Prince of Hazel and Oak (Shadowmagic Book 2)

by John Lenahan

Turlow and Red stared at each other for a minute, then Turlow flicked his blade back up his sleeve and sat down.

  ‘Good,’ Red said, regaining his jovial tone. ‘My island will not kill you, Banshee, nor will it turn you grey. Have any of you been to the Real World?’

  Brendan and I sheepishly raised our hands.

  ‘You will have to go further than my island to wither and die. The island will age you as fast as you aged in the Real World. Stay for eighty seasons and you will notice the difference.’ Red looked out to sea and then quickly turned back to us with concerned eyes. ‘You’re not going to stay for eighty seasons, are you?’

  A wooden dock loomed up ahead as our magical underwater motor died. Red fished the rings out of the water and reordered Araf and Tuan back to rowing duty.

  ‘What was pulling us?’ I asked.

  Araf gave me a sideways look like he does when I make a Tir na Nogian social faux pas. It’s apparently bad manners to ask how someone’s magic works. Red didn’t seem to mind but that didn’t mean he was going to give me a straight answer.

  ‘You were pulled by the past – into the future,’ he said.

  We followed Red on a narrow path through head-high vegetation. The trail didn’t seem to be used much. Periodically it was so overgrown with gorse bushes that they caught and scratched at our clothing and faces.

  ‘Red,’ I called out from the back of the parade, ‘where is the eel lake?’

  He ignored me or maybe he was just lost in his own little world – both were possible. I passed my question up the line to Brendan, who only succeeded in getting Red’s attention by tapping him on the shoulder. The message was relayed back to me like we were in a schoolyard playing a game of Chinese whispers.

  Over his shoulder Araf said, ‘He says we cannot go there today.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked – then shouted to Brendan, ‘Ask him why not.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask me yourself?’ Red shouted back.

  I waited then hollered, ‘OK, why can’t we go there today?’

  ‘Because it is too late and you are almost at The Digs.’

  ‘The whats?’ I shouted and got no reply. Red had gone back into his hard-of-hearing mode.

  The gorse thinned out and we came to a clearing. In the middle stood a wooden guest house not unlike the ones in the Pinelands.

  ‘Welcome to The Digs. You can stay here the night.’

  As we got closer it became obvious that no one had stayed in this place for a long, long time. Vines grew across the porch and there was so much dirt on the windows that Brendan had to wipe the glass with his sleeve to look in. Red opened the door and invited us to enter before him. Inside the only good light was from the window that Brendan had just cleaned. On the floor we left footprints in the quarter inch of dust that reminded me of astronauts on the moon.

  ‘I see your housekeeper is on vacation,’ I said, but Red wasn’t behind me. I went outside and he wasn’t there either. I walked the entire perimeter of the clearing but there was no Red. I went back inside.

  ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Who’s gone?’ Brendan asked.

  ‘Red’s gone, vanished into thin air.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Brendan said and went outside with everyone else to look for him. They all came back wearing my confused countenance. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Gosh,’ I said, ‘is he?’

  It was dark by the time we got the digs habitable. I just hoped that none of us had dust allergies ’cause if he did, he was going to keep all of us up all night. The stack of wood outside was mostly rotten but there was enough to get a decent fire going. Brendan found a dusty bottle of something. He uncorked it, had a sniff, thought better of it and put it back. The Digs may have been a bit neglected and forlorn but it was good to be inside with a roaring fire for a change.

  We spoke into the night mostly about the strangeness of our host, but came to no conclusion except that our host was strange. After a light meal made from our dwindling rations Brendan decided to take a walk and I went with him.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked him as my breath fogged in the starlit night.

  ‘You sound like I shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Well, you did seem pretty mad at yourself yesterday when you wrongly accused Turlow.’

  ‘Oh that. I flew off the handle, for that I am mad at myself. But I’m not wrong about Turlow.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It took a while but my cop radar tells me he is not to be trusted. I’m sure I was right about him, I just don’t have any proof.’

  ‘Your radar once thought I was a murderer.’

  ‘No, it told me that there was something wrong with you, Conor, and I sure wasn’t wrong there.’

  ‘So what should I do, tie up Turlow ’cause your bunion is throbbing?’

  ‘I̵ll figure it out, Conor, I always do. Just … don’t turn your back on him.’

  That night when I put my head on what I laughingly called my pillow I thought about my chat with the local cop. Part of me wanted to distrust Turlow. If Brendan had dissed King Banshee earlier in our trip I would have joined in but as much as I hated to admit it, I was begrudgingly starting to like the guy. I know I shouldn’t put much stock in my nocturnal soothsaying but I had a feeling that if he really was betraying us, I would have dreamt about it. I put those thoughts aside and tried for the first time ever to direct my dreams. I closed my eyes and said to myself over and over again, ‘Where are the red eels? Where are the red eels?’ I fell asleep with that mantra in my head but it didn’t work. The stupid image of Red grinning at me annoyed me not only during the day but in dreamland as well.

  The next morning I awoke to see that same grinning face sitting next to a roaring fire inside The Digs. How Red could sneak in and rekindle our fire without waking us worried me. He was wearing a ridiculous outfit made from what looked like snake skin. Imagine a pair of crocodile lederhosen and you get the idea. He had fish cooking between a wire mesh. I expected him to say, ‘Guten morgen,’ but he just waved when he saw me.

  ‘More fish for breakfast,’ I said. ‘Yum.’

  He offered me a cup of tea and I accepted.

  ‘When can we leave for Eel Lake?’

  Apparently his hearing was fine this morning. ‘I am waiting for you. I expected everyone to be up and ready to go. It is not an easy hike you know.’

  I roused everyone and after a quick brekkie of mackerel and moss tea that surprisingly wasn’t as bad as it sounds, we were out the door and heading towards the highlands in the middle of the island.

  The trail to Eel Lake was worse than the one to The Digs. The gorse bushes often encroached on the path to a point where it was impossible to pass. Instead of hacking our way through, like I would have done in the Real World, we had to plead with the bushes to back off. It was slow going.

  I tapped Red on the shoulder as we walked. I had made sure I was directly behind him so he couldn’t ignore me. ‘I thought you said you came up here a lot.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘This doesn’t look like a well-used path to me.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  I waited but Red wasn’t in an extrapolating mood. Sometimes it was easier when he ignored me. ‘So how do you get up there?’ I finally asked.

  ‘I go an easier way.’

  ‘So why aren’t we going that way?’

  ‘My way would not be easier for you.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked a couple of times along with some shoulder taps, but Red was just as good at ignoring me when I was directly behind him as he was when I was at the end of the parade.

  As the morning progressed the trail became much steeper. Whoever originally designed this route didn’t bother with any of that zigzagging to make climbing easier stuff – when the mountain got steep, so did the path. Getting down on all fours became common. Eventually I wouldn’t say we were hiking as much as rock climbing. An hour after missing my lunch, we finally took a break on a level shelf about two third
s of the way up. We were all, including Red, uncharacteristically exhausted. I wondered if our lack of stamina was due to being so far away from the immortality mojo of the mainland. It was a thought I kept to myself. We drank from a sparkling clear stream that fed into a small pond. Next to Gerard’s wine it was the nicest thing I have ever drunk.

  ‘So tell me, Son of Duir,’ Red said, ‘what are you going to do with these red eels when you find them?’

  ‘I’m going to use them to cure my father.’

  ‘Cure him? Of what?’

  I didn’t really want to tell him, but I didn’t have the strength to lie so I explained about Dad reattaching his hand and how that same hand was killing him. Red’s reaction surprised me. For the first time since I met him he looked truly interested.

  ‘And what makes you think red eels will help?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of the Grey Ones?’

  ‘Oh,’ Red said, ‘I remember the Grey Ones.’

  ‘I found an old manuscript that told of the Grey Ones’ search for the blood of the red eels.’

  Red was agitated and on his feet. ‘This manuscript said red eels?’

  ‘No, that’s the translation into the common tongue. The scroll said they were searching for the blood of tughe tine. We came here ’cause a Pooka once called this place Tughe Tine Isle.’

  Red placed both of his hands over his mouth to cover his surprise then threw his head back and began to laugh. If anyone else had done this it would have looked like they were losing it but with Red it strangely made him, for the first time, look sane.

  ‘I should have known.’ He stood and began to walk down the mountain.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said, grabbing him by the arm. Still laughing, he spun around like a rag doll. ‘What should you have known?’

  ‘I cannot believe I walked halfway up this mountain just so I could find out what you wanted with eels. Thank you for reminding me why I live alone.’ He laughed again but then became angry. ‘For the love of the gods – has The Land gotten so stupid that the Prince of Duir cannot even translate two simple words?’ He grabbed my head with both hands and pulled my face close to his. ‘Tine, my feeble-minded gold miner, does not mean red it means fire and tughe does not mean eel. Do you not have scholars in Duir? Have you never heard of the Hall of Knowledge?’

  ‘The Hall of Knowledge is gone.’

  ‘Gone? What do you mean gone?’

  ‘It was destroyed.’

  Red grabbed me by my shirt and spun me to the left. I lost my footing and he fell on top of me still pulling my shirt with both fists. ‘What have you done?’ he said with fire in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t do anything. I lost my grandfather there.’

  Red let me go, stood and started back down the path. ‘I cannot help you,’ he said without turning around.

  I chased after him. ‘What does it mean? What does tughe mean?’ I placed my hand on his shoulder. He stopped but didn’t face me.

  ‘It means … worm. Now leave my island.’ He strode down the path with his arms outstretched, brushing the gorse bushes. As he did, they closed behind him. We couldn’t have followed even if we wanted to.

  The rest of the gang, mouths open, were on their feet.

  ‘Does anyone know what just happened?’ I asked.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Invisible Man

  It took a while before the gorse bushes let us pass. There was little talking on the way back. For the most part we concentrated on not plummeting.

  Back at The Digs I volunteered to hike down to the beach and scrounge for driftwood. Tuan agreed to come with me and help persuade some fish to be our main course.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Tuan asked as we weaved our way through the gorse. ‘Should we start digging for smoking worms?’

  ‘I have no idea what to do.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not good. Conor, you are our ideas man.’

  I made a guttural sound. It was meant to be a laugh but by the time it made it out of my mouth it was a pitiful grunt of a broken spirit. ‘Well, start thinking up your own ideas, ’cause I’m fresh out.’

  Tuan wisely didn’t say anything else during our walk. I didn’t blame him, even I wasn’t happy with my own company. What the hell was I doing here? What if Red never comes back? What if this whole thing was a giant goose chase? What if Dad dies while I’m shipwrecked out here and I don’t even get a chance to say good-bye?

  My mood was no better back at The Digs in front of a roaring fire. When Brendan sat down next to me he had that look on his face, like he was going to bestow a pearl of wisdom.

  Before he could open his mouth I said, ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Well, it looks like someone forgot to put on his feathered underwear today.’

  ‘I got them on, Brendan, they’re just damp – like everything else in my life. Leave me alone will you.’

  ‘OK, maybe I’ll just have a game of checkers with my good buddy Turlow. Where is he anyway?’

  It wasn’t until the food was ready that we all started asking the same question. We scouted as much of the perimeter as we dared in darkness but The Turlow was gone.

  An hour of discussion over a cold dinner couldn’t solve the mystery of what had happened to the Banshee. The only constructive product of the conversation was a plan to search for him at first light.

  As I stood from the table I said, ‘Maybe he’s the only one of us with enough sense to abandon this stupid quest.’ No one was disappointed when I went to bed.

  Later Brendan sat on the edge of my bunk. ‘Conor, I know about things being so bleak that it seems easier to give up. I’ve been there – but now is not the time.’

  ‘I know and you’re right,’ I said without opening my eyes. It was exactly what I had been lying there thinking for the last hour. ‘I’m sorry for my foul mood. Do me a favour, apologise to Tuan for me.’

  Brendan nodded.

  I made the effort and propped myself up on my elbows. ‘I’m not giving up, Brendan. I’m just tired and scratched to hell and cold and … and too tired to even finish this sentence. We’ve been at this for a long time. I’m going to rest tonight – tomorrow I’ll figure out how to save The Land.’ I attempted a smile. ‘I’ve done it before you know.’

  I dropped my head back on my pillow with that thought on my mind. Sure I saved The Land once before but I had my dad with me then – without him I just didn’t have a clue.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I said, not even knowing if Brendan was still there. ‘Things will all become clear tomorrow.’

  Little did I know how prophetic that sentence would be.

  That night was full of fits and starts punctuated by vivid and cryptic dreams. It seemed that the more experienced I became with dreaming the less understandable they were. I had almost given up trying to decipher any meaning in them. That night I dreamt I was in a mayonnaise jar filled with little smoking red-faced worms. I stabbed a tiny red earthworm and he slid away with the Lawnmower. In another dream the invisible man was back. During a phase of amateur psychoanalysis I had decided that the invisible man was me, but in this vision I dreamt that the invisible man was skulking around stealing stuff and I thought maybe it was Red. Red did have a creepy habit of sneaking up on us. I woke in the darkness and listened – nothing. I reached under my bed and strapped on the Sword of Duir then fell back into a fitful sleep. The last dream I had that night would have, under normal circumstances, shot me right out of bed. The invisible man pulled up a chair next to my bunk and stuck something into my shoulder. Then he reached to his collar and removed an amulet from around his neck – instantly he became visible.

  When I opened my eyes I knew exactly what had been done to me ̫ I didn’t have to wonder. Once you have had one of my Aunt Nieve’s paralysing pins stuck in your neck, you don’t forget the sensation. This pin wasn’t actually in my neck; it was in the top of my shoulder. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to turn my head when I heard Turlow’s voice.

  ‘How do y
ou spell butcher?’

  Just like in my dream, Turlow was sitting in a chair next to my bed with his legs crossed as he casually wrote onto an emain slate.

  ‘You’re the invisible man.’

  He looked up from the slate. ‘I’m who?’

  ‘You are the invisible man – I dreamt about you.’

  ‘That, Conor, is not possible.’

  ‘No, I did. I dreamt about you but I didn’t know it was you. You were invisible. I saw you walking with Essa and talking to Cialtie, but I thought it was me. I didn’t see that it was you until you took that amulet off your neck.’

  Turlow stopped writing and poked the amulet that was now hanging around the emain slate. ‘You and your uncle’s dream vision is truly remarkable. You are the only ones that have ever seen even the tiniest bit past my seithe amulet.’

  Seithe, I thought, searching the language database in my head. Seithe means hide.

  ‘I suspect all of the dreamers in The Land will spot me now, but I had to use the amulet on the slate ’cause I don’t want a reply to come through and erase this message before Red can read it.’

  ‘That’s Essa’s slate I take it?’

  He tilted his head in a gesture of false guilt. ‘I always take the opportunity to steal something when I am in the Alderlands. The next time you are there, you should try it. Everyone always suspects a Brownie. But I don’t imagine you will be visiting in the Alderlands any time soon – or ever.’

  ‘So Brendan was right, you are Cialtie’s lackey.’

  He stopped his writing and looked sharply up. ‘There are no lackeys here. Cialtie rightfully wants back his Oak Throne and I want the Banshees to finally hold the position they deserve in The Land.’

  ‘Yeah, as Cialtie’s lackeys.’

  I thought for a second that he was going to hit me, but then he laughed. ‘I find it very hard to be provoked by a person who can’t move from the neck down.’