by John Lenahan
‘No,’ I said. ‘I know that you helped Cialtie retake his Choosing with my father’s hand.’
This startled the old guy. ‘He told you that?’
‘No,’ I said quickly, sensing that it was a bad idea to get this guy agitated. ‘I did the math. Spideog saw Cialtie coming down from this mountain just before he retook his Choosing. Since no one in The Land knows how he did this, it stands to reason that you advised him.’
A smile came to his face that in the light sent a shiver down my spine. ‘So you came to prove that you are clever as well as impertinent?’
‘No, sir, I came to ask if you would help my father.’
‘Why has he not come himself?’
‘He’s dying. His new hand and his body are in conflict. It is killing him.’
‘Your trip is wasted then, Conor of Duir. I would have no idea how to save him from such a singular malady – no one in The Land would.’
‘I’m not looking for a cure, sir, only directions.’
‘Directions?’ He looked confused but interested. ‘Directions to where?’
‘To where I can find the blood of a tughe tine.’
You would think that a wise old oracle would have a better poker face, but when he heard this he definitely twitched before he regained his composure. ‘I’m sorry you wasted a trip but I know nothing of the place of which you speak.’
‘I think you do.’
‘You have charm, young prince, that has allowed me to forgive your impertinence but my patience is running thin.’
‘The first Turlow came to you for the same advice. You told the Grey Ones how to find it.’
The Oracle threw his head back and laughed. As he did I noticed the hooded person, who had been lurking in the shadows the entire time, running out of the back of the room.
‘You climbed all of this way to quote a nursery rhyme intended to keep children out of the sea? I am weary. Leave.’
‘No,’ came a voice from behind me. It was Brendan.
‘You were instructed not to speak, Druid,’ the Oracle hissed in a way that made me think that maybe we all should calm down.
‘I’m not a Druid, I’m a policeman.’
‘And what is a policeman?’
‘I am – a seeker of truth and I don’t believe you when you say you don’t-’
It was just a flick of the Oracle’s wrist but Brendan went over like he had been slugged by a heavyweight. Spideog pulled his bow off his shoulder and was just rhing for an arrow when his bowstring snapped and sliced a gash in his face. Then his bow exploded as he was thrown twenty yards into the air before back-sliding along the polished floor into the wall.
A loud gale of wind whipped around the room. Araf and I looked at each other and wordlessly decided to get the hell out of there. It’s a good thing Araf doesn’t speak often ’cause I had a gut feeling that the next guy that lipped off to the Oracle was going to have his head exploded.
The Imp hoisted the unconscious Brendan on his shoulder and we both backed out of the room. ‘Sorry to bother you,’ I shouted as complacently as I could, ‘and thanks for your help. We gotta be going now.’ When I got to Spideog, I unceremoniously grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him out. We pushed through the exit expecting to be clobbered at any minute. As the doors slammed shut I could have sworn I heard laughter coming from within. The Oracle was definitely off my Christmas card list.
The Brownies on the other side of the doors were beside themselves with terror. They buzzed around, high stepping like little kids in need of a pee.
‘What did you say to him?’ one asked. I ignored him while I loosened Spideog’s neckerchief.
Brendan croaked, ‘What happened?’ and Araf gently placed him back on his feet.
‘I’ll explain later. Right now I think we should get out of here.’
I held my ear against Spideog’s mouth – he was still breathing. ‘Araf, can we swap invalids?’ I went over and steadied Brendan while Araf hoisted the old archer on his shoulder like he was a sack of ping-pong balls. Spideog grunted, which I took as a good sign.
The long corridor was longer on the way out. Brownies flitted around telling us to hurry while constantly looking over their shoulders, which was as annoying as it sounds. Brendan got steadier on his feet as we went and was almost walking under his own steam by the time we reached the doors to the outside. It had begun to snow. Araf gently placed Spideog on the porch and the Brownies freaked.
‘No, no, you must go. Go now,’ the tallest one of them shrieked at us and picked up one of the packs that we had left outside the doors and threw it down the steps. When he reached for my pack I kinda lost it and grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall.
‘We have an injured man here. We will go when we are ready.’
The other Brownies didn’t come to their comrade’s aid but huddled together shrieking. The guy I had by the neck didn’t struggle; he just looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and said, ‘Please go.’
It was then that I saw that all of their earlier bravado was just that. Talk about bluffing. These guys lived under the servitude of a nasty piece of work who they were terrified of. I let the Brownie go and said, ‘Sorry, we’ll be as quick as we can.
‘Araf,’ I said, ‘these guys are annoying but they are also right. Can we move him?’
‘He is still unconscious, but I agree. I think we should at least put a wee bit of this mountain between us and this place.’
Brendan tried to pick up a pack and almost fell over, so I assembled all four packs comically on my back while Araf rehoisted Spideog.
Halfway down the trail I looked back. About six Brownies were standing on the porch. They were a pathetic bunch. ‘Come with us,’ I mimed to them, not daring to shout. The five at the back rocked on their legs uncomfortably. The tall guy at the front just shook his head, no, and with a sad smile waved goodbye.
As I was turning back, I saw out of the corner of my eye an upstairs shutter open and the flash of a hooded black-robed figure throwing something. Even if I hadn’t had four packs on my back, I don’t think I could have stopped the knife from hitting Brendan square between the shoulder blades.
Chapter Fifteen
Broken Bow
Brendan went down from the force of the impact as the knife bounced off his back. The blade was still in its sheath. I jumped recklessly towards the edge of the cliff trying to catch it before it went over but the knife spun off into the void. The weight of the packs on my back meant that I almost followed it.
I slithered back from the edge and went to Brendan, who groaned, ‘Son of a…’
‘Are you OK?’
‘What the hell hit me?’
I didn’t feel like explaining – I just wanted to get out of there, so I said, ‘One of those Brownies must have thrown something.’
‘Well, it hurt. Would I be overreacting if I shot one with an arrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even if it was just in the leg?’
‘Yes. Come on, we have to get out of here.’
I tried to help him to his feet but with four packs on my back there wasn’t that much I could do. We skirted around the corner and found Araf waiting for us with Spideog still out cold on his shoulder. Even though the ice sheet that had almost killed us earlier was mostly not there any more, Araf suggested we rope-up, and I agreed with him. As the snow started to come down harder and the wind picked up, I fantasised about starting a Real World/Land smuggling operation. The first thing I would import was thermal underwear.
We made it all the way around the mountain. I called a halt just before we came to the part of the path where we could be seen by the Yew House above. Araf didn’t argue with me. I was exhausted walking with the packs and Araf must have been shattered carrying a man on his shoulder. I got a fire going with some kindling I found in Spideog’s bag, brewed up some willow tea and got some into the injured archer. It did the trick.
‘Where is my bow?’
�
��Take it easy, Spideog. Don’t try to talk.’
The old guy grabbed my shoulder and opened his eyes. ‘My bow, where is it?’
‘Rest,’ I said.
‘Tell him,’ Brendan said.
‘You tell him.’
‘I was out cold. If you know what happened to his bow then tell him.’
‘My bow,’ Spideog said, trying to get to his feet, ‘I must go back for it.’
‘Wooh, big guy, you are in no fit shape to go anywhere. Your bow is gone. The Oracle trashed it.’
‘What do you mean trashed it? You mean he took it.’
‘No, sir, it’s trashed, destroyed. He waved his hand and it exploded into splinters.’
‘That is not possible,’ he said, grabbing me by my coat. ‘You lie.’
Araf reached over and gently took his hand from my lapel. ‘It is true, Master. I saw it with my own eyes. This fell from your clothing when I first put you down.’ Araf handed him a splintered piece of yew wood.
He took it and began to cry. ‘It is true,’ he moaned, ‘I am not worthy.’
It was hard to watch a man so strong look so defeated. I rummaged through the bags until I found the flask of poteen that my mother had given me before we left and administered some to the unresisting archer. Brendan held him until he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Araf and I debated how long we should rest. I thought it would be a good idea to wait until dark before we entered the part of the path that exposed us to attack from the Yew House above, but Araf thought we should get going before the snow got so bad that we all just slipped off the side of the mountain. I agreed with him when I realised I could no longer feel my toes.
I didn’t even bother to look up when we were in sight of the Yew House. I figured it wouldn’t take much to take us out and if it came, I didn’t really want to see it coming. Despite our fears, we passed unmolested. We donned crampons when we reached the ice ford we had crossed earlier. The snow on the other side was starting to drift so we tried keeping our crampons on but there wasn’t enough snow for that. Crampons are great on ice and packed snow but on solid rock they just make your footing worse. Saying that, when we took them off we still slipped all over the place. After Brendan went down and almost slipped off the side, we all put a single crampon on one foot. We marched through the night limping like the winning team at a shin-kicking competition.
Three quarters of the way down the mountain the snow turned to rain. Wool and rain are not a good mix. It made me feel sorry for sheep. We found a wide and almost sheltered part of the path and camped for what remained of the night. The tea and stale rations did nothing to lift our mood. I had a feeling only a hot bath and a dry change of clothes could do that for me and I wasn’t sure if Spideog would ever recover.
Spideog mumbled in his sleep at first but then like the rest of us settled down until awakened by a damp dawn. Brendan shook me awake from what was becoming a recurring dream of Essa holding hands with an invisible man. What did that dream mean? Was the invisible man supposed to be me?
The fog was so bad that dawn was almost unnoticeable; the view seemed as if we were looking at a white sheet. It was damp cold and the squelching noise my trousers made as I got up cemented my misery.
Spideog was up and on his feet. He walked like a man in a trance. Without a word he began to break camp so we followed suit and then trekked after him down the mountain.
‘Has he said anything?’ I whispered to Brendan.
‘Not a word,’ he replied behind his hand. ‘He just got up and got going. Are you going to say anything to him?’
‘I’m not going to talk to him – you talk to him.’
‘I’m not talking to him.’
We both looked to Araf.
‘I don’t say anything to anybody,’ the Imp mumbled. ‘I am not starting now.’
We followed the silent archer down the mountain. For a guy who had just been pulverised by an evil warlock he set a pretty crisp pace.
You would think that going downhill would be easer than uphill and you would be right, but not by as much as you would think. My calf muscles screamed with the effort it took to stop me from becoming a runaway teen.
It was nightfall by the time we reached the base of the mountain. I suggested to Spideog that he should get some rest, but he looked at me like I had just stomped on his puppy and disappeared into the forest. By the time he had returned with wood and a rabbit, Araf had the beginnings of a fire going. Brendan and I put up a very flimsy lean-to to keep off the rain. Together we ate in silence, none of us daring to speak for fear of being killed by the archer’s evil eye. When he finished eating and started to set up a bedroll I bravely said, ‘Thank you, Spideog, the meal was lovely.’
He didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
Brendan, Araf and I sat around the fire staring at each other for a while. Each waited for the other to speak but none of us wanted to break the vow of silence that the old man seemed to have imposed on the group. We bedded down. Ah, there is nothing like sliding between two wet blankets, in your wet clothes, as the rain leaks onto your head.
Spideog seemed to be as broken as his bow. As the old song says, you don’t know what you got till it’s gone, and losing the courage and the sureness of our leader was unnerving – scary. I lay there and mixed all of my troubles together, letting them roll down the mountain of my mind like a giant snowball: I was cold and wet, my father was dying and this trip was a complete failure and then there was Essa. I had been trying to avoid thinking about her. I had been trying to cover over my hurt with bravado, but hurt I was. She didn’t wait for me. She didn’t wait for me.
‘Why would she?’ replied Araf, who was lying next to me.
‘What?’
‘You are talking about Essa, yes?’
‘Oh, sorry, Araf, I didn’t realise I was speaking out loud.’
‘Oh dear, that’s not a good sign.’
‘Do you know him?’ I asked.
‘Who?’
‘The Banshee she’s marrying.’
‘Of course,’ the Imp replied, ‘He is The Turlow.’
‘Is he a good guy?’
‘What is a “good guy”, Conor? You are speaking in a Real World tongue – also not a good sign.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Is he a good man?’
‘The few dealings I have had with him have been favourable. Many like him. Some do not, but that is the price you pay when you are a leader.’
‘Everybody likes you, Araf,’ I said as I playfully kicked him in the back.
‘Ah well, I am special.’
No matter how low I was I had to laugh at that. Araf cracks so few jokes that ignoring one would be a crime.
‘Well, I don’t like him.’
‘And why do you think that is?’ inquired Araf. ‘Could it be you don’t like him because Essa does?’
‘No, that’s not why. Well, it’s not entirely why. I don’t like the way he talks to her. It makes me want to throw up. And he called me a Faerie.’
‘What is wrong with that?’
‘Well, how would you like it if he called you a Faerie?’
‘I would think it strange considering I am an Imp, but why would you object?’
‘Are you calling me a Faerie?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Araf said, sounding a bit confused.
‘Because I’m not a Faerie.’
‘Yes you are, Conor. Surely you knew that? I am an Imp, Turlow is a Banshee and you, Essa, Gerard and Spideog are Faeries.’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s just great – a perfect ending to a perfect day.’
I dropped my head back onto my soggy pillow and thought, well at least I couldn’t get much lower – but then I had another thought.
‘Araf,’ I called out into the damp dark, ‘would I be correct in assuming that I am the Prince of All the Faeries?’
‘Of course.’
‘Great,’ I said, as my head slosh
ed on my pillow, ‘just great.’
Acorn woke me with a head butt and a snort just before dawn. The previous night I had asked Araf where the horses were and he said, ‘They will be here.’ He was so casual about it I believed him and, sure enough, there they were. I got up – there is no point in staying in a bed when it’s cold and damp. Spideog was up too. He had rekindled the fire and was going through the packs.
‘I am only taking the bare necessities,’ he said without greeting me. ‘You three will have plenty of supplies for the rest of the journey.’
‘What do you mean you three?’
‘I must face the yews,’ Spideog said.
‘You’re leaving us?’ I said, loud enough to disturb the others.
He ignored me and continued to pack.
‘How will we get back?’
‘Travel that way,’ he said, pointing, ‘and stop when you see oak trees.’
Brendan came up and crouched down next to Spideog. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘I’ll go with you.’
‘No,’ he said in a tone that made it clear that this was not up for discussion.
Still Brendan persisted. ‘You can’t go alone.’
‘I said NO!’ the old man shouted, then calmed himself. ‘Your party needs an archer.’
Brendan stood and chuckled. ‘These two? Araf and Conor will be fine on their own. You are the one I am worried about. You are still weak from your fight. I can help you.’
Spideog stood, turned and with the speed of a striking snake grabbed the detective by his lapels. He had a mad look in his eyes. ‘I’m going to face the yews. Do you not understand? I’m going to be judged. I’m going to be judged – again. I’m going to tell the yews that I lost my bow. They are… they are going to kill me.’ He let go of Brendan and turned his back on all of us, his head bowed.
‘Do not go,’ Araf said.
‘That would be like asking you not to dig in the ground, Imp. I am an archer, I am Spideog the Archer. To be without a bow would be like being a bear without claws.’