by John Lenahan
I looked to Araf; he nodded in agreement. I turned to Brendan and said, ‘Oops.’
Turlow was still steamed. He walked right up to Brendan and said, ‘To lose a wife must be an awful thing. That has obviously clouded your judgement so I will let this event go unpunished – but touch me again, Real Worlder, and you will see your own blood.’
Brendan didn’t waver in his gaze; he looked the Banshee straight in the eyes and said, ‘I am sorry.’
Turlow nodded, indicating that he had heard but not necessarily forgiven, and went over to his saddlebag, took out some dried meat and passed it around to everyone, including Brendan.
‘And here’s me thinking that lunch was going to be dull,’ I said, saddling up. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
We all mounted up except for Brendan who just stood there, staring into space, the rain dripping off of his face. Finally I said, ‘Druid, are you coming?’
That broke his reverie and produced a sad smile on his face. ‘No, not a Druid, just a cop who should have known better. I’m sorry, everyone.’
That afternoon’s journey was silent and tense. I got the feeling that Brendan was kicking himself and that Turlow wanted to join in. The rest of us didn’t dare say anything lest we jump-start a bust-up. The ice-cold rain had stopped but a frigid sea breeze made sure we remembered how damp we were. Our tongues tasted the salt air and our eyes felt the sting as the sky stayed solid grey as if to match our mood.
I missed Essa. I bet we all did. Hell, we were only without her for one morning before we were at each other’s throats. Periodically, I unconsciously looked for her in our group only to be reminded that she was gone. It made me realise that I had spent the entire journey staring at her as we rode. I hoped she was all right.
An hour or so before dusk, as a thick fog crept in from the sea, Tuan announced that we were here.
‘Where here?’ I asked.
‘Here, here,’ Tuan replied. ‘This is Fearn Point and out there is Red Eel Isle.’
I looked in the direction that the Pooka was pointing. I had trouble seeing the end of his finger let alone an island out to sea.
‘Yeah, it looks lovely,’ I said. ‘I just wish somebody had built a motel here.’
Tuan unpacked the boat that Yogi had brought from the Pinelands. I knew that the Pookas were not known for their nautical skills but this boat was ridiculous. It looked more like a kite than a boat. I knew that it had to be portable but as I examined the skin, which would eventually be stretched over the toothpick frame, I wondered if it would float. I tried to remember if a fortune teller ever predicted that I would end up in a watery grave.
I walked the shore and found a tiny bay on the windward side where the currents had beached tons of driftwood. We were all cold and damp and tempers were frayed. I decided that we didn’t need a fire – we needed a bonfire. Brendan pitched tents and Araf and Turlow threw nets into the sea. After chatting to the fish and letting the ones that wanted to live go free, we ended up with a sea bass each.
Araf produced yet another bottle of nicked Brownie-shine. When I asked him how much he stole, Araf said, ‘The Brownies were well looked after the last time they came to Ur. I took less than what the Brownie King drank his first night. I don’t feel guilty, if that is what you are getting at.’
‘Hey, don’t look at me – I’m all in favour of shoplifting from Brownies.’
After dinner we felt well fed and watered. Brendan and Turlow sat at opposite sides of my inferno. The flames were so high they couldn’t see each other – probably a good thing.
Brendan was in a non-verbal sulk, Tuan was trying to put together a boat in the dark and you know how chatty Araf is, so I was pretty much forced to talk to Turlow or climb into my nice damp sleeping roll.
‘You once asked me how I could have let Essa go,’ I said, sitting next to him. ‘I could now ask you the same thing.’
Turlow didn’t look at me, he kept staring into the fire and said, ‘Not that it is any of your concern, Faerie, but she did not want me to come with her.’
Well, that was the end of that chat. If I wanted to have friendly banter around this campfire, I really needed to work on my ventriloquist act. I stood up and resigned myself to an early night. It was a shame really. I had hoped to have a little fun the night before I turned myself into fish food.
Before I left him I said, ‘Thanks for not stabbing my friend today; he was well out of line.’
‘Brendan was lucky,’ Turlow said. ‘You saved his life today.’
‘I saved his life? You stopped yourself before I even got there.’
‘I was in a rage, Conor, but I stopped when I spotted you out of the corner of my eye. In that, your friend was lucky.’
‘Gosh, I had no idea I had such a calming effect on you.’
Turlow laughed in a way that made me realise I was missing something. ‘Do you know about the Banshee affinity with death?’
I did. My cousin Fergal had once told me that Banshees could sense imminent death. ‘A little,’ I said.
‘I was enraged today. Never in my life have I been treated like that. I was fully prepared kill your countryman but then I saw you and I knew that if I killed him – I would have had to kill you too. I was not prepared to do that.’
‘Oh,’ I said, not really knowing how to reply to a statement like that. ‘Well… ah… thanks.’
I walked back to my tent spooked with the knowledge that I had recently come so close to being killed. I stuck my nose into my tent and smelled the dampness of everything. When I touched my cold wet blankets, I said out loud, ‘Screw this.’
I stumbled back down to the pile of wood by the sea and came back to the fire with an armful of thin branches. I built a little drying frame near the blaze and draped my sleeping roll over it and then I built another for the clothes on my back. Araf spotted me and didn’t wait for an invitation. He built his drying rack and joined me stark naked, howling and dancing around the fire like a Red Indian in a Hollywood Western. Turlow looked on in amazement, while Brendan held fast to his funk and refused to join us. I didn’t care. I had apparently almost died today and I would probably drown tomorrow, so I was dancing and I wasn’t gonna stop. Tuan came back to the fire to ask what all the commotion was about. As I bobbed and weaved I explained the principle of naked dancing/clothes drying. Being a Pooka he had no problem with nudity and was gyrating with us in no time.
The two party-poopers were making it difficult for me to reach that uninhibited mindless state that makes naked fire dancing so much fun. Every time I passed by the moping Brendan or the stern but shocked Turlow, I pleaded with them to join us. It wasn’t until Tuan turned into his shaggy wolfhound and barked at Brendan that he finally smiled and before long the only one wearing any threads was the Banshee. I even stopped and risked freezing my thingy off long enough to build a drying rack for Turlow. Finally he broke when we ganged up on him. When you think about it, four naked men jumping up and down in front of someone, while he is sitting, makes for pretty heavy peer pressure. Turlow was unenthusiastic to begin with but then really got into it. He started spinning like a top and then began screaming like
… well, like a Banshee.
I still had trouble getting trance-like. Something was tugging on my brain cells that kept pulling my consciousness back to reality. Finally I stopped and checked my laundry. My blankets were still wet but my clothes were dry, so I got dressed and decided to take a walk to clear my head. The others were so lost in dance that they didn’t even notice I was gone. I had to walk quite far away before Turlow’s howling was distant enough to allow me to think. Something was weighing on me and I wasn’t sure what it was. Then it hit me. Essa had said that Turlow hadn’t wanted to come with her, but then Turlow told me that Essa didn’t want him with her. One of them was lying to me. There were lots of reasons why neither of them would tell me the truth. As Turlow had rightly pointed out it was none of my business. It might mean that their relationship wasn’t
going as well as it seemed, which from my point of view was good news, but then again maybe it was something else. I had no way of knowing but at least I had figured out what was bothering me. Now that my mental conflict was solved, I turned back to my frolicking companions and decided to give the dangly-dance one more try. As I got closer I saw them bopping in silhouette and I knew something was wrong. I stood stock still, surveyed the area and listened. I couldn’t see or hear whatever it was that was making the hair stand up on the back of my neck but something was wrong, something was very wrong. What was it? That’s when I saw it; I saw it and my heart jumped in my chest. As I watched my four companions dance around my bonfire, I counted them: one, two, three, four – five.
Chapter Thirty
Red
The four of them were so lost in the fire dance that they didn’t notice that there was a strange man bopping along with them. Twice today I hadn’t had the Lawnmower on my hip when I wanted it, so I had made sure I brought it with me on this walk. I drew it and advanced slowly. As I got closer I could plainly see that the interloper was without a stitch of clothes, which, on the plus side, meant he was definitely unarmed. I lowered my guard a bit and jogged the last stretch of beach until I stood just outside the moat the dancers had made in the sand. Still none of them noticed me. The stranger was as absorbed in the dancing as the rest of them. His straight red hair flew around like a sixties go-go dancer. If I had seen him clothed and from the back I might have said he was a woman, but in the firelight there was no avoiding his gender. He was dancing behind Tuan and I was struck at how similarly they were built except for the stranger’s arms – they would have put a post-spinach Popeye to shame.
I waited until Araf came by and grabbed his arm to pull him out of the circle. Instead he pulled me in. I had forgotten just how solid that guy is and I almost fell into the fire. Anyway, I got his attention. He stood and looked at me confused, like a sleepwalker that just found himself in the hallway of a hotel.
‘Look,’ I said to him, pointing to the other dancers.
Araf was still out of it and tilted his head like a dog being taught algebra.
‘Intruder alert!’ I shouted, pointing to the new member of our dance troupe.
He saw him and snapped into action. He leapt over the edge of the fire (something I would never do without clothes on) and grabbed his banta stick. This startled Turlow enough for him to notice that we were not alone. Turlow had the good sense to throw his clothes on. I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Brendan. Turlow came up next to us holding his Banshee blade. Tuan was still completely oblivious.
‘Who is he?’ Turlow asked.
‘I don’t know. You were dancing with him – you tell me.’
We watched as the stranger and Tuan spun and danced around the dwindling fire. Tuan sailed past us in his own little world, then the stranger, right behind him, turned and gave us a little chest-high wave. On the next pass we grabbed Tuan and made him see who his dance partner was. At first he looked shocked and then he dropped onto all fours and turned into his wolfhound. The stranger kept dancing and spinning like he owned the place. When he came by again wolfhound-Tuan stuck his nose in for a sniff and our visitor stopped and gave him a little pat on the head, like he was casually walking in the park.
‘Excuse me,’ I started, but the naked stranger just danced away. We all looked at each other. On his next pass I tried again and was again ignored. On the third pass I stepped in front of him. My sword wasn’t pointed at him but then again it wasn’t in its scabbard – he had to stop and he did.
‘Excuse me,’ I repeated. ‘This is our fire.’
He looked at me. I still couldn’t see his eyes in the light and he tilted his head just like Araf had done minutes before and said, ‘You own fire. How does that work?’
Now it was my turn to be confused. ‘Well… we made the fire.’
‘So you think if you make something, then you own it?’ He smiled a toothy grin and shook his head. ‘I have known many a parent that thought that. They were usually disappointed.’ Then he turned and danced around in the other direction.
Tuan returned to Pooka form and the dancer came around again.
‘A Pooka that would rather shiver in his skin than stay in his fur.’ He pushed past me and we waited for his next lap. ‘A Banshee in the company of Hawathiee?’ He then put his hand on Araf’s head as if to measure him. ‘I see an Imp’ – he grabbed Araf’s hand and looked at it – ‘with no dirt under his fingernails?’
He spun off again. This guy was really starting to annoy me. I tried to speak to him when he came around again but he put his hand in front of my face to stop me. I wanted to chop that hand off. I wanted to tell him that I had chopped a hand off before.
He stood inches in front of Brendan and looked him up and down. ‘I don’t think I have ever seen a Druid look so confused.’
‘Who are you?’ I demanded.
He finally then gave me the once-over. ‘A Faerie. Is it hard for you, Faerie, being so far away from your mountain of gold?’
‘Who – are – you?’
‘Who am I?’ he said indignantly. ‘A Banshee and an Imp and a Druid and a Pooka and a Faerie are dancing naked in the Alderlands without a Brownie in sight and you ask – who I am? Whoooo arrrrrre youuuuuu?’
‘I am Conor of…’
He dashed into the night and came back roughly dragging the boat that Tuan had almost finished assembling. ‘Sailors are we?’ Tuan grabbed the boat from him and half of the flimsy frame popped out from the oiled leather skin. ‘And where are the sailors sailing to?’
I didn’t think that telling him our plans was a good idea but Brendan answered him. ‘We are going to Red Eel Isle.’
‘And where is that?’
Brendan pointed out to sea.
‘Red Eel Isle – is that what you call it?’
‘What do you call it?’ I asked.
‘Why would I call an island? Do you think it would come?’
He cackled and walked over to where our bags were piled together and started looking through them. Turlow ran over and stuck his Banshee blade in his face. ‘Leave our possessions alone,’ he demanded.
The stranger simply ignored him and continued to look through our stuff. ‘Why? If you plan on sailing to Red Eel Island in that boat, you won’t be needing your things and it will be easier for me to scavenge them here, than when they are on the bottom of the ocean.’
‘Leave our bags alone,’ Turlow repeated, poking the scavenger with his Banshee blade.
The stranger stopped. ‘No matter, I’ll come back and take what I want when you are dead. I’m off home now; I know when I am not welcome. Thank you for the dance.’ He stopped with a faraway look and said, ‘It has been a long time since I have danced.’
‘Where is home?’ Araf asked. As I have said, when Araf speaks people listen. Even though our stranger had only just met the taciturn Imp it worked on him too.
He turned and said, ‘Red Eel Island. If you had been nicer I would have given you all a trip in my boat.’ Then he ran naked into the black night.
I turned to the others. They all had their mouths open. I pointed to the spot in the darkness that our visitor had disappeared into. ‘My agent, ladies and gentlemen.’ That got a chuckle from Brendan. As I have said, it was good to have him around.
‘Who was that?’ Brendan asked the night.
‘What was that?’ Tuan replied.
‘Whoever it was, I think we should keep watch tonight,’ Turlow said. ‘I will take first shift.’
I didn’t argue. I got my stuff off my drying rack and within minutes I was inside my warm dry sleeping roll. Brendan followed me. As he got into bed I asked him, ‘What did you think of insane guy?’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I think he was crazy all right but I wouldn’t say he was insane.’
I laughed. ‘You said that about me once if I recall.’
‘And I was right,’ Brendan said. ‘I got a feeling that our
dancer tonight tried a little too hard to be crazy. Saying that, he did say one thing that I agreed with.’
‘What was that?’
‘We really are going to drown in that dinghy.’
I was last up the next morning. Tuan was still working on the boat. Every time he got the skin stretched over part of the frame on one side, the other side would pop out. Araf was off scavenging for driftwood, Brendan was cooking breakfast and Turlow was tending to the horses. I felt a bit guilty doing nothing so I grabbed a brush and joined the Banshee. Since Turlow was brushing Acorn I started working on his horse.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘I don’t know your horse’s name.’
‘Banshees do not name their horses.’
‘Why not?’
‘It makes it easier in case you have to eat them.’
‘Oh, don’t listen to him,’ I said, covering the mount’s ears. ‘I won’t let him eat you and I’m going to give you a name. I dub thee – Fluffy. There, no one will eat a horse called Fluffy.’
‘You are a strange man, Conor of Duir.’
‘But loveable, don’t ya think?’
Brendan called us to breakfast. Araf was sitting by the fire examining a piece of wood. He didn’t seem to notice me when I said goodorning.
‘You OK, big guy?’
‘You,’ he said.
‘Me? What me?’
He still didn’t look up. ‘No, you.’
‘Who you? Me? Who’s on first?’
He finally looked at me with an exasperated face that I usually reserve for my closer relatives. ‘The wood,’ he said, holding up the branch in his hand. ‘It’s yew wood.’
‘Oh, yew who.’ I shrugged. ‘So?’
‘Most of the wood in that driftwood pile is yew.’ Araf handed me the piece that was in his hand. ‘And look.’
I saw it right away. I didn’t need to be a forensics expert to see that plainly there were axe marks in the bark. ‘This ain’t wood from the Yewlands I’ve been in,’ I said. ‘There is no way you could chop down one of those babies. You’d be dead by the end of the backswing.’