To Ride A Púca
by
Heather McCorkle
To Ride A Púca
Heather McCorkle
Copyright @2012 Heather McCorkle
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
Hardback ISBN: 978-0-9851804-1-6
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9851804-2-3
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9851804-3-0
Cover images from Thinkstock. Cover design by CP Design.
First Edition.
Compass Press release date:5/7/2012
This novel is for all those who have had to flee their land in search of a place where they could be free.
Dubh: (dōōv) black
Púca: (pooka) shapeshifter of Irish legend
Diaduit: (deah hoit) hello, greeting
Beagcailín: (boig caullen) little girl
Tá: (tah) yes
Níl: (kneel) no
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
Acknowledgments
1
With a trembling hand, Neala adjusted the spyglass to get a better look at the ship that marred the perfect blue horizon of the ocean. It was still too far away to tell much about it, save that it was large and imposing. A twist of the spyglass revealed the fierce figurehead on the prow. Fear rose up and clamped an icy grip on her throat.
“Danes, oh no,” she murmured.
Her heart began to thud with the intensity of a blacksmith’s hammer. Nervous energy hummed through her body. A hot summer wind blew a strand of her long brown hair across the spyglass, obscuring her view and shaking her from her paralyzed state. Her horse shifted beneath her and stomped his foot. She didn’t need any more urging, it was time to go.
The click the spyglass made as she compacted it made both her and her horse jump. It was silly to think the Danes could hear. Knowing that didn’t make the fear go away, though. The spyglass slipped from her hands and she fumbled with it, barely catching it before it fell.
“No!” she gasped. An entirely different kind of anxiety clutched at her chest. To lose her spyglass here, now—knowing what was coming—would be more irony than she could handle. She clutched it close to her heart for a moment, then carefully tucked it into a pouch at her waist, ensuring the ties on it were well secured.
Murmuring soothing words to her horse, she patted the arch of his muscular, black neck and took up the reins.
“Easy Dubh,” she said, not liking how loud her voice was out here on the deserted hilltop.
With no saddle between her and Dubh she easily felt his muscles bunch in preparation to run. A rustling sound drew her attention. She shifted her weight back, cuing Dubh to wait. A tiny creature that looked like a dangerously thin human but was no bigger than Neala’s hand, fluttered on iridescent wings above Dubh’s neck. It cocked its head and gave her a concerned look.
“Go little fairy, it isn’t safe here,” Neala told it.
The fairy cocked its head at her, and the look of concern that pinched its tiny features made Neala’s chest tighten. It floated to her shoulder and lingered there. Its delicate wings brushed her ear.
“Please go, I’m beggin’ ye. Tell yer kind this town isn’t safe anymore,” Neala said.
After a glance in the direction of the ship which was only a speck on the horizon, the fairy nodded and disappeared. The air glimmered green and blue for a moment, then all trace of her was gone. She must have understood the danger to some degree, but how much, Neala couldn’t be sure.
Turning Dubh toward the port town of Dublin, Neala let him go. He thundered down the green hillside, his massive feet with their long, black feathers of hair throwing up huge chunks of earth. Once they reached the cobblestone streets she had to slow him to a trot to maneuver through the horse-drawn carts and pedestrians. Dubh was so big that people moved quickly out of his way and a path was cleared.
It felt like an eternity before she reached the shop where her da was, though it took only moments. Their cart, with Dubh’s black and white brothers hitched to it, was parked in the alleyway next to the building. It was empty. Good, that meant her da had already unloaded the wool. Before Dubh came to a stop at the hitching post Neala leapt from his back. She didn’t bother to tie him. Though he stomped and snorted, he wouldn’t go anywhere without her.
Forgetting all propriety, Neala threw the door open and ran into the shop, darting around tables covered in bolts of material and wool. At the back of the shop her da was leaning upon a tall table engaged in conversation with the old man behind it.
“Da, there’s a ship coming,” she said as she came to a stop next to him.
His brow furrowed as his blue eyes flicked in her direction. The look he cast her from beneath his plain brown locks was filled with irritation.
“Neala, we’re talkin’ business. Don’t be rude,” he said.
Power crackled beneath her skin and it was all she could do to contain it. His words did not help, neither did the fact that he turned away to continue his conversation. They didn’t have time for delays.
“Da, it’s a Dane ship,” she said.
“Ha! That’s daft. They’ve never come this far down the coast,” the shopkeeper said.
It wasn’t easy to ignore the way his words prickled along her last nerve. All she got from her da was another glare, this one carrying weight and threat.
The power that crawled beneath her skin intensified and she let it, focusing it down into her fingers. She used it to heighten her strength as she grabbed her da’s forearm. He tried to pull away but all she had to do was call on more of her power and it was easy to hang onto him. Anger filled his eyes as he truly looked at her for the first time that afternoon. She hated to disrespect him by using her power, but he gave her no choice. They were running out of time.
“Let go,” he hissed.
His power flared beneath her hand but she snuffed it easily with her own. White shone around the blue of his eyes before they narrowed into a fierce glare. Reminding him of the differences in their power was a sure way to raise his ire. He gave her no choice, though. The pressure she was applying would bruise his arm. Unlike her—could use his power to heal it so she paid it no mind.
“I’m not playin, da,” she said.
Either he saw something in her face that indicated how desperate she was, or he just didn’t want to challenge her unpredictable power. He sighed in defeat and gave the merchant one of those tolerant looks grownups gave each other when dealing with an insolent child.
“If ye’ll excuse me for a moment, I must remind me daughter of her manners,” he told the merchant.
The man gave her da a gap-toothed smile that looked a bit strained. “Don’t bruise yer hand,” he said with a laugh.
Neala shot the man a look of warning and a bit of her power slipped out. The power struck him like a
strong wind, shoving him back a step. His eyes widened as he made the sign of the evil eye at her; two fingers thrust up in a V shape.
“Ye’re a druid,” he said, spitting at the last word as though it tasted bad. He drew back, fear contorting his features. “Get out of me shop an don’t come back.”
She flinched at the sting of his words but right now the man and his superstitions didn’t matter, getting her da to safety did. Her kind were used to such attitudes from the townsfolk, and much worse.
“Danes are coming, ye dolt. If ye know what’s good for ye, ye’ll leave,” she hissed.
A big part of her didn’t care if the man knew what was good for him. People like him sold her kind out to save their own hides time and time again. They were the very reason druids lived in hiding. Casting him a dark glare over her shoulder, she ran for the door, dragging her da with her.
“If it’s true, they’re comin’ because of ye and ye’re filthy get,” the shopkeeper said.
Her da pulled back from her and she had to pour more power into her arm to overcome his struggles. “Ye’ve ruined our chance of ever selling here again. What is this nonsense?” he demanded.
“It won’t matter, da. These people will all be dead by nightfall,” she said.
A tiny amount of the pressure building in her chest eased a little as they stepped out into the dim light of the overcast day
“If ye had seen them from the hilltop then they’d be upon us now,” her da said.
Opening the pouch at her side, Neala showed him the end of her spyglass. “I used the druid’s spyglass that Lorcan made for me. I saw the ship, tis invaders.”
Stubborn disbelief etched deep lines into his brow. “They’ve never come this far down the coast.”
The way he echoed the shopkeeper’s words made her twitch and grind her teeth. He tried to turn away, but Neala refused to let him go. Despite being a fit, strong man, she held him easily. As a druid, being a sixteen year old girl wasn’t a disadvantage for her.
Her da went very still. “Are ye certain?”
She nodded. Pain and terror swirled within her da’s eyes and his bottom jaw started to quiver.
“Say nothin’, ride up front and use Dubh to clear a path for us, we need to leave as fast as we can without drawin’ attention,” he said.
“But Da, these people…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.
“No. We can’t afford to get trapped in the panic,” he whispered then gave her a push toward her horse.
Neala shook her head. It didn’t matter that these people would give them up to the Danes in a heartbeat if they knew what they were. They didn’t know. Letting them all die would make her no better than them. She glanced at people milling about in the busy street.
“If we don’t fight then what did Lorcan die for?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed. “Our kind are healers, that’s why yer brother died.” His eyes softened and the crease between them smoothed out. “We’ll spread the word as soon as we reach the edge of town, I promise.”
There was no sense in arguing with him, he was right. Having her gentle da caught amidst a panic was the last thing she wanted. Neala focused her power down through her legs and used it to push off the ground, launching her onto Dubh’s tall back. Her da slapped her calf as he walked by.
“Not in public Neala,” he warned.
“It hardly matters. Most of these people will be dead by sunset,” she mumbled through a tightening throat.
Her da rushed to the cart and climbed into the driver’s seat. The black and white geldings perked up as he slapped the reins across their rumps. With a touch of her leg, Neala spun Dubh around and pranced out into the street. He was a bundle of excited energy beneath her. It was nothing like her own, just the nervous energy of a horse. That was exactly what she needed right now.
Snorting and shaking his head, Dubh moved along at a high stepping trot. People rushed to get out of his way. Children cried out and startled women scooped them aside while glaring at Neala. She bared her teeth and tried to use her fear to make her look ferocious. She was able to maintain a brisk trot with her da and the cart rolling steadily along behind her. Insults, threats, and curses were flung at them but Neala ignored them. She couldn’t blame these people, not when she knew what was coming.
The faces of the children, so innocent, fed the guilt that was growing inside of her. There were a lot of people in this town; chances were good they could fight off the Danes. But many of them would die, maybe even some of these children. Neala’s chest tighten at the thought and tears stung her eyes.
“Da, we have to tell them,” she called back over her shoulder. “Please.”
“Not yet Neala,” he called back, his harsh tone leaving no room for discussion.
Moisture filled her eyes as she bit down on her bottom lip to hold back an argument. The faces continued to assault her conscience while she pushed her way through the busy streets. People flinched away from her big, black horse, cursing at him and calling him names like púca. Even the insults to her horse couldn’t stir her ire today though, not knowing what was going to happen to these people. She didn’t have any more right to live than they did. The only thing that held her tongue was the need to get her da and Dubh to safety.
They soon left the busy main streets behind for the road leading out of town. Each face they passed sent a sickening wave of guilt through Neala. She was torn between wanting to stay and fight with them or flee to safety. Being a druid, she knew she was supposed to abhor fighting, but she didn’t, not when it was in defense of others. Every part of her ached to stay and fight. If her da knew how she felt, he would lecture her until she was an old maid.
Neala’s shoulders started to ache with the effort of holding Dubh back from running. She shifted her weight, cuing him to stop. He obeyed but stomped and tossed his head.
“Easy boy, soon,” she soothed him as her eyes scanned their surroundings.
To her right a woman knelt in a garden pulling weeds, and to the left a pair of men chatted as they leaned against a fence. Neala couldn’t just leave and let all these people be slaughtered, and she hoped her da couldn’t either. When she met his gaze there were tears in his eyes and his face was contorted with grief.
She knew he felt bad for these people but that his grief wasn’t for them. The impending attack probably reminded him of her brother, Lorcan. He had gone north to fight invaders three years ago and only his sword and Dubh had come back.
After an excruciatingly long moment, her da nodded. Neala was glad to turn away from the pain in his eyes but it followed her like a ghost, sinking its talons into her heart.
As her da called out to the men across the road, she guided Dubh up to the woman in the garden. The woman looked up with a pleasant smile that faded the second she laid eyes on Dubh. A big black horse with green eyes tended to have that effect on people. A mixture of caution and suspicion warred across the woman’s furrowed brow.
“Take yer family and flee, Danes are nearly at the shores,” Neala said.
The woman rose slowly and brushed dirt from her knees. Neala urged Dubh forward another step and the woman stumbled back from him.
“Are ye daft woman? I said go!” Neala yelled.
One hand went to her hip and she stared at Neala as if she were the one who was daft.
The racket of pounding hooves pulled Neala’s attention behind them. Three mounted people were riding hard in their direction. Dubh hopped on his hind legs a bit and spun in the direction of the noise. It took all of Neala’s strength to hold him back as the three riders thundered past them, leaving Neala in a cloud of dust. As the hoof beats faded and the dust settled, Neala saw people running through the streets, some coming her way, others just running to and fro.
“Danes are coming! Danes are coming!” people started yelling.
The woman turned and ran toward her home. Out of the corner of her eye Neala saw the men her da had been speaking to both take off running in opposit
e directions.
“Let’s go Neala, we’ve done what we can,” her da said. He slapped the reins on the horses’ rumps and hollered at them. They leapt into action, propelling him and the cart forward at a reckless speed.
Letting out an excited squeal, Dubh reared and pulled at the reins. Neala grabbed hold of his mane, squeezed with her legs, and released him into a canter. They caught up with the cart and passed it. She held him back as best she could, not wanting to get too far ahead of her da.
The rolling green hills in the distance swallowed the road and promised a safe escape. There was no doubt in Neala’s mind that she and her da would make it. She couldn’t stop thinking about how many innocent people in town were going to die, though. Riding away from that battle was the hardest thing she had ever had to do.
2
Neala hated seeing her ma cry. There was nothing she could say to make this better so she remained silent as she carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen. She removed a bucket of water from the top of the wood burning stove and poured half of it into the sink. Being as quiet as she could, she started to wash the dishes while trying to listen to her parents discuss the invaders.
They talked about how the ships coming so far down the coastline was a sign the Danes were spreading across Ireland. Upon hearing that Neala shivered despite the fact that her hands were submerged in warm water.
“But we’ve been so careful. No one knows there are druids here,” her ma said.
“They know, they always know. And they always come to try and wipe us out,” her da said, sounding exhausted and defeated. Soft footsteps padded across the wooden floors.
“Nil, me dear. Don’t think that way. We can’t feed into the fear,” her ma said.
Leaning out around the wall, Neala peeked into the room. Her ma was kneeling beside her da’s chair, clutching one of his hands in both of hers.
“Two days ride and the Slieve Bloom Mountains separate us from the port. Surely, no one there knows we exist, or that we’re here. Our own village doesn’t even know what we are,” she said.
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