sea. It was cold and damp and very unpleasant but it hid us from prying eyes, and we hoped it hid Essa and Yogi from the alders. Along with being moist and miserable it was also slow going. It was a beach, not a trail and we frequently had to dismount to negotiate boulders, large pieces of flotsam and jetsam or runoff streams. When we came to a good patch of sand we would break into a canter or even a gallop but I could tell Acorn didn’t like the sand. It broke my heart to make him stay on the beach. I promised him I would get him some real snazzy oats when we got back to normality.
Dinner that night was what was left of Yogi’s ray. Trust me, it was nicer twenty-four hours earlier. The loss of Essa and Yogi had left a hole in the group that no one tried to fill. It was early to bed and the next morning it was early to rise.
The previous day’s drizzle whipped itself up into a full-blown storm. I guess I should have been grateful it wasn’t snow, but at least then I would have been dry. The near-horizontal rain made me wet in places I didn’t even know I had. Equestrianism is no longer fun when your trousers squelch with every bounce. We were all too miserable and frozen to talk. By lunchtime I was practically in a hypothermic coma and would have stayed that way if Brendan hadn’t flipped.
We had stopped only long enough to decide to eat lunch on the hoof. Turlow dismounted and opened his saddlebag to get some grub. That’s when Brendan lost it. He jumped from his horse and came down hard on poor Turlow’s head. The Banshee didn’t know what hit him. Turlow jumped to his feet and when he saw Brendan on the ground he assumed that Brendan had fallen on him after being shot by some unseen attacker. He popped out his Banshee blade and turned his back on the policeman, looking for the sniper. Brendan picked himself up and then tackled Turlow from behind like a linebacker in full blown ’roid-rage.
Turlow went face down hard into a sand dune. Brendan jumped on his back and tried to pull his arms, like he was handcuffing him, but by this time Turlow was no longer confused. He wrenched his wrists free and then, like a rodeo bull, he arched his back and pushed his body up on all fours. Brendan sailed three feet into the air. He came down face first with his body at an angle that made me worry he had broken his neck. Turlow was on him in a second. To the Banshee’s credit he didn’t run him through. Brendan obviously was still not thinking properly; he reached for the Banshee blade with his hand. Turlow pulled the razor-sharp edge out of the way and gave Brendan a swift kick in the side that doubled him up.
‘I have been restrained with you, Real Worlder,’ Turlow said, pushing his blade at Brendan’s side, ‘but my restraint is not infinite. Tell me why you attacked me or die.’
I dismounted, ran between them and managed to back Turlow off a bit. ‘Brendan, what’s gotten into you?’
‘He’s in league with Cialtie,’ Brendan said.
I spun around and my heart jumped into my throat. Turlow stood there with his sword drawn and for a second I thought he was going to attack us both. I reached for the Lawnmower but it wasn’t there – it was strapped to Acorn. ‘Brendan, what are you talking about? How do you know this?’
Brendan took a step towards Turlow. The Banshee raised his blade menacingly and Brendan stopped.
‘Turlow,’ I asked, ‘what is he talking about?’
‘I do not know; your friend has gone mad.’
‘All right,’ I said, ‘let’s everybody calm down a bit.’ I turned to Brendan. He took a deep breath, dropped his shoulders and nodded. Turlow backed off and reluctantly flicked his Banshee blade back up his sleeve. ‘Right, Brendan, explain yourself.’
Brendan composed himself. He straightened his clothes and put on the kind of face I imagine he uses when testifying in court. ‘Conor, you told me that you were attacked in the Real World by black riders that were sent by Cialtie.’
‘Yes.’
‘And your aunt told you that Cialtie had been looking for you for years.’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘My mother bought the farmhouse I live on in the Real World because she thought it was close to lay-lines and portals to an Otherworld. Two years ago my wife was killed in a car accident when she hit a black horse. A couple of days ago, Conor suggested that that horse had a rider and that that rider was sent by Cialtie.’
‘If I recall, Brendan, you told me that I was crazy for suggesting that.’
‘Well, I have been thinking about it, Conor. It’s amazing how living in Faerieland can make one reassess one’s opinions.’
‘What has this to do with me?’ Turlow asked.
‘Open his bag,’ Brendan said.
‘If you think I am going to stand here and let you search my possessions then think again,’ Turlow said. I saw his fingers twitch but the Banshee blade didn’t reappear.
‘Just lift the flap on his saddlebag and look at the marking underneath.’
I slowly backed to Turlow’s horse. Man, it was tense. I had a feeling that if I took my eyes off the two of them that they would be at each other’s throats in a second. I lifted the flap on the bag and saw what Brendan was talking about. Burned into the leather was a symbol not unlike an Ogham rune but more swirly and stylised. I couldn’t read it.
‘That is the same marking that was on the saddle of the horse that caused my wife’s accident.’
‘And from that you have deduced that I am a spy for Conor’s lunatic uncle?’ Turlow turned from Brendan and walked or to Tuan, who was still on horseback, and unlatched his saddlebag. He flipped open the flap and sure enough the same symbol was there. ‘You idiot,’ Turlow said. ‘That is the mark of Master Bothy, probably the finest saddler in The Land. That mark may be on a quarter of the saddles in Tir na Nog.’
I looked to Araf; he nodded in agreement. I turned to Brendan and said, ‘Oops.’
Turlow was still steamed. He walked right up to Brendan and said, ‘To lose a wife must be an awful thing. That has obviously clouded your judgement so I will let this event go unpunished – but touch me again, Real Worlder, and you will see your own blood.’
Brendan didn’t waver in his gaze; he looked the Banshee straight in the eyes and said, ‘I am sorry.’
Turlow nodded, indicating that he had heard but not necessarily forgiven, and went over to his saddlebag, took out some dried meat and passed it around to everyone, including Brendan.
‘And here’s me thinking that lunch was going to be dull,’ I said, saddling up. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
We all mounted up except for Brendan who just stood there, staring into space, the rain dripping off of his face. Finally I said, ‘Druid, are you coming?’
That broke his reverie and produced a sad smile on his face. ‘No, not a Druid, just a cop who should have known better. I’m sorry, everyone.’
That afternoon’s journey was silent and tense. I got the feeling that Brendan was kicking himself and that Turlow wanted to join in. The rest of us didn’t dare say anything lest we jump-start a bust-up. The ice-cold rain had stopped but a frigid sea breeze made sure we remembered how damp we were. Our tongues tasted the salt air and our eyes felt the sting as the sky stayed solid grey as if to match our mood.
I missed Essa. I be
t we all did. Hell, we were only without her for one morning before we were at each other’s throats. Periodically, I unconsciously looked for her in our group only to be reminded that she was gone. It made me realise that I had spent the entire journey staring at her as we rode. I hoped she was all right.
An hour or so before dusk, as a thick fog crept in from the sea, Tuan announced that we were here.
‘Where here?’ I asked.
‘Here, here,’ Tuan replied. ‘This is Fearn Point and out there is Red Eel Isle.’
I looked in the direction that the Pooka was pointing. I had trouble seeing the end of his finger let alone an island out to sea.
‘Yeah, it looks lovely,’ I said. ‘I just wish somebody had built a motel here.’
Tuan unpacked the boat that Yogi had brought from the Pinelands. I knew that the Pookas were not known for their nautical skills but this boat was ridiculous. It looked more like a kite than a boat. I knew that it had to be portable but as I examined the skin, which would eventually be stretched over the toothpick frame, I wondered if it would float. I tried to remember if a fortune teller ever predicted that I would end up in a watery grave.
I walked the shore and found a tiny bay on the windward side where the currents had beached tons of driftwood. We were all cold and damp and tempers were frayed. I decided that we didn’t need a fire – we needed a bonfire. Brendan pitched tents and Araf and Turlow threw nets into the sea. After chatting to the fish and letting the ones that wanted to live go free, we ended up with a sea bass each.
Araf produced yet another bottle of nicked Brownie-shine. When I asked him how much he stole, Araf said, ‘The Brownies were well looked after the last time they came to Ur. I took less than what the Brownie King drank his first night. I don’t feel guilty, if that is what you are getting at.’
‘Hey, don’t look at me – I’m all in favour of shoplifting from Brownies.’
After dinner we felt well fed and watered. Brendan and Turlow sat at opposite sides of my inferno. The flames were so high they couldn’t see each other – probably a good thing.
Brendan was in a non-verbal sulk, Tuan was trying to put together a boat in the dark and you know how chatty Araf is, so I was pretty much forced to talk to Turlow or climb into my nice damp sleeping roll.
‘You once asked me how I could have let Essa go,’ I said, sitting next to him. ‘I could now ask you the same thing.’
Turlow didn’t look at me, he kept staring into the fire and said, ‘Not that it is any of your concern, Faerie, but she did not want me to come with her.’
Well, that was the end of that chat. If I wanted to have friendly banter around this campfire, I really needed to work on my ventriloquist act. I stood up and resigned myself to an early night. It was a shame really. I had hoped to have a little fun the night before I turned myself into fish food.
Before I left him I said, ‘Thanks for not stabbing my friend today; he was well out of line.’
‘Brendan was lucky,’ Turlow said. ‘You saved his life today.’
‘I saved his life? You stopped yourself before I even got there.’
‘I was in a rage, Conor, but I stopped when I spotted you out of the corner of my eye. In that, your friend was lucky.’
‘Gosh, I had no idea I had such a calming effect on you.’
Turlow laughed in a way that made me realise I was missing something. ‘Do you know about the Banshee affinity with death?’
I did. My cousin Fergal had once told me that Banshees could sense imminent death. ‘A little,’ I said.
‘I was enraged today. Never in my life have I been treated like that. I was fully prepared kill your countryman but then I saw you and I knew that if I killed him – I would have had to kill you too. I was not prepared to do that.’
‘Oh,’ I said, not really knowing how to reply to a statement like that. ‘Well … ah … thanks.’
I walked back to my tent spooked with the knowledge that I had recently come so close to being killed. I stuck my nose into my tent and smelled the dampness of everything. When I touched my cold wet blankets, I said out loud, ‘Screw this.’
I stumbled back down to the pile of wood by the sea and came back to the fire with an armful of thin branches. I built a little drying frame near the blaze and draped my sleeping roll over it and then I built another for the clothes on my back. Araf spotted me and didn’t wait for an invitation. He built his drying rack and joined me stark naked, howling and dancing around the fire like a Red Indian in a Hollywood Western. Turlow looked on in amazement, while Brendan held fast to his funk and refused to join us. I didn’t care. I had apparently almost died today and I would probably drown tomorrow, so I was dancing and I wasn’t gonna stop. Tuan came back to the fire to ask what all the commotion was about. As I bobbed and weaved I explained the principle of naked dancing/clothes drying. Being a Pooka he had no problem with nudity and was gyrating with us in no time.
The two party-poopers were making it difficult for me to reach that uninhibited mindless state that makes naked fire dancing so much fun. Every time I passed by the moping Brendan or the stern but shocked Turlow, I pleaded with them to join us. It wasn’t until Tuan turned into his shaggy wolfhound and barked at Brendan that he finally smiled and before long the only one wearing any threads was the Banshee. I even stopped and risked freezing my thingy off long enough to build a drying rack for Turlow. Finally he broke when we ganged up on him. When you think about it, four naked men jumping up and down in front of someone, while he is sitting, makes for pretty heavy peer pressure. Turlow was unenthusiastic to begin with but then really got into it. He started spinning like a top and then began screaming like … well, like a Banshee.
I still had trouble getting trance-like. Something was tugging on my brain cells that kept pulling my consciousness back to reality. Finally I stopped and checked my laundry. My blankets were still wet but my clothes were dry, so I got dressed and decided to take a walk to clear my head. The others were so lost in dance that they didn’t even notice I was gone. I had to walk quite far away before Turlow’s howling was distant enough to allow me to think. Something was weighing on me and I wasn’t sure what it was. Then it hit me. Essa had said that Turlow hadn’t wanted to come with her, but then Turlow told me that Essa didn’t want him with her. One of them was lying to me. There were lots of reasons why neither of them would tell me the truth. As Turlow had rightly pointed out it was none of my business. It might mean that their relationship wasn’t going as well as it seemed, which from my point of view was good news, but then again maybe it was something else. I had no way of knowing but at least I had figured out what was bothering me. Now that my mental conflict was solved, I turned back to my frolicking companions and decided to give the dangly-dance one more try. As I got closer I saw them bopping in silhouette and I knew something was wrong. I stood stock still, surveyed the area and listened. I couldn’t see or hear whatever it was that was making the hair stand up on the back of my neck but something was wrong, something was very wrong. What was it? That’s when I saw it; I saw it and my heart jumped in my chest. As I watched my four companions dance around my bonfire, I counted them: one, two, three, four – five.
Chapter Thirty
Red
The four of them were so lost in the fire dance that they didn’t notice that there was a strange man bopping along with them. Twice today I hadn’t had the Lawnmower on my hip when I wanted it, so I had made sure I brought it with me on this walk. I drew it and advanced slowly. As I got closer I could plainly see that the interloper was without a stitch of clothes, which, on the plus side, meant he was definitely unarmed. I lowered my guard a bit and jogged the last stretch of beach until I stood just outside the moat the dancers had made in the sand. Still none of them noticed me. The stranger was as absorbed in the dancing as the rest of them. His straight red hair flew around like a sixties go-go dancer. If I had seen him clothed and from the back I might have said he was a woman, but in the firelight there
was no avoiding his gender. He was dancing behind Tuan and I was struck at how similarly they were built except for the stranger’s arms – they would have put a post-spinach Popeye to shame.
I waited until Araf came by and grabbed his arm to pull him out of the circle. Instead he pulled me in. I had forgotten just how solid that guy is and I almost fell into the fire. Anyway, I got his attention. He stood and looked at me confused, like a sleepwalker that just found himself in the hallway of a hotel.
‘Look,’ I said to him, pointing to the other dancers.
Araf was still out of it and tilted his head like a dog being taught algebra.
‘Intruder alert!’ I shouted, pointing to the new member of our dance troupe.
He saw him and snapped into action. He leapt over the edge of the fire (something I would never do without clothes on) and grabbed his banta stick. This startled Turlow enough for him to notice that we were not alone. Turlow had the good sense to throw his clothes on. I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Brendan. Turlow came up next to us holding his Banshee blade. Tuan was still completely oblivious.
‘Who is he?’ Turlow asked.
‘I don’t know. You were dancing with him – you tell me.’
We watched as the stranger and Tuan spun and danced around the dwindling fire. Tuan sailed past us in his own little world, then the stranger, right behind him, turned and gave us a little chest-high wave. On the next pass we grabbed Tuan and made him see who his dance partner was. At first he looked shocked and then he dropped onto all fours and turned into his wolfhound. The stranger kept dancing and spinning like he owned the place. When he came by again wolfhound-Tuan stuck his nose in for a sniff and our visitor stopped and gave him a little pat on the head, like he was casually walking in the park.