To Ride A Púca

by Heather McCorkle

  The last words made Neala cringe. Her parents were terribly naïve if they let themselves believe that lie. The children knew she was different, they had always known.

  Listening to her parents talk about how the Danes wouldn’t come inland made Neala’s power burn. It was all she had heard her da say over the two days it had taken to return home. Her parents had talked about this all night after she and her da arrived. The fact that her ma had focused long enough to make them breakfast was a miracle.

  Neala was tired of talk. People were threatening their land, it was time for action. Her parents were healers. She understood that and didn’t expect them to fight. But her power had never worked like theirs. She couldn’t even heal a scratch. All she seemed to be able to do with hers was push or pull on things. She wanted to be useful; she wanted to fight for her country like her brother had. It was more than that, she needed to.

  Their conversation had gone so deep into the night that whispered bits of it had entered Neala’s nightmares. There had been talk of power and fighting, of her fighting with her power. Her ma had cried and argued that she didn’t want her baby fighting. Her da had insisted they tell Neala something but her ma forbid it. How much had been actual conversation and how much had been part of her dreams, Neala had no idea.

  When she was finished with the dishes she went around the wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and watched her parents. Their meager home was small enough that she could hear every hushed word they said even though they were across the room. They must have felt the weight of her intense gaze because they stopped talking and turned to look at her. She knew they would feel it because her gaze carried the press of her useless power.

  Tears had turned her ma’s beautiful green eyes red and it looked like she hadn’t even pulled a brush through her long, light brown hair yet. Looking at her was like seeing her own reflection in a pool but Neala felt pale and lacking in comparison. She wasn’t the powerful healer her ma was. That had always bothered her even though she had little interest in healing. It just didn’t feel like healing was in her. But today her ma looked like nothing more than a frightened, frail woman. Neala refused to let her vulnerable appearance deter her.

  “It’s time to let me learn how to fight,” Neala said.

  Her ma’s eyes widened and she shook her head.

  “Absolutely not,” her da snapped. “And don’t ye dare breathe a word of this to anyone. It would only create a panic.”

  Though she was prepared for an argument, his quick dismissal set her afire. “If the invaders come here someone has to defend our home. They could be here with a sizable force in a little over a week. I must be able to fight,” she said.

  Her ma flew to her feet and shook her head. “No. Not ye, not me beagcailín.”

  The near hysterical look in her ma’s eyes wasn’t enough to stop her. Not this time, this was too important to give up on. Calling her a little girl in the old tongue didn’t help. She pushed away from the counter and took a step closer to her parents.

  “I’m hardly a little girl anymore. I’m of marryin’ age, in fact. If ye won’t let me learn to protect our land then let me learn to protect meself. Ye know what they do to women and girls,” Neala said.

  Horror filled her ma’s eyes before she turned away to hide her face in her hands. Guilt traced hot fingers across Neala’s heart. Her ma knew very well the horrible things invaders did. Her family was originally from the north end of the island and they had fled here when the Danes landed on their shores.

  When she saw her da’s clenched jaw and felt the heat of his angry power, Neala started to question her choice of words.

  “How dare ye speak to yer ma that way. Remember yer place girl,” he warned.

  His attention shifted to his wife as he grasped her arm to help support her. “Sit down Cecily, take it easy now,” he soothed as he led her to a chair. He sat beside her and patted her head as she laid it on his shoulder.

  His words fanned the flames of Neala’s anger until it felt like her skin was burning. “Me place is on the battlefield. If Lorcan were here he would teach me how to use a sword,” she snapped.

  Just saying her brother’s name made it feel like someone had punched her in the stomach. She couldn’t help it, it had just come out. It was true, he would have taught her. In fact he had, to a point. Since she was little he had been teaching her hand-to-hand fighting so she could protect herself. But he’d never had the chance to teach her how to use a sword.

  “Neala O’Carroll, how dare ye!” her da said as he shot her a dangerous glare.

  His power prickled along her skin like hot coals but it was easy to banish by calling up her own. She thrust her chin up. Her pride faltered when her ma lifted her head from her da’s shoulder and Neala saw the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “But he’s not here. Lorcan is dead, and I couldn’t bear for ye to end up the same,” her ma said.

  A frustrated cry wrenched from Neala as she bolted for the door. Her da must have moved to follow her because she heard her ma call after him. “Ardal, just let her go. She needs to be alone to think.”

  She slammed the door shut behind her and plunged into the bright light of morning. Despite the warm sun cowering below the clouds on the horizon, a thick mist clung to the grassy meadow where her home was nestled. The sweet, cloying scent of wet grass and clover filled her nostrils. Tall evergreens reaching like pillars toward the sky loomed close to their little meadow, holding the mist in. The feathery, cool touch of wet grass brushed her ankles as she ran for the barn.

  The sight and sensations of the misty morning only upset her more. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing the place where she had grown up with Lorcan. What did he die for if they gave this up?

  She threw the barn door open wide, making Dubh and his brothers jump in their stalls. While his brothers calmed and went back to eating, Dubh rushed to put his head out the stall opening. Not even he could comfort her right now. She ran past him, rounded the aisle that went between the stalls, and fell upon the hay bundles stored in the corner. Through her weeping she could hear Dubh pacing and nickering. After a moment she wiped her eyes and sat up. Crying would do her no good, she knew. Like she had told her parents, she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

  Shoving hay aside, she exposed a floor board with a notch in it that allowed her to lift it out of place. The dark space was cool and clammy but the object she drew from within it was warm to the touch. It was a long box that pulsed as if what it held within was alive. Neala opened it and removed a bundle that was four feet long and heavy. Handling it carefully, she clutched it to her chest. Though it was secure in a leather sheath and wrapped in a blanket, she could still feel the energy that clung to it; her brother’s energy. It was his sword and aside from Dubh, it was the only thing that brought her any measure of comfort lately.

  Today holding the sword only fueled her anger. It was ridiculous that her parents wouldn’t let her learn how to fight. Plenty of Celtic women fought to protect their homes and families, some even fought alongside the men in battle. She was really good at hand-to-hand fighting, she had to be. The other children of the nearby village didn’t like her. The thought made her lift her hand to her shoulder to touch the tiny scar there. Some part of them sensed that she was different.

  Tears dripped onto the black wool blanket that encased the sword. The sight of them intensified her anger. They made her feel weak. Frustrated, she thrust the sword back into the box, put the lid on, and put the floorboard back in place. She jumped to her feet and dashed to Dubh’s stall. He ceased his pacing and bobbed his head up and down, making his long, black mane and forelock bounce.

  As Neala grabbed his bridle off a hook on the wall she saw something moving in the bucket where they stored the horses’ grain. It was no more than eight inches tall and resembled a tiny human. Unlike fairies, this creature had no wings but it did have a long tail that ended in a puff of brown fur. In its hands was half an acorn shell that it w
as using it to scoop up the grain.

  “Ye little thief! Get out of there!” Neala said.

  It stuck its tongue out at her before leaping out of the bucket to scurry off with its treasure. The small menaces were always stealing something. She put the lid on the grain, making sure it was good and snug. If her da found out she’d forgotten to put it on he would have her mucking out stalls for a month solid. Given the chance, brownies would steal every bit of the grain.

  Hooves prancing out a rhythm on the wooden floor, Dubh nickered as she entered his stall. He lowered his head the moment she lifted his bridle. When she was finished putting it on he gently pushed his head against her chest. The sadness in his green eyes made her think maybe he knew she was upset.

  “Yer a big help as always me friend. A good run through the woods is exactly what we need.”

  Using her energy, she pushed off from the ground and launched herself onto Dubh’s back. No amount of practice would enable her to mount that way without using her power, Dubh was simply too tall. The display of power was why her da had gotten so mad at her when she’d done it in town yesterday. Such a thing could expose them and that could be disastrous. The invaders killed her kind just because of what they were.

  They shouldn’t have to hide what they are, Neala hated that.

  Sliding into the most secure position on Dubh’s back, she took up the reins and urged him into a trot. Normally she couldn’t care less that she didn’t have a saddle but today even that bothered her. It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford it. Her family had plenty of coin. Her parents wouldn’t buy a saddle because it was a luxury item most people couldn’t afford. They didn’t want to draw attention to themselves.

  Once they were clear of the barn Neala turned Dubh toward the misty forest and urged him into a canter. The moment they stepped into the trees the heady scent of pine and fertile ground enveloped them. The deeper they ran into the woods, the thicker the patchy mist became. It soon covered the ground, reaching up to Dubh’s ankles. While they could see the trees and dodge easily in and out of them, Neala couldn’t see the ground. Soon the mist was up to Dubh’s hocks but by then she was leaning into the damp wind, too immersed in the ride to care. She felt free with the wind whipping through her hair, almost as if she could fly.

  The trees flashed by and the fog curled up around them, teasing her booted feet. Sunlight streamed through the massive pines where it could find an opening between the feathery boughs. The light bounced off the fog, making it harder to see. Just as she started to feel bad for her recklessness and picked up the reins to slow Dubh down, he slipped.

  Time slowed in that terrible way it did when something bad happened. Dubh’s right front leg slid out from under him and he started to go down. Shifting her weight back, Neala pulled on the reins, trying to help him lift his head and regain his balance. For a moment it seemed like it was going to work. Then he toppled over onto his side. A sharp, intense pain shot through her right ankle as the huge stallion landed on her. She cried out and Dubh leapt off her, but the damage was done.

  The pain made it hard to think. She reached for her ankle and cried out again as the touch sent slivers of agony lancing into her. It was broken, she was sure of it. With a boot on it was hard to tell how bad. Tears made tracks down her cheeks. She lay back onto a bed of cold, wet ferns and tried to slow her breathing. The last thing she needed was to pass out.

  Dubh’s big black head poked through the mist and sniffed her face. His eyes were filled with a worried, almost guilty look. Concern for him shot through her.

  “Are ye all right?” she asked him.

  He proved he was by prancing about before putting his nose down to sniff her foot. He snorted, blowing horse snot all over her boot.

  “Lovely, just what I need,” she gasped around the pain.

  The fog swirled as Dubh lifted his head and looked around. Neala did the same, not liking the tension that rippled across him. It was hard to tell because of the white clouds of fog that hugged everything, but she knew she’d never been to this part of the forest. The ferns, vines, and trees were similar, but unlike the trees near her home the trunks of these were choked with moss. A river rushed along in the distance. There wasn’t a river within miles of her home. She was on another clan’s property. And she was forbidden to be here.

  Fear gave her enough strength to brace against the tree near her in an attempt to get up. A searing pain shot through her ankle as she tried to move it. She screamed and tried to muffle the sound by clamping a hand over her mouth. Tears slid down her cheeks as she ground her teeth against sobs. She couldn’t take the chance of anyone hearing her. Other clans tolerated those that lived next to them but only if they didn’t come onto their land. People were killed and battles were started over such things.

  Dubh went very still. Neala stiffened, knowing it wasn’t a good sign. Something was making him nervous. True, he was high-spirited but there wasn’t much that made him nervous, and right now the tense line of his back meant he had heard or seen something he didn’t like. His nostrils flared and his big green eyes flicked about. She could feel his energy building like a tight spring under pressure.

  “What’s wrong, boy?” she whispered.

  With a squeal, Dubh spun on his hindquarters to face the other direction. He pawed with his front hooves then reared back onto his hind legs a few times. Those massive hind hooves were dangerously close to Neala’s legs. His long, black tail trailed along her feet. She tried to scoot back but the movement hurt so bad it made her dizzy. A whimper escaped her clenched teeth.

  Beneath Dubh’s belly she could see a pair of legs clothed in dark breeches approaching. They moved with caution but clear intent. Whoever it was, was coming right for her. The fog swallowed the person’s feet and Dubh blocked any view of them from the waist up. The legs were fit and male, that was all she could tell. Then something completely unexpected happened—she realized she recognized the person’s energy. It wasn’t that she knew him; it was that he was her kind, a druid.

  It wasn’t possible. There were no other druids save for her family anywhere near here, or so she had been told. And yet, he was definitely her kind. The way his energy pulsed was a sure giveaway. She could feel it coming off him in waves, a force so powerful it felt like she could reach out and touch it. Normal people’s energy did not feel that way.

  “Easy boy. I mean no harm. I’ve only come to help,” a deep, confident, male voice said. It slid over her like fine silk, making her wonder if he was attractive, or dangerous. But then, weren’t they one in the same as her ma always said?

  Dubh pawed a few more times in warning. Concern for him bloomed within Neala. He could get hurt.

  “We didn’t mean to ride onto yer land. I was out for a run and got lost in the fog,” she said.

  The pair of legs stopped a few yards from Dubh. “Are ye hurt? I heard a scream,” the man said.

  It occurred to her that she didn’t even have a dagger on her.

  “Ye’re not part of a fiann are ye?” she asked.

  The warrior bands that roamed the countryside stealing and killing would almost be worse than a rival clan member. If he did belong to one, then he might abduct her and take her back to them. That was a fate she didn’t even want to think about.

  “Tis all right. I’m not going to hurt ye. Ye’re one of me kind, I wouldn’t dare,” he said.

  So he could sense what she was too. That was encouraging, sort of.

  “And what if I wasn’t?” she asked.

  The young man chuckled, a warm sound that eased her mind a bit. “Well I wouldn’t ravish ye if that’s what ye’re worried about. I’m a Celt, not a barbarian,” he said.

  Neala couldn’t help but smile. “Some would say they are one in the same,” she said.

  “Danes maybe,” he said.

  He sounded kind enough, even somewhat funny. And more importantly, his energy had a positive feel to it like the warmth of a fire on a cold day.

  “
It’s all right Dubh. Step aside. Side,” she said, raising her voice to make the last word a command.

  The stallion’s ears flicked back in her direction and he took one step to the side, both his right front and back foot stepping at the same time. She repeated the command until he took three more side-steps and was no longer between her and the man. The sight of him didn’t exactly instill trust in her.

  Now that she could see all of him she realized his breeches may not be brown after all. They were so caked in mud they only looked that color. A sopping wet beige tunic with mud splashed all over it clung to his defined chest and arms. It was hard to tell beneath all the dirt but she was pretty sure his chin-length hair was golden brown. Pale green eyes that sparkled like crystal gave the hint that there might be a handsome man under all the grime. Something stuck up over his shoulder, a bow from the looks of it. Two big birds hung on a rope strung over his other shoulder, white-fronted geese. Even they were muddy.

  He was much younger than he had sounded. He looked to be around her age.

  A small laugh slipped from Neala despite the pain she was in. “Yer mornin’ looks to have been nearly as bad as mine,” she said.

  One corner of the young man’s mouth turned up into a crooked smile. “Nearly. I shot the geese over a bog,” he said with a laugh.

  Neala would have laughed along with him but the excitement of the moment was fading fast and her pain was increasing. It took everything she had to be able to smile.

  “I can help, well, me ma can,” he said. The concern etched on his face must have meant her pain was obvious. It was touching. A stranger had never shown Neala anything close to concern. Most of them were too afraid of her to come near her.

  She knew she shouldn’t trust a complete stranger but she also knew she couldn’t make it all the way home. Riding would increase the pain and she was afraid that if it grew much worse she’d pass out. Falling off Dubh twice did not seem like a good idea. She looked long and hard at the young man, not only trying to judge his appearance, but his energy as well. Feeling it was easy, but to see it she had to drop the wall that she kept around her power. After a moment she could see it surrounding him as surely as the fog teasing his ankles. It was a mixture of green and yellow that combined in a beautiful way.