The Dark Beloved

by Helen Falconer

  The lanky boy said gloomily, ‘You might have, but I’ve a girl waiting for me.’

  ‘No, you haven’t, Tommy, not any more. We’ve cut our ties. You’re new and it takes a bit of getting used to. But we’ve cut our ties. This is your home now.’

  Other teenagers were coming from all directions now, up different streets and stairways, like festival goers converging. Round the next corner was what appeared to be the crowd’s destination – a pair of high golden gates flanked by marble eagles on columns, beyond which lay a long tunnel of white roses, which curved away out of sight. A white-painted board was tied to the gates; it read in neat ochre capitals:

  ASK SHE-WHO-KNOWS-EVERYTHING

  ENTRY: ONE ORB

  A mass of teenagers was already queuing before the sign, some sitting patiently on the cobbles; others restless on their feet. A tall freckled lad wearing a collarless shirt and dungarees was prising a little boy down off the gates, shouting, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘I need to ask, do I have to fight my mam in the war?’

  ‘Where’s your money?’

  ‘I don’t have any!’

  ‘Then push off!’

  ‘But I need to ask if I have to—’

  ‘Lady Mac isn’t free, you know – she’s not on show to every passing amadán! She has expenses!’

  Aoife made a decision. ‘Let’s go in. Maybe this teacher will know something that will help us.’ She began to elbow her way to the front of the queue, pulling Carla along with her.

  The freckled lad guarding the gate glared at the two girls as they came to a halt in front of him. ‘Where do you think you’re off to? Get to the back of the queue!’

  Taking the pouch from her cardigan pocket, Aoife said, ‘We’re here to see the teacher and ask her a question.’

  ‘One orb each.’

  She shook out two of the little blue and green pebbles. The boy took them, with a nod. ‘Very good. Now get to the back of the queue.’

  ‘But we’re in a hurry!’

  He folded his heavy arms and squared his shoulders. ‘Wait yer turn – only twenty changelings granted an audience at a time, last lot only just went up, the gate will be open again in half an hour. Back of the queue.’

  Aoife tipped the full contents of the pouch into her palm. The mound of green and blue enamelled orbs filled her cupped hand. She held them out. ‘Is this enough?’

  From the way he squeaked, ‘Exactly the right amount!’ and rushed to unlock the gates – much to the furious discontent of those at the head of the queue – Aoife knew for sure that Peter Murphy, the man who didn’t take sides, or hold with queens, must have given her a great deal of money.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As they neared the end of the avenue of white roses, they could hear a loud, harsh voice saying: ‘And Aoife – she won’t let me call her “queen” she says just because she’s a queen doesn’t make her any better than me . . .’

  Aoife slapped her hand to her forehead, utterly disgusted. ‘Ugh! I should have guessed. Famous teacher, my . . . Ugh.’

  Carla paused in the act of stepping out into the courtyard. ‘You know her?’

  ‘Met her when I first got here, and she’s a total header. She has this book which she stole from the druids, but it’s in a really ancient language and I don’t know if she can read it or whether she’s just remembering stuff that the druids have told her before.’

  ‘Do you still want to see her?’

  ‘Not really . . .’ Yet sometimes the changeling girl had been right about things – in a strange sort of way. Aoife pulled the red shawl around her face again. ‘OK, we’ll listen for a moment – but if she’s only messing with people’s heads, we’re not asking her anything.’

  The long, rectangular courtyard was tiled in gold – painfully bright to the eyes and far too hot to the feet. Marble statues of extremely handsome men jostled for space between bright blue pools in which golden carp flickered lazily. At the far end was a two-storey building – also gold-plated and constructed lavishly in the style of a temple. The high doors were reached by wide shallow steps, at the foot of which a semicircle of about twenty changelings sat cross-legged. At the top of the steps a muscular girl of sixteen in an ill-fitting dress of kingfisher and peacock feathers, and a necklace of magnificent ruby flowers, was sitting with a large leather-bound volume open on her lap. The girl frowned across the courtyard as Aoife and Carla drew nearer, glanced at the sundial in the corner, but then carried on talking: ‘Anyway, the queen says to me, “Choose any dress, help yourself to my jewels, you’re my very best friend for ever”. . .’

  (Carla shot Aoife a look; Aoife rolled her eyes.)

  ‘. . . “you’ve saved my life a million times so we’re like sisters and I want you dressed as grand as me.” Anyone wants to pay an extra orb, I’ll show them the hundreds of dresses she gifted me. You there, the lad in the bow tie . . .’

  A deep voice from the front said something inaudible.

  Caitlin replied confidently, ‘Yes, she’s going to lead us to war against the humans because she’s super-powerful – almost as good as me.’

  Carla shot Aoife another look – horrified, this time hissing, ‘A war against the humans?’

  Aoife whispered back, ‘Don’t worry, she gets a lot of stuff wrong.’

  ‘Are you sure? She sounds very confident . . .’

  ‘Caitlin always sounds confident.’

  A murmur was running through the listening crowd – uncertain, fretful. ‘A war against the humans?’

  Caitlin vigorously tossed her bright red plait, the rubies chinking around her neck. ‘Stop saying that like it’s a bad thing! Danu’s sake! Have ye all forgotten how your so-called parents treated ye? Don’t ye remember how they kept telling ye that ye weren’t good enough, not like the lovely little human babies ye were swapped out for? That’s what my— Mary McGreevey always said to me, that I wasn’t her real daughter but an ugly stupid changeling child that even the fairies didn’t want, and how her real human daughter’ – Caitlin’s voice filled with bitterness – ‘her precious real daughter who got stolen by the fairies would have been this wonderful, beautiful, dainty, helpful, good-mannered—’

  A young voice interrupted, ‘I actually don’t think my mam knew I wasn’t hers, because she never said.’

  Caitlin snapped angrily, ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘But she—’

  ‘Wrong. Even if the nurse in the hospital lied to her about the babies being swapped out, your mother always knew in her heart that you weren’t her real baby – that’s why she never loved you.’

  ‘But she—’

  Caitlin sat up, swinging her feet to the steps below, raising her voice to a shout. ‘A human priest killed our queen! Now the queen’s daughter has been crowned – and soon she will return to avenge her mother and lead us to war! And then we can avenge our own selves on our human parents!’

  Some cries of excitement, underpinned by another murmuring ripple of doubt and anxiety. A teenager in a ruffled blouse and velvet trousers shot her hand up. ‘So why did she fly away as soon as she was crowned?’

  ‘I told you already – she’ll be back soon to marry the Beloved properly—’

  ‘But what about the boy she flew away with?’

  ‘Yes, tell us about him!’ exclaimed several girlish voices. ‘He was gorgeous! What was his name?’

  Caitlin looked uncomfortable. ‘Fact, Queen Aoife didn’t “fly away” with him, it was just a coincidence they left together—’

  ‘So is he not with her? Where is he then? Has he a girlfriend already? He’s so gorgeous!’

  Caitlin shouted, ‘Stop saying that – none of ye want to go near him even if he’d have ye – he’s one of the dark creatures, the son of a lenanshee, and if any of ye kiss one of them, ye’ll wrinkle up and die. It’s all in here!’ She lifted up the big book with its gold- and ruby-embossed cover.

  ‘The son of a lenanshee?’ Horrified disappointm
ent surged through the female element of the crowd. ‘Oh, but he was so—’

  ‘Course he was gorgeous! What part of “lenanshee” don’t ye understand? They’re all gorgeous, and all deadly, and they don’t care about anybody or anything, only getting their own way with anyone that takes their fancy! And that’s why Dorocha is making sure that boy you like so much won’t go near the queen any more, and then Dorocha and the queen will get married again and lead us to war . . . You there at the back, by the roses . . . What’s your question?’

  Aoife pushed back her red shawl and looked Caitlin straight in the eye.

  Caitlin sprang to her feet, bellowed, ‘No more audiences today! Everybody out!’ and rushed into the house, the leather-bound volume under her arm.

  ‘Look, I didn’t steal them – you said I could take whatever I liked, and then you just disappeared!’

  ‘Tell me what Dorocha has done with Shay!’

  Caitlin flung out her arm defensively. ‘And there were millions of them – you absolutely couldn’t miss just a few . . .’ The hallway of the mansion was heaped with hundreds of Aoife’s mother’s dresses – magnificent robes of silk, velvet, lace, feathers, living flowers, encrusted with jewels and pearls. ‘Actually, you should borrow one back – that tiny black dress is ridicu—’

  ‘You can keep the dresses! I’m here to find Shay!’

  Caitlin’s face switched instantly from panic to awed delight. ‘Seriously? Oh my God, you’re so my best friend!’ She roared over her shoulder: ‘Ultan, get out of bed – it’s Aoife and she says I can keep them!’ She turned excitedly to Aoife again: ‘Did you like the way I’m reworking your story? I’m making you look really good . . . Hey, you with the stupid hair, get out of my house!’ This last was bellowed at Carla, who was staring in open-mouthed amazement at the piles of dresses. ‘This is a private viewing! Stop ogling the stock— I mean, presents!’

  Aoife snapped, ‘Leave her alone, she’s with me.’

  Caitlin looked hurt and furious. ‘What do you mean, she’s with you? Who is she? Some social-climbing wannabe who’s only interested in you now you’ve turned out to be queen?’

  ‘Where’s Shay?’ Aoife grabbed the front of the changeling girl’s too-tight dress.

  ‘Hey, quit jerking my feathers!’ Shoving Aoife away, Caitlin checked herself in a huge sheet of polished copper – crossly fluffing up her moulting bodice and straightening the necklace of ruby flowers. The selkie pearl appeared to be gone, which no doubt explained the absurdly expensive house. ‘How would I know where Shay Foley is? I was only making all that up. Fact, I thought he was with you. Has he slipped his chain again already? If I were you, I’d stop shaming myself by tagging around after him every time he cheats on you. It was embarrassing enough the way you dragged him off his last girlfriend at the wedding.’

  ‘That was his mother.’

  Caitlin laughed mightily, showing the black gap of her missing tooth. ‘Oh, right, his’ – she crooked her large fingers in the air – ‘“mother”. Is that what he told you? I suppose this new one is’ – she air-quoted again – ‘his “sister”?’

  Aoife had had enough. ‘Come on, Carla, there’s no help to be had here – let’s go.’

  But the changeling girl was instantly contrite. ‘Wait, stop, you’re my best friend! What did this demon girl look like? I’ll sort out your boy troubles for you . . .’ Grabbing up her book from the heap of gold-embroidered wolf-fur capes onto which she’d tossed it, she dragged Aoife by the hand to a green marble table; on it lay a gold platter of what looked like tiny roast chickens, and clay bowls of dark crystallized fruit, and tiny wild strawberries, and silver jugs of a frothy white drink. ‘Here, sit – have a roast wren, have a sugar plum, have some hawthorn champagne – it’s very, very mild, not like Donal’s juice . . . Take off that awful shawl, you look like an aul one.’

  ‘I’m not staying. If you really can read that thing, tell me what it says about a demon girl who always steals away the most beautiful boy from the dance.’

  ‘No problem! My only reason for living is to help my best friend the queen with her love life!’ Caitlin pushed Aoife onto a marble stool and took another beside her, slamming the leather-bound volume down open on the table between them. ‘I’ve been helping you already, by the way. I’ve been telling everyone how great you are, even though the Beloved is really, really angry with you right now. You heard me out there, sticking up for you, and explaining you were coming back to marry him—’

  ‘I’m not marrying that devil.’

  Caitlin blinked, like Aoife had slapped her lightly in the face. Then said brightly, ‘Look, OK, I’m not going to argue with you because I’m your best friend. All I’m saying is, Dorocha’s actually quite nice when you get to know him . . .’

  ‘He’s the devil, Caitlin.’

  ‘. . . plus he’s rich, and Shay Foley can’t kiss you without turning you into a prune. Stop, wait! Sit down again, don’t get all pissy-arsed. I’m only trying to be helpful . . .’ She leafed through the thick yellowing parchment with one hand, while waving her other hand vaguely at the food. ‘Have a sugar plum before Fat Boy gets here – he always scoffs the lot in seconds.’

  Aoife, struggling to stay calm, didn’t sit down again; she stood to one side and said, her voice a little shaky, ‘I need to know where to find her before she breaks his heart for ever.’

  ‘Hang on, hang on . . .’ Caitlin ran her finger along under the dots and lines of the druidic script; flipping over faint illustrations and faded, half-drawn maps. ‘“Steals the most beautiful boy from the dance and breaks their hearts . . .” Anything a bit less general? I’ve known a few like that in my time. Got a name for this one – I mean, an actual name? You’re not giving me much to work with here.’

  Carla, who was now looking over Caitlin’s shoulder, said, ‘She was a waitress in a café.’

  Caitlin tittered into her hand. ‘Ah! Of course. Those demon girls do love wearing waitress uniforms. Pretty?’

  ‘Very long white-blonde hair, and silvery eyes . . .’

  ‘Ooh, Shay Foley, you bad thing.’

  A deep male voice cried, ‘Aoife!’ and an auburn-haired teenage boy in an electric-blue shell suit came striding towards them, heading straight for the food.

  ‘Ultan!’ Aoife was amazed how pleased she felt to see the plump changeling boy – there was something oddly comforting about the sight of him. He was already cramming two sugar plums into his mouth.

  ‘What brings you back here so soon? And where’s Shay?’

  ‘Done a runner already!’ Caitlin was still smothering her mirth with her hand. ‘With a blonde this time, the type who takes off with the best-looking boy from the dance—’

  Ultan choked, spraying sugar from his mouth. ‘Seriously? The Deargdue? Well, fair play to Mam for warning me against her!’

  After a brief stunned silence, Aoife said faintly, ‘Your mam knew about this demon?’

  He was still coughing, mopping bits of plum from his shell suit. ‘She did indeed – talked about little else after I got big enough to go to the discos. I thought it was something she’d made up to frighten me, to be honest.’

  Caitlin was flicking through pages feverishly. ‘Deargdue . . . I knew that’s who your majesty was on about. Dear . . . De . . . D . . . Hmm. Can’t see it. Maybe she’s under something else. W, for waitress . . .’

  ‘Have we met somewhere before?’ asked Carla suddenly. She was staring in puzzlement at the teenage boy.

  Ultan smirked, pushing his hands through his thick auburn hair. ‘I’m sure I’d remember you if we had met. What’s your name?’

  (And Aoife suddenly remembered – with a pang of anxiety – how Carla’s nan kept Ultan’s anniversary mass card on her mantelpiece, and that the changeling boy had no idea he’d been away from home for thirty years, or that his beloved mother was dead . . .)

  ‘I’m Carla Heffernan. But are you sure I don’t know you? I feel like I’ve known your face for ever.’


  Caitlin glared up from her book, incensed. ‘What are you, some sort of professional friend-stealer sent to bug me? Leave the boy alone – he’s from the country, he’s not able for you.’

  Ultan said to her tartly, ‘Are you still pretending to be able to read that book?’

  Instead of reacting to this taunt with her usual furious defensiveness, Caitlin ran her finger down a page before turning it over, saying casually, ‘Sorry, why did you say your mam warned you against the Deargdue?’

  ‘Because she always steals the best-looking boy at the dance.’ He grinned at Carla while popping another sugar plum into his mouth. ‘She was a real Irish mammy – she didn’t like the girls being after me. “Ultan,” she used to say, “if you see a splendid beour with hair like the barley in your father’s fields and eyes like sunshine in the rain, you go and hide behind Father Murphy because you might be all excited thinking she is a fine thing and wanting to buy her a lemonade but she will take you away to her house and lock you up in the dungeon and break open your heart to suck it dry like an orange, and you’ll never get to see your loving mammy again.”’

  Caitlin flipped over another page. ‘D . . . D . . . Deargdue . . . Oh, I have it! Deargdue: Always steals the – oops, your mammy had it wrong, Ultan! – always steals the fattest boy from the dance.’

  Round cheeks flaming pink, Ultan shouted, ‘Stop pretending to read Ogham when you know you can’t! And at least my mam was nice to me!’

  Caitlin hurled the big book across the table at him, her strong freckled face ugly with fury. ‘You read it yourself then, if you’re so damn clever, you humanized mammy’s boy, you!’

  ‘Oh God . . .’ Aoife had sunk back down on the stool, rocking to and fro, her hands pressed over her face. Hot tears dripped onto the marble between her elbows. ‘Oh God, oh, Shay . . .’ Was Ultan’s mother right? Did the Deargdue literally break the hearts of boys?

  ‘Stop arguing!’ Carla’s voice was high-pitched with protective fury. ‘Don’t you even care she’s upset? She loves Shay Foley and now he’s been stolen by this Deargdue! You’re supposed to be her friends – do something! I’m more help to her than the two of ye and I’m not even a changeling!’