by John Lenahan
Just before I mounted up, Turlow looked over his shoulder and placed his face close to mine. In a conspiratorial whisper he said, ‘I don’t want to embarrass you in front of the others, Conor. But from one royal to another, I’d like to give you a piece of advice.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, my friend,’ he said, ‘you could really use a bath.’
People always complain about winter but not me. I like winter or, I should say, I used to. What I used to like about winter was the indoor stuff: the crackling warm fires, hearty soups and stews, and cosy quilts. This travelling around outside on horseback in the winter is for the birds. I take that back – even the birds have enough sense to fly someplace warm in the winter. Saying that, if I had to be outside this time of year it might as well have been on a day like this one. It was glorious – sharp, cold, with bright sunshine pouring from an indigo-blue sky. Mom had packed me a fox fur hat and mittens that kept my ears and fingers toasty warm. If only I had a pair of cool Rayban sunglasses I would have been perfectly contented to be out in the elements.
This was not a Sunday afternoon jaunt to visit Mother Oak – we had serious distance to cover. Essa set a near brutal pace that meant leisurely chats on horseback were out. Not that a private chat with Essa would have been possible anyway. The Turd-low stuck to her side like a duckling to its mother. Even during the infrequent short rests, he was attached to her like a burr. It made me think that she really must like him, ’cause if I crowded Essa that much I’d probably be bleeding before not very long.
On the first night I went to bed immediately after dinner. I said I was tired but the truth of it was that I just couldn’t stand to watch the two of them snuggled up together in the firelight.
I awoke the next morning and thought I had gone blind overnight. Fog had crept in that was so thick I literally couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. When The Land does weather, it doesn’t do it in halves. It made me hope that we would avoid snow on this trip. At breakfast I spoke to Brendan and asked him to strike up a conversation with Turlow sometime during the day so I could have a chat with Essa. He said he would and added that he would also pass a note to her in the playground, if I wantim to.
The morning ride was so slow that we might as well have been walking. It wasn’t until an hour before noon that the fog lifted enough so that we could at least canter without braining ourselves on trees. Turlow dropped back and said that Essa wanted to talk to me. It looked like Brendan wouldn’t have to make forced small talk after all.
When I pulled up next to Essa she said, ‘So what do you want to talk to me about?’
‘I thought you wanted to talk to me?’
‘Turlow told me that you asked Brendan to distract him so you could talk to me in private.’
‘Oh, he heard that, did he?’
‘That is what he told me. So what is so important?’
‘Nothing’s important, I just wanted to… you know, talk.’
‘About what?’
‘I don’t know; maybe about how come you got engaged in like three months?’
‘That’s what you wanted to talk about?’
It wasn’t – well, it was, but it was stupid to use it as an opening conversational gambit but since I started, I just ploughed on. ‘It’s as good a topic as any.’
‘And I have to justify my actions to you – why?’ she said in a tone that made me realise that we were probably going down a conversational cul-de-sac.
‘You don’t have to justify anything. I just think it’s strange that you went all bridal so soon after my departure.’
‘Let me get this straight – you think that my getting engaged is because I couldn’t have you?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it like that but…’
‘Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,’ she hissed. ‘You are the most arrogant, pop-headed imbecile I have ever met.’
‘Pop-headed?’
‘Do you have anything else to discuss?’
‘Yeah, what does pop-headed mean?’
She made that exasperated Essa noise that she frequently makes just before she pummels you. ‘You are dismissed,’ she said.
Now I wasn’t really into continuing this stupid argument, or getting pummelled for that matter, but I was not about to be sent away like a lackey. Thinking about it, I wouldn’t even be that rude to a lackey – and I don’t even know what a lackey is.
‘Dismissed! You are dismissing me? Oh thank you, Your Royal Highness, for the privilege of your company. If there is anything else your Sire-ship requires don’t hesitate to order your Turd-low to sneak in and overhear it.’
I pulled the reins on Acorn and let Her Ladyship pull ahead. Turlow passed me on the left and said, ‘That did not sound very good.’
I spotted a glimpse of a smirk on his face as he caught up with his fiancee.
Araf came abreast. ‘That didn’t sound very good,’ he said.
Araf it seemed had learned how to make unnecessary comments. I have only myself to blame ’cause I think he learned that from me. I let him go by and dropped into step with Brendan.
‘That didn’t sound very good,’ Brendan said.
‘That seems to be the consensus. Could you really hear us all the way back here?’
‘Let’s just say if you two ever get married, I don’t want to live next door.’
‘Don’t worry, there is not much chance of that.’
‘Conor, can I give you a piece of constructive advice?’
‘Go ahead,’ I sighed.
‘Stop being such a jerk.’
‘That’s constructive advice?’ I asked.
‘Well maybe not – but it is advice.’
‘So I’m the jerk? What about her? She was the one that tore my head off.’
‘And you did nothing to provoke her?’
‘No. Well, OK yes, but she overreacted and what about Turd-low creeping around in the dark listening in on our conversations.’
‘It wasn’t dark, it was in that pea-soup fog, remember? And he told me that he was just sitting next to us doing some Banshee meditation and we disturbed him.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘Conor, I can see why you don’t like him but I hate to tell you this – he seems like a nice guy.’
‘Well, you thought I was a murderer, so forgive me if I don’t trust your judgement.’
Brendan just shrugged. He wasn’t looking for a fight and it made me realise I didn’t need another one either, so I changed the subject.
‘Speaking of difficult women, where is my aunt?’
‘She’s a gone out a-huntin.’
‘Hunting? My Aunt Nieve?’
‘She thought it was strange that we weren’t seeing any animals the closer we got to these Pinelands. So she nipped off to look for some. Ever since she mentioned it, I’ve noticed that I haven’t seen a lot of living things around here for a while. Have you?’
‘I haven’t been looking,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been too busy wooing Essa.’
‘Right, how’s that going?’
‘You know, Brendan, I liked you better when you were a mean cop. This sarcastic Brendan is annoying.’
‘Nieve doesn’t think I’m annoying. In fact this morning she said I was quite funny.’
‘You had a conversation with Nieve? I thought you were sared of her?’
‘Oh, I’m still plenty scared of her but you can’t deny that she is quite beautiful.’
‘Yes, I noticed that when I first saw her, but it went away.’
‘When you found out she was your aunt?’
‘No, when she tried to kill me. I find I lose that loving feeling with women that try to kill me.’
‘Didn’t Essa try to kill you?’
I didn’t have a good answer for that, so I ignored it.
Chapter Eighteen
The Pinelands
The next couple of days were clear but icy cold. In the morning, frost covered our tents, which meant getting out of my
cosy sleeping roll was almost impossible. Essa continued to set a pace bordering on the maniacal. In short, the entire trip was extremely not fun – but it seemed I was the only one who thought so. The princess and the Banshee lovebirds were as sickly as ever. Brendan and Nieve were getting along so well I could have sworn I heard my aunt actually giggle. That left me and Araf, and when he did talk, it was about the native flora or what a nice guy he thought Turlow was. I decided that my only course of action was to pout.
Either this group was a bunch of insensitive louts (which I am not discounting) or I wasn’t doing it right. A proper pout should influence the mood of the entire group making them all almost as miserable as the poutee but my travelling companions seemed to be un-bring-down-able. If I complained about the cold they would say, ‘Yes, but look at the blue skies.’ If I sighed heavily and went to bed immediately after dinner they would just say, ‘Good night.’ I figured they would notice if I went off my food but as soon as chow was placed in front of me – I ate it. You have to be really committed to call a hunger-strike pout.
Actually one person noticed my sulk – Turlow. He slipped in next to me and said, ‘You don’t seem to be enjoying our little jaunt, Master Faerie.’
‘I’m having a grand time,’ I answered without looking at him.
‘I don’t believe you. How can you not be in high spirits when you are in the company of Essa of Muhn? Oh, but you’re not really in her company that much, are you? Shame, I’m having a lovely time.’
‘You done?’ I asked.
‘Funny,’ he said as he kicked his horse and sped back to the front, ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’
A couple of days later the mood of the group turned, but I suspect that it had a lot less to do with my pouting than it had to do with us reaching the edge of the Pinelands.
Like many of the lands in Tir na Nog, you know you’re in the Pinelands when you get there. It starts with rolling hills filled with – can you guess? – pine trees. Actually the trees are silver fir – ailm in the ancient language of Ogham. If you think that a hill filled with pine trees would give the place a nice Christmassy feel, you’d be wrong. These pines were scraggy and downright menacing. Like weird old men with long bedraggled beards who, if you talked to them, would probably say, ‘We don’t cotton onto strangers around here,’ and when you got back to your car your girlfriend would be missing. These trees grew high and hunched over like they wanted to block out as much light as possible. The ground between the trees was a spongy carpet of brown pine needles in which nothing grew.
The trail grew steeper and the pace slower. It was tiring. You would think that since I was on horseback it wouldn’t make any difference whether I was going uphill or down, but Acorn and I had a bond that made me feel some of his effort. All the good riders experienced the same thing, so I guess I was getting pretty good at this riding stuff. We also travelled slower ’cause none of us wanted to make too much noise in this place. If we could have gotten our horses to tiptoe, we would have.
After a couple of wordless hours inclining the Pinelands, Brendan rode up close to me and in a low voice said, ‘This is going to sound very cliched but I-’
‘You feel like someone is watching you?’ I interrupted.
He nodded.
‘Yeah, me too. I thought something was shadowing us over to the left but maybe it’s just these damn trees.’ I said ‘damn’ wordlessly so the trees couldn’t hear me.
We decided that we were better safe than sorry (or dead) so we kept watch. I looked right while Brendan tried to observe left. (Until our necks got sore and we traded sides.) The shapes that this forest made were so different than any nature we had seen before it really spooked us. We were like scared cub scouts by nightfall.
Essa built a tiny fire with the kindling from her pack. It was enough to make some tea and provided just enough light to pitch our tents by. No one complained because the person that did knew that they would have to be the one to ask one of the scary trees for wood. Brendan and I thought we should keep a watch and since we were the only ones that suggested it – we got to do it.
‘I’m going to go out on a limb and say, I don’t really like the Pinelands,’ I said.
‘I’m with you on that one, Mr O’Neil. Miserable, ain’t it?’ Brendan said, trying to warm his hands on the pathetic fire. ‘For the first time in a long while I’m glad my daughter isn’t with me.’
‘You don’t talk about her much.’
‘I think about her all of the time, that’s enough.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Ruby.’
‘Ruby, that’s a nice name.’
‘You think? I like it now, Ican’t imagine her having any other name but when my wife suggested it I thought it sounded like the name of the local good-time girl.’
‘It’s also the name of a precious gem.’
Brendan smiled a sad smile of a homesick man. ‘That’s my pet name for her – Gem.’
I wanted to ask him more about his family but it was too cold and too dark.
‘Screw this,’ I said, standing. ‘What is the point of keeping watch if it’s so dark that you can’t even see anything coming?’ I turned to the woods. ‘And I’m freezing my butt off.’
‘You going to bed?’ Brendan asked.
‘No, I’m gonna get some firewood.’
‘From where? You’re not going to talk to those trees, are you?’
‘What are they going to do, kill me?’
‘Didn’t you tell me that there are trees in The Land that can?’
He had a point, but I ignored him. If this stupid quest was going to force me to be out of doors in the middle of the winter I was going to have a roaring fire, damn it. I walked up to the nearest pine, which wasn’t very close. We had chosen a campsite in one of the few clearings we had found. The closer I got to the trees the worse this idea got. My courage slipped out of me with every step. The faint light from our poor excuse for a campfire cast creepy shadows. I started to think, do I really need to be any warmer? I’ll just throw another blanket over me. I stopped under the huge gnarled tree. A cold sweat ran down my armpit and then a shiver shook me from ear to knee. What am I, I asked myself, am I a man or a mouse? I knew I didn’t have any cheese with me so I closed my eyes and touched my hand to the rough bark.
When you first touch most trees in The Land it’s like a brain-scan. You don’t tell them anything, they just zap into your cranium and take any information they need. I squeezed my eyes closed and waited. Nothing. I opened one eye and quietly said, ‘Hello?’
‘Are you a Pooka?’
That question shot into my head but instead of it sounding (or should I say feeling) like a nasty old hillbilly, I got the impression of a scared kid.
I tried to reply just by thinking – still nothing. Hello, I thought, then out loud I said, ‘Anybody in there?’
‘Are you a Pooka?’ the tree asked again. His voice sounded frantic, laced with childish overexcitement.
‘No, I’m…’ I sighed and admitted, ‘I’m a Faerie.’
‘Do you know where the Pookas are?’
‘No, we are looking for them ourselves.’
‘Oh, when you see them could you tell them…’
I don’t remember anything after that for a while. Brendan said I shot straight back about three feet and was out huge gr about five minutes. At first he thought I was dead. When I came to I had a huge throbbing headache and couldn’t really make sense of anything for a while. Brendan helped me over to the fire, gave me some willow tea and put me into my tent. In my dreams, I was a pinball going from pine tree to pine tree. Every time I was just ready to stop, a pine would whack me and I would bounce around the forest until I stopped at another, then I would get whacked again. I wouldn’t call my night… refreshing.
I awoke to the smell and sound of a roaring fire. Everyone was up. Essa and Nieve were in the distance with their arms around trees. Brendan handed me a cup of tea.
&n
bsp; ‘Where’d you get the firewood?’ I asked.
‘From the pines. They are very nice once you get to know them.’
‘Or until they attack you with some sort of brain-exploding beam.’
‘No one tried to explode your brain. It’s just that M over there’ – Brendan pointed to the tree I had chatted with last night – ‘has been way behind on his emailing. He got overexcited.’
‘M?’
‘Well, I can’t pronounce his name – I think it starts with an M so that’s what I call him. He likes it. He never had a nickname before. Nice kid.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘OK, here is what M and L over there’ – he pointed to a big old tree – ‘and Nieve have told me. Trees communicate with one another in The Land. Like when you told me not to talk around the beech trees because they gossip and I thought you were bonkers?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So when you enter a wood, the whole forest knows about it ’cause they talk to each other.’
‘Brendan, you’re not telling me anything I didn’t know.’
‘Yes, but that’s the point. Pine trees can’t talk to each other. And nobody knew it, except the Pookas.’
‘So why did M attack me?’
‘He didn’t attack you – he just got carried away. The Pookas carry messages from one tree to another. L, that old tree over there, told me that they do it without even thinking. Apparently Pookas just walk through the forest touching trees, picking up and dropping messages as they go. They’re like tree postal workers.’
‘So where are they?’
‘Well, L over there thinks he has seen a couple of Pookas in their animal forms but they haven’t spoken to him and he hasn’t seen one in human form since the middle of the summer. Poor M is just a kid. He hasn’t been able to send a message to any of his gang in ages. When he talked to you he got excited and loaded about five months’ worth of notes into your head. It was equivalent to having a hundred pound mailbag dropped on your noggin. He told me to tell you he was sorry.’
‘So where are the Pookas?’
‘That’s what Nieve and Essa are trying to find out. It’s slow going. Every time you talk to a tree they beg you to pass a message on for them. It’s hard to say no.’