by John Lenahan
Everybody dropped to one knee and bowed their heads, except, I noticed, Essa and her Banshee-duelling partner.
I dismounted. ‘Hi, folks. Look, I’m gonna be around here for a while so you don’t have to do that – OK?’
‘As you were,’ Dahy ordered and everybody relaxed as a buzz went through the crowd.
Essa gave a loud theatrical cough and thankfully the hundreds of eyes left me and turned to her. ‘If our regal visitor doesn’t mind, shall we continue with our training?’
Her troops straightened up and quieted down. She was more beautiful than I had even remembered. What kind of idiot was I, leaving a woman like this behind? She finished by staring at me with a question on her face and I realised she actually wanted me to answer her question.
‘No, no,’ I stammered, ‘by all means continue.’
She seemed to smile at me but only from one side of her mouth. ‘We have been working all day on banta fighting. Excellent for helping improve footwork and winning competitions, but in battle you are most likely to be attacked with a sword. What happens if you only have a banta stick to defend yourself with?’
I came very close to shouting out, ‘You’re screwed,’ but two things stopped me: one was that I had seen Essa fight sword with stick and she was damn good at it; secondly, I instinctively felt that undermining Essa in front of her students would be a bad idea.
‘Our new guest, Prince Conor,’ Essa continued, ‘fancies himself as quite the swordsman. Your Highness,’ she said with just enough sarcasm that only I heard it, ‘would you like to help me with this demonstration?’
‘How about we nip off and spend a little alone time,’ is what I really wanted to say. Instead I answered, ‘Sure.’
I walked to the midst of about a hundred young eager eyes. Essa and I squared off in the centre and slowly circled each other. For the first time a proper smile crossed her face. Gods, she was stunning. I drew my sword and her smile vanished. She backed into the crowd and threw her banta stick to a soldier and took a training stick from another. She returned back to the centre.
‘Conor is wielding a very good sword indeed. Does anyone recognise it?’ A few hands went up. ‘It is the Sword of Duir.’
A murmur shot through the group. Men and women strained to get a look at the Lawnmower as I held it aloft.
‘The difficulty with fighting a sword, especially one as good as this one, is that you must not make direct contact. When wood meets steel head on – it is usually wood that loses.’
Essa was holding her stick straight out in a pre-duel position with her head turned to face her pupils. I swung the Lawnmower high and sliced about a foot off the top of her banta stick. It was like knife through butter. The crowd laughed. Essa turned and even though she had a smile on her face for the crowd, her eyes had a look I didn’t like. She inspected the stick and then threw it into the audience. A replacement sailed back immediately. Dahy stepped into the circle holding a dulled training sword. I reluctantly swapped the Lawnmower for it.
‘Thank you, Prince Conor, for that demonstration,’ she said as she refaced her class. It was probably a good thing Dahy changed my sword ’cause I’m sure I would have done the same thing again. I think stuff like that a second time is even funnier than the first but some people don’t agree and I knew Essa was definitely one of them. ‘A sword is obviously the stronger weapon,’ she continued, ‘but it is inferior in length. You must use your superior reach to set the rhythm and tempo of the fight – directing the battle to your terms.’
She faced me directly and stood at attention, so I did too. We both bowed at the waist with our eyes locked. Our faces were inches away – I whispered, ‘Miss me?’
She stood erect, assumed a fighting stance and said, ‘En garde.’
I raised my sword, adjusted my footing and asked, ‘Is that a yes, or a no?’
Chapter Eleven
Essa
Essa and I circled to the right. This time, as she addressed her class, she never took her eyes off me.
‘You will probably have almost double the reach of anyone wielding a sword. If your opponent sets up too close…’ Essa nodded, inviting me closer, ‘then give him a reminder that you are carrying a long stick.’ With the quickest of clicks she tapped my blade out of its position and poked me hard in the chest with her stick.
‘Hey!’ I shouted, stepping back and rubbing my chest. ‘You told me to step in.’
‘And if your opponent is stupid enough to do what you tell him to do – make sure to take advantage of that.’
The crowd laughed. I forced a smile onto my face and stopped rubbing the place she had hit me – even though it still really hurt.
‘Once you have set the proper fighting distance, your opponent will be forced to attack your stick, not you.’
I cld see her point but I wasn’t going to play her game and I certainly didn’t want to stand there and swipe at a stick. I decided to make my first attack a deep body swipe – the kind of advance that would be dangerous to ignore. I bounced backwards and forwards on my toes, made a short backhand fake that brought her stick out of position and then lunged with a full cut to the body. Without seeming to move her legs at all, Essa instantly backed out of reach. I had forgotten just how fast that girl moved. Her stick lightly engaged with the leading edge of my moving sword, circled around it and then pushed it away. By the time I got control my arm was way across my body and my weapon was nowhere near where it should have been. Essa slid one hand to the middle of her stick and swung the base of her banta into my kidney. It dropped me to one knee.
‘Usually I would not have counter-attacked so soon in a match. As you all should know, the golden rule is to parry and retreat until you can ascertain your opponent’s favourite attack. I have an advantage with the Prince – I already know his favourite attack.’ Essa came over to where I was still on one knee. As she helped me to my feet she whispered, ‘Miss me?’
I was still wondering if I would ever be able again to pass water with that kidney when she flowed back into her en garde position and asked, ‘Ready?’
I held up my hand for a time-out and stepped in close to her. ‘Do you think maybe I should have some protective clothing?’
‘Aw come on, Conor, it’s only a stick. You’ve got a great big sword.’
‘You… you could poke my eye out.’
‘I promise I won’t hit you in the head – even though it is such a large target.’
I tried to remember some old saying about a woman scorned but I didn’t have time. She started circling again, this time to my left and she was doing that figure of eight spinning thing with her banta that I had seen Araf do – it made me feel a bit woozy. I decided that maybe Essa’s students shouldn’t be the only ones paying attention to her tutorial, so I attacked the stick. I just stuck my blade into the twirling thing and she flipped it into a counter-attack. Fortunately I was ready for it and brought my sword up into a high backhanded parry. When she saw the steel coming she checked her swing and bounced back in to her home position.
‘Well done, Princess,’ came a shout from one of the people in the crowd.
I took a couple more swipes at the stick and every time pretty much the same thing happened. She would make light contact and attempt to counter but would then pull back at the last second, to avoid her wood being damaged by my steel. Essa’s bravado, the bruises on my chest and side, her cheering peanut gallery and the fact that she was the third best stick fighter I had ever seen had initially made me feel like I was the underdog but I was starting to remember that I had a sword. I had the better weapon.
I took another swipe at her banta but this time when she attempted her counter-attack I stepped in and took a full power cut at her weapon. My sword made hard contact with the top of her stick. If I had been using the Lawnmower I would have sliced that bit clean off – this dulled thing stuck halfway into the wood. As Essa pulled back I felt the tug and quickly twisted my pommel. I heard the crack as about ten inches of her stick spun
inpe air.
Essa backed and circled. The same voice from the crowd called out, ‘Not to worry, Princess.’ As Essa inspected her weapon I stole a quick glance to see who the cheerleader was. It was the Banshee she had been sparring with earlier.
While she was readjusting to the new length of her stick, I moved in a step and began my trademarked low sword attack. That’s where I keep my blade low and then swipe upward using my natural agility to bob and weave my head out of the way. I should note that every fighting teacher has told me that this is a very bad idea but it usually unnerves an opponent the first time they see it and I’m pretty sure I never did it when Essa was around. It worked too. She backed up fast but before she ran out of room, she took a full baseball swing to my head that made me hit the ground with a roll.
‘Hey,’ I shouted as I jumped back to my feet, ‘you promised not to hit me in the head.’
‘If you’re just going to hang your face out there, I can’t resist taking a pop at it.’
‘Good one, Essa,’ the Banshee shouted.
The crowd was getting pretty worked up and from the sounds of it, I wasn’t the hometown team. It’s dangerous when emotions creep into a practice fight and at that moment I wanted to kill the girl of my dreams. From the look in her eyes my love wanted to do the same thing. I should have called it off right then and there – instead I modified my attack. While protecting my face, I succeeded in backing Essa into her cheering section. Just as she was about to run out of room – she did it. I knew she would. I knew she couldn’t resist showing off for her pupils. She launched herself straight up and over my head and attempted to grind her banta into my shoulder as she pole-vaulted over me – but I was ready for it. When she was directly over my head, I dropped to the ground. Her stick made contact with nothing but air. The self-satisfied smile on her face vanished as she realised she didn’t have enough leverage to complete her somersault. She instantly went from a graceful gymnast to a flailing circus clown and landed hard on her back.
I stood up and turned to the silenced audience. ‘I know some of my opponent’s favourite attacks too.’ My line didn’t do as well as when Essa used it. I think it was safe to say they didn’t like me too much.
After rolling over onto all fours and taking a few quick breaths Essa stood and the look on her face made me realise I had gone too far. I lowered my sword and was about to call a stop when that damn Banshee shouted, ‘You’re not going to let him get away with that are you, Princess?’
Essa dropped right back into fighting mode and came at me with a series of short fast swings that got me back-pedalling. I didn’t want this fight any more. I didn’t mean to humiliate her in front of her students. I just wanted to sit with her and ask her how she was and tell her how much I had missed her but that stick just kept on coming. One swipe came so close to my nose I smelled the sap in the timber. I finally parried a cut hard and my sword once again stuck into the wood. As she tried to pull it free I stepped in. She was forced close. I don’t think I had ever seen her this mad before – and I had seen Essa plenty mad.
‘Come on, Princess – you can take this Faerie.’
‘Who, I asked Essa, her face inches from mine, ‘is the Banshee with the big mouth?’
Essa grunted and with all of her strength threw me back, disengaging our weapons. ‘That,’ she said, while assuming a very menacing crouch, ‘would be my fiance.’
‘What?’ I stood straight up and dropped my guard. I looked directly into her eyes to see if she was serious. That’s probably why I didn’t spot the stick before it connected with my head.
In movies people wake up from a concussion and then feel their head like the pain comes as a surprise. That’s not how it works. The pain comes way before you open your eyes and if you have had as much experience with involuntary unconsciousness as I have, you delay opening them for as long as possible, ’cause that’s when the second wave of hurt arrives.
So as I lay there the first thing I noticed was the pain. Then I worked on the basics: who was I? – Conor O’Neil. Good, if you don’t know that one you’re in trouble. Where was I? – Scranton? No – Tir na Nog. How did I end up out cold and flat on my back? Essa. Essa hit me – she said she wouldn’t but she did. I had been looking for Essa. Where did I find her? The Hazellands. And she wasn’t as happy to see me as I thought she would be. In fact she seemed downright mad at me.
I felt a cold compress land on my forehead. The blessed cold ratcheted the pain level down a couple of notches.
Well, she couldn’t be that mad at me, I thought, if she was willing to nurse me. She must be feeling bad for hitting me in the head.
I reached up and placed my hand on hers. So why did she hit me? It was an accident – I had dropped my guard. Why did I do that?
I shot straight up in bed and shouted, ‘You’re engaged!’
‘No I am not,’ said the startled and still blurry face in front of me.
Chapter Twelve
The Turlow
The aforementioned second wave of pain hit me like a well-swung mace. I closed my eyes and lay back down. The pain was lessened only by the revelation that Essa wasn’t engaged. I squeezed her hand and she returned the gesture. This time I slowly opened my eyes but as the world became less fuzzy Essa got increasingly uglier. When I came properly to my senses I found myself holding hands with Araf.
‘Who told you I was engaged?’ the Imp demanded.
I quickly retrieved my hand. ‘Essa?’ I croaked.
‘Essa told you I was engaged?’
‘No, Essa is engaged,’ I said.
‘I know Essa is engaged but why is she going around telling people I am engaged? I’m a Prince of Ur. A rumour like that can cause a lot of trouble.’
My head hurt too much for this kind of confusion. ‘No one said you were engaged.’
‘You said I was engaged.’
‘I didn’t mean you, I thought you were Essa.’
‘You think I look like Essa?’ Araf looked concerned. ‘I’ll go get a healer.’
I dropped my head back on the pillow and covered my eyes. ‘Maybe you should get a healer – I need something for my head.’
‘There is something on your bedside table there.’
I sat up and knocked back the thimbleful of liquid from a silver shot-glass. I’m sure my face went as red as the inside of a thermometer and, as it returned to normal colour, my headache subsided. When I could breathe again I said, ‘You knew that Essa was engaged?’
‘Well yes, everyone knows that. Gerard announced it about three weeks ago. He sent all of the Runelords a cask of special wine – it was a lovely red. The bouquet had the slightest hint of-’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I interrupted.
‘You didn’t ask. I assumed, since you left, that you had no interest in Essa.’
‘Well, you assumed wrong,’ I said, as I slowly sat up and put my feet on the floor.
‘But wasn’t Essa interested in you by the end of your last visit?’
‘She was.’
‘And you left her?’
‘Yes,’ I said, feeling the pain in my head starting to return.
‘That is not a good thing,’ the Imp said in an ominous tone.
‘Why?’
‘I have known Essa a long time, my friend – she is not the forgiving type.’
Mom apparently had administered first aid and chewed out Essa for trying to take my head off. You know how she gets when someone attacks her little bear cub. She also had given me some sort of meds that knocked me out for the whole night – so I was surprised when sunshine blinded me as I opened the door. Morning in the Hazellands was a busy place. Imps and Leprechauns were clearing away rubble and rebuilding walls, while others were drilling or practising archery with Spideog.
I’ve started to realise that Araf only gets chatty when he is nervous or really happy. This morning he was still euphoric about his time with his fellow farmer Imps in the Field, so I pretended to be interested and ask
ed him about his day digging in dirt. That kept him talking until we got our food and found a quiet table in the canteen.
‘So who is he?’
‘Who?’
‘You know who, the Banshee who is engaged to Essa.’
‘He is Turlow,’ Araf ht="0%"›
‘So who is he then?’
‘He’s Turlow.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He is The Turlow?’
‘Araf, it doesn’t matter how many different articles you use before saying Turlow, it doesn’t explain anything.’
‘Have you never heard the story about Eriu and her sisters?’
A spark flickered in my deep memory. Dad told me something about this when we were in the Rowan forest but there was so much going on and so much to remember. ‘Remind me.’
Araf sighed like I was a schoolboy who hadn’t done his homework. ‘Eriu was the first. She discovered The Land. She either found or created the first oak and maybe did the same for the Leprechauns. Then she sent for her two sisters Banbha and Fodla. Fodla,’ Araf said as he touched his forehead in a semi-religious gesture, ‘created or found the Imps and the Orchardlands.’
‘What does this have to do with The Turlow?’
‘Banbha was different from her sisters – darker. She created or, depending on what you believe, found the Yewlands. Then she travelled to the Otherworld, killed the Banshee King and convinced his son, Turlow, to come with her to defend Tir na Nog’s shores. That is how the Banshees came to The Land.’
‘Are you saying that this guy is that Turlow?’
‘No, Turlow is the name passed down from father to son. This Turlow is said to be the direct descendant of the original Turlow. He is The Turlow. It is his name and his title.’
‘So am I supposed to be impressed?’
‘It is very impressive.’
‘Did you hear him keep calling Essa “Princess”?’
‘Essa is a princess,’ Araf said, looking confused.
‘Yeah, but it’s the way he said it. And now that I think of it, he called me a Faerie.’