The Hawthorn Crown

by Helen Falconer

  ‘Eeeech! Eeeech!’ screeched the little creature, covering its wizened face with its child-sized hands and scampering back into its corner.

  ‘Stinky little thing.’ Seizing Aoife’s arm, the zookeeper marched her roughly between the cages; his grip was like iron itself; the strength the cooshee coat gave him made it impossible for her to escape, even if her hands hadn’t been bound with iron wire. ‘Now for the evening’s entertainment.’

  At the end of the row, the cooshees were in the big corner cage where she’d left them before: a pack of demon dogs as big as ponies, midnight-green fur and bone-white eyes, long narrow muzzles and thin yellow teeth. In the gathering darkness, they were snapping and fighting in a desultory manner over a pile of gigantic bones. Aoife’s skin crawled. Wee Peter’s bones. As the zookeeper hustled her along, the dogs rose to their feet and crowded to the bars, noses raised to sniff; whimpering softly. A big puppy shot out a paw as she passed, its razor-sharp claws cutting deeply into her arm.

  She gasped, ‘Ow!’

  The zookeeper whacked at the paw with his hook. ‘Leave the queen alone, bad boy!’

  Wincing at the puppy’s yelp of pain – and feeling guilty because she was the cause of it – Aoife craned to look back. The very young dog was licking its heavy paw, but it was still watching her through the bars; there was a reddish tint to its green fur and its small white eyes were buried deep in its whiskery face. An extraordinary idea popped into her head.

  ‘Where did that puppy come from?’

  ‘Danu knows,’ said Seán Burke with a shrug. ‘I’ve not seen it before. Must have followed its mother here and crawled in between the bars.’

  Despite the horror of her situation, Aoife’s heart rose. Then sank. She had been in the human world for a week, but only a few hours had passed in this other land, and rebirth was never that fast.

  Unless …

  She had once witnessed a ridiculously swift rebirth: Donal, the dear little changeling boy, had burst back to life as soon as they had buried him – first as worms, then apples, then a green-eyed robin, then an eagle and finally a sluagh (his heart still brave and loyal, despite his alarming exterior). Yet the reason Donal had flowered so fast was because Shay had kissed him at the moment of his death. And despite Wee Peter’s unrequited love for Aoife’s mother, no lenanshee had ever kissed the bearded smuggler …

  (A memory flowed back: Wee Peter calling down to her through the trapdoor. ‘Is it bad luck to be reborn as the child of a dark creature? A pooka or a cat-sidhe or cooshee? Do we always carry some of its darkness in our own heart, and never find the light again?’

  And she had answered him, thinking of Donal: ‘No, I don’t think that’s true. I think we take our own nature with us – I think the heart stays whole.’ And, on impulse, she had climbed the ladder again, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to that enormous hairy face.)

  So she herself had given Wee Peter a kiss, before she even knew there was lenanshee blood in her own veins. Then the puppy might really be …

  The zookeeper yanked her down another path of cages. Several were stocked with more moth-eaten grogoch – ten to a cage. And then came a cage containing a mind-blowingly ugly pig-like creature with a mouldy, scaly snout and green teeth; from its underbelly hung long ribbons of slippery seaweed. Seeing Aoife, it hurled itself against the bars, letting out a piercing squeal, like fingernails being drawn down a chalkboard.

  Seán Burke grinned at Aoife, who had sucked in her breath at the stink. ‘State of your one, eh? Would it surprise you to know that there’s a merrow – the same race as the seal wives? That’s because it’s a male merrow. So now you know why the seal wives marry human men – it’s because their own men are so pig-ugly. Plus, those pretty girls do love to torment their mortal lovers! Just as your own mother did with hers … Ah, Aoibheal, relax! No spitting! Don’t forget the dullahan and his whip of human spine!’

  Aoife set her jaw so hard it hurt, and let the zookeeper drag her on. After several more merrows there came an angry-looking sluagh – hunched in gloom in the far corner of its cage. The zookeeper paused to coo over the massive monster – ‘Nice birdie!’ – before explaining as he hustled Aoife away: ‘Only yesterday she was the toughest of the sluagh – but she got in a death-fight with another of her breed, and now she’s missed the war on humans. So I’m thinking I might give her that human girlie for her dinner.’

  Aoife said hastily: ‘No, I want to see that girl getting ripped apart by the cooshees, limb from limb.’

  He nodded up at her, brown stumps of teeth wobbling. ‘That would be fun, my queen.’

  ‘Yes, it would …’

  ‘But you only asked to watch this show because you think your dogs are loyal to you, and you can order them to leave the girl alone and turn their teeth on me instead!’

  When she glared at him in speechless hatred, he laughed uproariously, stabbing his bony finger at her face. ‘Don’t look so sulky, my queen! Humans are scum. They’re at the bottom of the food chain. I despise them. You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? A worse actor I never saw …’

  He dragged her onwards.

  The path ended in an earth arena, on the far side of which stood a large empty cage, with a low-backed marble chair set before it. A tall wooden torch dipped in tar was thrust into the ground beside the chair, burning blue. The zookeeper turned to Aoife, mock-cringing, sweeping off his cooshee hat in fake humility, revealing his balding scalp – brown and shiny as a conker and dusted with a cobweb of hair.

  ‘Forgive me, my queen, if I sit while you stand? I know you think of yourself as royalty and I am a humble peasant, but I’ve an old man’s bones, and yours are young and tender.’ Without waiting for her answer – not that she intended to give him one – he led her across the arena.

  He hung the hat on one arm of the chair, then whipped off his leather belt, slipped it through the rope with which her wrists were tied, and buckled it to the chair’s other arm. After which – hitching up his now endangered trousers to his armpits – he plonked himself down in the marble chair and leaned forward, again rattling his stick along the bars. ‘Sit up, slave, I’ve someone here to see you!’

  Which was when Aoife realized that the cage wasn’t empty after all. Among the piles of straw there was a purple-and-white hump in the far corner: Lois, in her Superdry jacket, lacy white top and too-tight white shorts, crouched in a quaking ball. Now she raised her head, gasping: ‘Aoife, is that you?’

  Aoife said hoarsely, trying to smile and look reassuring, ‘Hello, Lois.’

  Lois crawled across the floor to the bars, cheeks patched red with weeping. ‘Aoife? Why did that woman kidnap us? Is it drugs? Please, please tell them this is nothing to do with me. It’s not fair, I was only trying to stop you, whatever you were up to …’

  The zookeeper looked delighted. ‘What a girl! Your human friends show you such loyalty, my queen! You certainly threw in your lot with the wrong bunch. Why don’t you tell this snivelling little coward what’s just about to happen to her? I find that half the fun of these things is in the anticipation.’

  Clutching the bars, Lois groaned, ‘What does he mean? Aoife, tell him I’m nothing to do with this!’

  Aoife glared again at the chuckling zookeeper. She was damned if she was going to make things even worse for Lois by telling her the truth, just to amuse him. ‘Don’t worry, Lois. You’re going to be fine. He’s only joking.’

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ It was heart-breaking, the way the girl’s voice lifted with hope. Clutching at this ridiculously fragile straw, because all else was unbearable: ‘So this is just a game?’

  Seán Burke rolled his mismatched eyes. ‘Pay no attention to her, Lois. You’re going to get eaten alive by a big horrible demon bird, piece by piece until it rips out your still-beating heart.’

  Aoife laughed as loud as she could. ‘Oh, stop this, Seán – you’re being way too realistic! It’s OK, Lois, you’ve guessed it – it’s only a game.’

 
‘Oh my God … Are you sure? That’s so mad!’ In an outburst of joy, the girl leaped to her feet – doing a little jig around the cage in her tight white shorts, the purple jacket flapping. ‘I honestly thought … Really? This is a game? Like the one about the Festival of the Dead, and my boyfriend said I could be the human sacrifice, and you could be the queen?’

  ‘That’s exactly right, it’s exactly the same game.’

  With a sigh, Seán Burke heaved himself to his feet again. ‘I suppose I’d better go and get that sluagh.’

  ‘No, wait, not yet!’ Aoife nearly dislocated her wrists in an attempt to follow the zookeeper – but only managed to tip the tonne-weight marble chair sideways, forcing herself to her knees to prevent her arms from snapping, electric agony stabbing through her wrists.

  ‘Oh! My! God!’ Behind Aoife, the human girl’s voice rose even higher in excitement: ‘Did you plan this whole thing with my friends? I can’t believe it – it’s so wonderful to see you again, I was so scared you were dead!’

  ‘Silence, slave!’ shouted a familiar voice.

  Aoife froze, trapped on her knees by the heavy chair. In the gap between the cages, the zookeeper turned back to listen – a foul grin on his lopsided face.

  Lois was laughing gaily, ‘I can’t believe Aoife tricked me! I got so scared, I almost believed it! But can’t I be the queen this time? I’m sick of always being the sacrifice!’

  The same voice shouted, ‘Deal with her!’

  CRACK.

  At the sound of that terrible blow – a thousand times more violent than the lash of the grogoch – even the zookeeper went slightly pale, his mismatched eyes meeting Aoife’s horrified gaze.

  There was a brief, gasping silence. And then Lois screamed. ‘Noooooooo!!’ A scream not of fear this time, but of genuine agony.

  And as she howled, Dorocha’s voice said, ‘Stop making that revolting noise or the next time I’ll make sure my noble dullahan cuts you in half.’ And a moment later, hard strong hands seized Aoife roughly from behind.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Strong fingers were working rapidly to free Aoife. Unbuckling the belt, releasing her from the marble weight strapped to her bound wrists. And a low voice was murmuring in her ear: ‘Are you all right? The zookeeper thought you were his, but everything is going to be fine now. You’re mine and I’m going to take good care of you. And Lois.’

  Confusion gave an extra, excruciating twist to her horror. The voice was Dorocha’s, and yet now this voice was claiming to be helping her and Lois …

  ‘Come on, stand up.’ The hand jerked her roughly to her feet, her wrists still tied behind, and spun her round.

  She choked out, ‘You?’

  His handsome face was like a ghost’s. His mouth was trembling with emotion; nostrils flaring with pride. ‘Pleased to see me now?’

  No time to ask questions. ‘Of course I am, Killian. Quick, untie my wrists and we’ll get Lois.’

  ‘Don’t let her speak to you!’ A tall, slender figure loomed, balanced on his toes on the upper edge of Lois’s cage – black against the moon, like a sluagh about to swoop; finger jabbing down at them, snarling with twisted lips; his pale face and hands tinted blue by the flaring light of the torches; his hair burning black as dying coals; his midnight eyes alight with raging stars …

  Aoife cried in terror, ‘Killian, untie me!’

  ‘Silence her!’ roared Dorocha, leaping with outstretched arms down into the arena, his long black coat splaying briefly out around him like leathery wings. His soft shirt was half unlaced, and for a moment Aoife could see the gaping wound that was his chest – the torn-away flesh, the blue-tinged curve of his ribs, like an elegant birdcage surrounding …

  Eternal emptiness.

  No heart.

  ‘Killian, untie me!’ she screamed again.

  ‘Silence your slave!’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Aoife!’ Flushing a patchy red, Killian gave her a sudden wild push, so that she stumbled backwards with a gasp, losing her balance and falling on her arse in the mud.

  ‘Call her “slave”!’ roared Dorocha.

  Killian screamed, nearly frothing at the mouth, ‘Shut up, you dirty slave!’

  Midnight eyes glittering, Dorocha stood lacing his shirt and buttoning his coat over the emptiness within. ‘And make her stay quiet. Or my lord dullahan will take charge.’ He jerked his chin at the huge cloaked demon that waited by the cage in the flickering half-light, glittering flies circling the stump of its neck, its white whip of spine raised in one black-gloved hand. Behind the wooden bars crouched Lois – her eyes squeezed shut, whimpering through clenched teeth, blood spilling from a laceration on her shoulder: the dullahan’s whip had cut through her jacket and white top.

  Aoife howled, struggling to get up, ‘Let Lois go, it’s not her fault!’

  Killian shouted at her, shoving her back, ‘Be quiet, you fool!’

  ‘I won’t be quiet! Tell him to let Lois alone!’

  ‘Noble dullahan?’ Dorocha raised his hand, and the dullahan lifted his whip, taking a menacing step across the arena. ‘My prince, watch what happens when you can’t control your own slave.’

  ‘Oh … Oh …’ Killian turned a sickly yellow. For a moment he stood with his arms spread out in front of Aoife, as if to protect her.

  The dullahan raised its whip.

  With a terrified groan, Killian stepped aside.

  ‘No! Don’t!’ screamed Aoife. Unlike Killian, she’d realized exactly what was about to happen. ‘Don’t do it!’ she screamed as Dorocha pointed his long finger, and the dullahan turned and brought the whip down through the bars on Lois’s bare leg.

  A moment’s silence … And then:

  ‘Nooooooo!’ howled Lois as the blood ran from her thigh. ‘I thought you liked me! I thought we were friends!’

  Dorocha cried furiously, ‘How dare you, human scum! I never laid a hand on you in kindness. Noble dullahan?’

  CRACK.

  ‘Nooooooo!’ Lois doubled over, clutching both her legs.

  ‘Father?’ Killian’s eyes were darting frantically from side to side, from Aoife to the dreadful scene inside the cage. ‘Father, maybe don’t—’

  Ignoring him, Dorocha roared, ‘One more noise from either of you filthy slaves and the next blow will take that curly head off! Silence!’

  Lois’s howls cut off like a door had been slammed.

  ‘Aoibheal! Take your evil eye from me!’

  Choking back her sobs, Aoife knelt, biting her lip, eyes lowered, terrified of what might happen to Lois if she disobeyed. The devil had guessed rightly – she was far more likely to give in to his threats if they were directed at someone else. At the same time her mind was fighting to make sense of this madness. Had Killian just called this monster ‘Father’?

  No, it couldn’t be true …

  ‘That’s better.’ The hard, cruel voice softened a little. ‘Now we can finally hear ourselves talk.’ Boots squelched across the mud, and a toe in a soft red leather boot kicked Aoife’s thigh, quite gently. ‘You can look up at me now, unworthy slave. But don’t dare speak to me.’

  She looked up carefully, from under her eyelashes.

  Dorocha was standing with his arm around Killian’s shoulders, his long spidery fingers stroking the boy’s cheek and his red-black hair pressed tenderly to Killian’s white-blond crop. As soon as Aoife met his eyes, he said brightly, ‘So, what do you think of us, slave? I believe you know my son, the Prince of Donn. Careful now!’ He raised a finger warningly, as Aoife opened her mouth to deny this absurdity. ‘Don’t speak! Or you know what will happen to your little sidekick.’

  Yet there was no need to silence her, because her words had already dried in her throat.

  She was wrong.

  She’d always been wrong – a blind, stupid, fool.

  And to know it, she only had to look at the two of them, side by side. The same slanted eyes; the same razor-sharp cheekbones; the same beautiful, cynical mouth …

/>   I’ve always known. I’m a fool. I’ve always known.

  Dorocha was laughing at her. ‘What a useful idiot you are, Aoibheal. Showing my son the way to the hawthorn pool; sitting him in my carriage of death; letting him kiss you; leaving him behind. His mother wept with joy to see him when we found him there! She’s very tender-hearted, as you know … Zookeeper, come out!’

  ‘Yes, my lord?’ Seán Burke – who had been keeping out of sight – shuffled forwards from the darkness between the ramshackle cages; the picture of humility in his mouldering dark green cooshee coat and old leather boots. ‘What can I do for you, my lord?’

  ‘What amusements had you planned for yourself with these treacherous girls?’

  The hideous, tattered face lit up. ‘Well, if you’re interested in my humble sports, my lord – what an honour! – please, my lord, if you’d care to seat yourself here, my lord.’ The old man wrestled to pick up the marble chair from the mud, rubbing it down with the sleeve of his coat, leaving it stuck all over with loose green hair. ‘If you would grace your humble servant with your presence, I was after planning a long, highly amusing, evening session with the human and a starving sluagh, and I was going to leave the queen …’

  ‘The other slave,’ said Dorocha, walking over towards the chair – aiming a kick at Aoife as he passed her by, which knocked her sideways off her knees back down into the mud.

  Seán Burke corrected himself smoothly, ‘… the “other slave” in with the cooshees. But I know you’re busy and that might be a long wait because the dogs are rather fond of – um, the slave – so it might be a few days before they get hungry enough to have a go at her, but I thought it would be amusing to leave her in their cage for a few days, watching their hunger battle it out with their loyalty, until they can’t resist taking a nibble here, and a nibble there.’