Prince of Hazel and Oak s-2

by John Lenahan

  ‘Let us hope you have no need to use it.’

  As he was speaking his head shrank down into his collar and those downy white feathers sprouted again. He leaned his whole body back (since his neck no longer tilted up and down), pointed to a space in the tree above Yogi and let loose a screech that made my blood run cold. It was like something out of a cheap horror movie. When I looked to see what Yogi was doing, he wasn’t there. In his place was a pile of clothes. Yogi, now fully a bear, was climbing with lightning speed. Once in the tree there was a lot of screaming and growling combined with Tuan’s screeching and pointing. I couldn’t see much and didn’t have a clue what was going on. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a falling, screaming Brownie. Yogi climbed down so fast that I thought he was falling too. Tuan, now normal-headed, and I ran to the crumpled Brownie but just as we reached him, Yogi Bear came towards him roaring and we both backed off. The bear picked up the fallen Brownie and gripped him in what I can only describe as a bear hug.

  ‘Come down,’ Tuan shouted to the treetops, ‘and I will try to convince my cousin not to eat your friend.’

  We waited for a half a minute. ‘Oh well,’ Tuan said, gesturing to Yogi, ‘enjoy your meal.’

  The Brownie was comatose with fear; he didn’t even whimper as Yogi opened his jaws wide enough to eat him whole.

  ‘I have a crossbow aimed at you all!’ a squeaky voice hollered from the dark. The second Brownie it seemed had jumped to another tree and was now shouting to us from the forest to our right.

  Tuan stepped slowly away. ‘And just how can you have one bolt aimed at all of us?’ he shouted into the dark. ‘If you shoot me it will not save your friend. If you shoot the bear then you will only succeed in making him angry.’

  From the shadows a man, tall even for a Brownie, appeared. I find it so difficult to judge the age of Brownies, they all look like kids to me, but the way this guy carried himself, I suspected that he had been in sticky situations before. He stepped slowly towards us with his crossbow levelled at Tuan. ‘Then I choose to shoot you.’

  ‘You could try,’ Tuan said with equal coolness, ‘but that would not help your companion.’

  Yogi roared again. I felt sorry for his poor captive as bear slobber dripped down the side of his face.

  ‘Tell the bear to release him or I drop you,’ the Brownie said.

  ‘Put away your weapon and we can talk,’ Tuan replied. ‘There is no reason why anyone should be injured here.’

  The Brownie in Yogi’s arms tried to say something but the bear covered his face with his arm. All that came out were a couple of muffled yelps.

  The one with the crossbow nervously glanced from Tuan to Yogi but never took his aim from the Pooka prince. ‘The one that is soon to be injured is you, Pooka.’

  ‘I really do not think that will be the case,’ Tuan said at almost the exact moment that Essa materialised behind the armed Brownie. With an upward flick of her banta stick she hit underneath the crossbow, sending a singing bolt flying into the night sky. A micro-second later, the other end of the stick cracked him on the neck and he went down onto his knees. Araf appeared out of the darkness and hogtied the would-be assassin with a scarf. Brendan, relaxing his grip on his bow, and Turlow, sporting his Banshee blade, also stepped into the campfire light.

  Yogi placed his captive in a one-armed headlock and slipped his athru disc into his mouth. I’m not sure what scared the poor little guy more: being almost eaten by a bear or instantly discovering that he was in a wrestler’s hold with a naked guy. Tuan relieved Yogi of his captive while he went back under the tree and put his clothes back on. The two night stalkers were plopped in front of the fire. Araf asked them if they were injured, but they weren’t talking.

  ‘Well,’ I said, rubbing my hands together, ‘it seems we have guests. Tea anyone?’ I addressed the Brownies. ‘I suspect you two would like willow, yes?’

  The tall one glared at me then said, ‘The alders will report that you have us captive. You will be surrounded by the King’s men in hours.’

  ‘Good,’ Brendan said. ‘It’s about time we received an escort. This guy here, he’s Prince Conor of Duir. Him and him are Princes Tuan and Araf of Pine and Heather?’ Brendan looked to the princes to check if he got it right; they nodded and smiled. ‘And the girl that clocked you in the head, she is Princess Essa from the boozy Vinelands and oh yeah – over there is The Turlow. I’m pretty sure he outranks everybody.’

  ‘And who are you?’ the increasingly worried-looking Brownie asked.

  ‘I’m a cop and you, pal – are very busted. Personally I’m surprised that you want the trees to tell. If I had been rumbled in my own backyard by a bunch of royal hoity-toities and then laid out by a girl, I’d maybe not want my boss to know about it.’

  The Brownie started to say something but Brendan interrupted him.

  ‘On the other hand if you call your boss and tell him that you have met the royal entourage and are escorting them to Castle Alderland, then I suspect my fellow travellers would be delighted to have you along.’

  Brendan looked around; everyone shrugged and nodded yes.

  The tall Brownie was no dummy. It only took him about a second for the truth of what Detective Fallon was saying to sink in. Despite the panic in his eyes his voice was incredibly calm. ‘May I speak with the alder, please?’

  Araf untied him and he walked quickly over to the tree. Araf released the smaller one too and I handed him a cup of willow tea that he took with appreciation.

  When he returned from speaking to the tree, the tall Brownie approached the fire and bowed. ‘My name is Dell of the King’s guard,’ he said formally. ‘Welcome to the Alderlands. It is my duty and pleasure to escort you to Fearn Keep.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dell and What’s-His-Name

  ‘So,’ I asked, ‘what about that army of Brownies that is supposed to be coming to your rescue?’

  ‘It is not unusual for alder trees to misinterpret the actions of people in The Land,’ the Brownie said. ‘There is no approaching army.’

  You couldn’t deny that this guy was smooth.

  Dell drank a cup of willow tea with us but wasn’t interested in answering our questions. I offered them Brendan’s tent. I even volunteered to pitch it for them but they chose to sleep in the trees. Although the chances of being robbed or attacked were slim, now that our stalkers had become our escorts, the thought of sleeping while Brownies looked down didn’t fill us with enough security to abandon keeping watch. Tuan was knackered from his birdie-head trick so I offered to take the first shift.

  I sat alone in front of the crackling fire and searched the trees to see if I could spot where Dell and his pal were sleeping. I couldn’t see anything. I remembered the first time I had been alone at night in The Land, keeping watch by a fire. I remembered how awesome the strange star-filled night sky had been. Now I just stared up and shivered. The black silhouettes of the leafless branches made the starry sky look cracked and broken. On my first trip to The Land everything was new and wonderful but now everything was just cold and miserable. What had changed – me or The Land? The obvious answer was The Land. Fergal wasn’t in it any more. Tir na Nog in my mind was the place where my cousin Fergal lived. His loss weighed on me like a stone yoke around my neck. Even if I was getting used to the weight of it, I always knew it was there.

  And Dad wasn’t here. I knew this was the time in my life where I wanted to figure stuff out by myself but the idea of him not being out there somewhere, just as a safety net, unnerved me. A world without Dad – any world without Dad – just didn’t seem right. What if he doesn’t make it? I pushed that thought out of my mind.

  I was glad Brendan was here. Not just because he got my Real World jokes but because it felt like he belonged here. But he wasn’t gonna stay long. As soon as Dad got better or come the next Samhain, he’d be out of here – back to his daughter and his crazy mother.

  The most annoying thing was Turlow. I
don’t care if Brendan and Araf like him – I just don’t want to like him. He gets in the way of me and Essa. There’s no law that says I have to like him. Can’t I just dislike someone regardless of whether they are likable or not?

  ‘You look to be a man deep in the midst moral dilemma,’ said a voice to my left. It was Turlow. ‘Can I be of assistance?’

  ‘Oh no,’ I laughed, ‘I don’t think this moral dilemma is one you can help me with. What are you doing awake?’

  ‘The thought of Brownies in the trees is not a restful one. Sleep eludes me.’

  ‘That I can understand,’ I agreed.

  Considering that this particular Banshee was not my favourite person, one would be excused for thinking I was annoyed that he disturbed my solitude, but to be honest I was glad that someone broke my morose musings.

  ‘Actually, Turlow, there is something I have been meaning to ask you about.’

  ‘Yes?’ Turlow took a seat and I offered him a cup of tea made from the stuff that Queen Rhiannon had given me. He took a sip and raised his eyebrows in approval. ‘What would you like to know, Conor?’

  ‘You are The Turlow?’

  ‘You have been waiting to ask me that?’

  ‘No, I mean you are like the King of the Banshees – right?’

  He frowned at that and took a sip of his tea, collecting his thoughts. ‘Actually, Conor, you were right the first time. I am not a king, I am The Turlow.’

  ‘OK, but you’re like the head Banshee?’ I pressed.

  Turlow smiled at this and said, ‘I am tempted to repeat myself and say once again that I am The Turlow – for that title is all the definition that is needed by me or my clan – but yes, I suppose you could say I am the head Banshee.’

  ‘And do all Banshees acknowledge this?’

  There had been a light-heartedness to our conversation up till then but it disappeared with that question. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was wondering about the Banshees in the Reedlands. You may have heard from Essa that they attacked us and many suspect that they were responsible for the destruction of the Hall of Knowledge. Are they not your subjects?’

  ‘I have no subjects, Conor. Being a Turlow is much more like being a father than a ruler. As it has been since the beginning of time, a father who pushes too hard one day finds that his son chooses to listen no longer. I do not rule, I just am.’

  He continued. ‘As for the Banshees in the Reedlands, I knew nothing about them or your attack until after your father regained Duir. This is very worrying for me. I have sent parties to find them – most have failed, while others have failed to return. The Reedlands is a treacherous place.’

  ‘But you must know where they came from?’

  ‘I have my suspicions.’

  ‘And they are?’

  He started to answer me but then stopped himself and thought for a bit. ‘I have not been The Turlow long. During the time of my tenure my clan has been… uneasy. The cause of this uneasiness was your uncle.’

  Now there was a surprise. 6; Cialtie has been known to have that effect,’ I said. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Years ago he travelled to the Banshee shores. No dignitary of the House of Duir had been there in eons. My predecessor the Old Turlow greeted him as befitted a Prince of Oak. Cialtie stayed among us and befriended the younger members of the clan – including, I must admit, myself. He spoke of how lowly regarded the Banshee were in The Land and when no elders were around he spoke of a time when the Banshees would rule at his side.

  ‘When the Old Turlow heard of this, he accused Cialtie of creating unrest. The Old Turlow ordered him to leave. Cialtie, appalled that a Son of Duir should be treated so, left, but with him he took a small group who openly defied the Old Turlow.

  ‘When Cialtie attained the Oak Throne he came back to the Banshee shores. Although the Old Turlow did not like it, he welcomed him as one should the Head of the House of Duir, but when your uncle proclaimed that he wanted the new army of Duir to be made up entirely of Banshees, the Old Turlow said no. “Banshees defend the far shore, they are not mercenaries.” Cialtie countered that all of the shores of The Land are the shores of Duir. The Old Turlow put his foot down, but the temptation was too great. Cialtie offered gold and a good life in Castle Duir. Many of my people joined him. The embarrassment of their desertion caused the Old Turlow to sail out to sea in shame. That is the sad truth of how my tenure as The Turlow began.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘I kept my word to the Old Turlow. I did not meet with Cialtie but I also did not forbid any of my clan from joining his army. After all he did hold the Oak Rune. If the Chamber of Runes deemed him worthy, who was I to disagree? Of course, now, it is easy to see that the Old Turlow had been right. Cialtie did not deserve the throne and too much Banshee blood was needlessly spilled in his name. If I had known then what I know now…’ He shook his head. ‘That thinking is the path to madness.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain the Reedland Banshees.’

  ‘The causes of war vary but the effects are almost always the same. One effect is that some men of war never tire of the fight. I suspect the Banshees who live in that unholy swamp are of that ilk. That is why I came to help Dahy. If I cannot find my renegades in the Reedlands, at least I can help defend the Hazellands from another attack.’

  ‘So why are you here and not there?’

  ‘Little did I suppose that when I came to the Hazellands that I would meet a royal woman as strong and fair as Princess Essa.’

  ‘Yeah, lucky you,’ I said, drinking the last of my now cold tea.

  ‘I am very fortunate indeed. You said, Conor, that you wanted to ask me a question; now I have one that I have always wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Once you had her, why in The Land would you have let Essa go?’

  I toyed with the idea of grabbing a flaming log from the fire and clocking him with it. I even imagined the spectacular shower of sparks as he went down. Instead I answered his question with a question. ‘Do you remember what you asked me at the beginning of this conversation?’ When he looked confused I answered for him. ‘You asked if you could help me with my moral dilemma. Would you like to know what my dilemma was?’

  Turlow shrugged.

  ‘I was debating whether it was OK to like you or not.’

  ‘And what conclusion did you reach?’

  ‘I’d gotten as far as deciding that I don’t like you.’

  ‘And you were wondering if that is OK?’

  ‘Basically,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Conor, I don’t like you very much either.’

  ‘You don’t?’ I said enthusiastically. ‘That’s good to hear.’

  Turlow smiled and shook his head. ‘You are a strange man, Prince of Oak. Go to your tent, I will take your watch.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘There is no sleep in my near future – go.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘but don’t think this will make me like you any better.’

  ‘Good night, Conor,’ Turlow said with that exasperated tone that I usually reserve for my friends and relatives. It didn’t sound right coming from him.

  I dreamt that night that the two Brownies climbed down from the tree wearing army uniforms. Then uniformed Brownies dropped from every tree, as far as the eye could see. They converged into ranks until a huge Brownie army marched towards me from all directions. Just as they were about to overwhelm me someone pointed to the sky and we all looked up.

  I opened my eyes to see Brendan looming over me in the tent. It was still dark outside.

  ‘What’s up?’ I croaked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  So I did.

  Tuan and Yogi offered to share a horse and give Yogi’s mount for the Brownies to ride. They declined the offer. I figured that since our guides were on foot that it would be a slow travel day – wrong. These guys wer
e speedy. They moved so fast I felt like an old English fox hunter. It was actually hard to keep up. Mostly because the trails they chose were made for runners, not riders. I spent the whole day getting whipped in the face by alder branches that I suspected enjoyed it.

  We broke for lunch and offered food to our guides. They might not be willing to share information with us but they had no problem packing away our food. I guess if you run as fast as a horse for four hours, you are entitled to eat like one. These guys each wolfed down what three of us would have had at a feast. I made sure I didn’t reach for any food at the same time as one of them for fear of losing a finger.

  I said this to Essa, who I noticed chose to sit next to me at lunch, and she laughed so hard she almost spat out what she was eating. I may not have the Turd-low’s good looks or kingly crown but I can make that girl laugh. That’s gotta count for something, right?

  That afternoon the trail became wider and less whack-a-face but instead of going faster the Brownies slowed down to almost a jog. I couldn’t figure out if these guys had burned themselves out on their morning sprint or if they had been running deliberately fast so that our faces were lacerated for the amusement of the alder trees. Araf, who is normally not the suspicious type, had a different take on it. He got the impression that the Brownies were deliberately slowing us down but he couldn’t say why.

  Late in the afternoon the Brownies halted for ‘tea’. Essa forcefully pointed out that we do not halt for tea but even her menacing glare, a look that has withered many a determined man, could not dissuade Dell and his yet unnamed sidekick from plopping themselves down in the frozen dirt and demanding food.

  ‘Don’t they feed you in Brownieville?’ Brendan asked.

  Dell ignored him and the other one’s mouth was too full to talk.

  Brendan casually pulled me aside during our afternoon tea. ‘You had a long chat with Turlow last night.’

  ‘Are you spying on me? I’m surprised I didn’t find you waiting up in the tent saying, “And what time do you call this?”’