by Jack Tunney
The castle was a controlled pandemonium of color and sound that only added to the dreamlike quality of the place.
“How is this possible?” the Texan asked.
The elder Mac Tir shook his head and made a tsking sound. “Are all you Texans so thick headed, boyo? I told you, this is the regular Fae Fair. What did you expect? A bunch of wee folk sitting about a keg of whiskey on hay bales?”
“Da,” the younger Mac Tir said, “that is pretty much what it ends up as when you see the rest of the family.”
“You be quiet, you long, tall disappointment,” Conri said with no sharpness to his speech. “Save your energy for the Coraíocht matches. You’re of age now. Time you were well wed and happily complaining about your wife’s cooking instead of mine.”
The two Mac Tir men kept up their gentle bickering as they walked toward the amazing castle, but the Texan barely heard them. He was so captivated by the spectacle before him, he felt as if he were having a waking dream.
They came down the hill to the plain before the fortress, where booths and spaces for livestock had been set up along the roadside. Vendors were preparing for the day with food, drink, and all sorts of wares – from knitted clothing to small art objects, like statues of various mythological figures from the Irish past.
It’s like the State Fair, the rodeo and a homecoming celebration all rolled into one, Howard thought.
The comparison was emphasized as they got closer to the building. Colorful banners hung from every turret and window. Musicians played harps and lutes, drums and flutes. There were jugglers, fire-eaters, hawkers and vendors of all sorts everywhere.
That was where the resemblance ended to anything Howard had ever seen, for the crowd around the castle was a show unto itself. There were townsfolk from DunKillie, some of whom he recognized – like the angry wrestler Bran from the day before, who glared at him from behind a blackened left eye.
I said you you’d end up with a shiner, Howard thought happily.
There were others around Bran who also wore marks of the previous evening’s fight. Some of the faces Howard remembered from the pub.
But there were others in the crowd filing in and out of the open portcullis of the castle that were like no one Howard had ever seen. These others were what drew the Texan’s attention.
There were tall, blond, men and women with pointed ears and cat-like eyes, blue skinned people seated on flying carpets, flitting in and around the edges of the crowd. Several individuals appeared to be fur-covered and were decidedly lupine in aspect. Movement in the moat attracted the Texan’s eye and he marveled at a half-dozen swimmers that were human from the waist up and fish from the waist down.
“Well I’ll a monkey’s uncle,” the Texan said. “It’s a regular menagerie.”
“There are some of the Fae that feel that very way about you mortals,” Conri said. “And they’ve even got fellas inside who do have tails we can compare to me son here to just to see how far from a monkey he is!”
ROUND 5
A FAIR DAY IN OLDE IRELAND
The courtyard inside the castle’s curtain wall was a kaleidoscope of color and a cacophony of sound that was almost overwhelming to the newcomer from Texas. The scent of the place was exotic as well. Howard imagined he could smell the perfumes of Arabia, the jungles of the east, and the spices of far Cathay.
Howard kept shaking his head at each new revelation. He saw unicorns, fauns, and one woman with feathers where her hair should be ho also sported beautiful golden-brown wings on her back.
“I knew the world was wide and my experiences limited,” the Texan said. “But I feel a downright hermit for all of this I never seen before!”
All around, the activity was frantic and the babble of voices constant. Howard felt like the proverbial rube come to the big city – although no city anywhere would have looked like this Fae fair.
Howard saw horned men and women, goat-legged couples walking arm in arm, like any other courting couple back home, and lizards on leashes – reptiles as big as dogs – ambling peaceably beside their owners. There were even children, albeit some with wings or hooves, running or yelling as children the world over have done since time immemorial at any crowded event.
The majority of the crowd, however, was tall blonds and redheads of both sexes, with cat-like eyes and pointed ears – the classic image of Eleven folk. They were all, man, woman and child, extremely beautiful.
“Bloody Elves,” the elder Mac Tir remarked as the trio moved through the swelling throng. “They think they own the place. They come over in big numbers from Tir Na Nog every year.”
“Seems like everyone is here,” the still stunned Texan said. “Sure is a big shindig.”
“That it is,” the senior Mac Tir said, with obvious pride. “Her Majesty Morgana is a good ruler, and the land prospers under her watch.” He waved to several folk in the crowd, human and Fae, who returned his attentions with smiles.
“Cousin,” a deep voice called from the crowd. The voice came from a dark haired fellow even smaller than Conri, who burst from the crowd to embrace the elder Mac Tir. This newcomer was dressed like Mac Tir in a red tailed coat and breeches.
“Abban!” Mac Tir said. He and the newcomer exchanged hearty hugs before breaking apart.
“Is this my Little Wolf?” Abban said, looking up at Cuan. “He’s almost as big as an elf!” The newcomer accepted a hug from the boy.
“Uncle Abban!” Cuan said.
“And who is this strapping decay monkey?” the new Cluricaun asked, referring to Howard without rancor.
“Cousin,” Conri said, “allow me to introduce Mister Robert Howard of Texas, across the western sea.”
“Bob, please.” The Texan extended his hand and found the small delicate hand of the new arrival was firm and strong.
“Across the sea you say?” Abban said. “Well now, that is a first for this fair.”
“It’s all a first for me, sir,” Howard said with a smile. “It is all pretty amazing.”
The dark haired little man laughed. “Don’t feel so different for all that, fella. Even we Fae find this gathering a special and unusual thing.”
As the four companions moved through the crowd, the two elder Cluricauns caught up on the last years apart – Mac Tir’s voluntary exile to the mortal plane precluding passage back and forth for him most of the time.
For his part, the Texan, was kept off-balance by the color and pageantry of the scene around him. It was everything his writer’s mind could conjure and more.
The group stopped at a refreshment stand and Conri bought them all a tankard of golden fruit juice. “The good stuff Sucellos, the Good Striker, never lets across to the mortal plane, Bob,” he said. “Take it easy on the juice. It can even knock a Leprechaun on his arse if he’s not judicious.”
His cousin snickered at the comment, but was silenced by a sharp look from Conri.
“No need to give examples,” Abban said with a smile. “I’m sure the Valkyrie has forgotten the entire affair. At least I’ll never tell.”
The Texan sipped the golden brew, which had no smell of alcohol at all. It was indeed like nothing he had ever tasted. It was neither sweet nor bitter and did not burn as it went down. It was like single malt, but a moment after he took his first drink, he had a rush of warmth up his whole body.
“Dang!” Howard said. “I can see what you mean. I think I’ll nurse this one for a while – maybe get a bite to help tame it.”
“They have some leg of boar over there,” Cuan exclaimed with excitement. “And Roc on a stick. I like that especially.”
“Bet it tastes like chicken,” the Texan said. “Let’s go get us some vitals then, Hoss. I’ll treat.”
The two went ahead of the elder Fae, but when the Texan produced money, the tall thin half-Fae boy held up a hand.
“Mortal coin is no good here, Bob,” Cuan said. “And I saved up this year for this, but thanks.”
The boy produced some dried flow
er petals from his pocket and set them on the counter of the exotic food vendor.
The seller, a grey-skinned creature, with tusks curling up from his lower lip and a tail flicking behind him, smiled at the petals and gave the young redhead some pollen grains as change.
Cuan offered some of his Roc, but Howard waved him away.
“This I can identify with,” the Texan said, tearing into the leg. “I’ve hunted and cooked some of these back home.”
The two kept walking, attracted by cheers and yells from a crowd up ahead. As they got closer, the yells became more specific, and it was clear it was a sporting event.
Both were tall enough to see over the Leprechaun and human members of the crowd, and so could see the field ahead where a race was underway. It was a relay race, the participants running from one side of the courtyard to the other, down rope lanes on stakes with pennants hung from them. At the end of the lane, a baton was passed off to the runner of the next leg. In that respect, it was like any high school track meet.
“Oh my, this must be better booze than your dad even advertised,” Howard said.
It was the participants that made the race unique. The first heat was run by Centaurs, the second by goat-legged Fauns, and the last by Elves riding unicorns!
“It is a sight, isn’t it?” Conri said as came up beside the two watchers.
“How come there are no Leprechauns running?” Howard asked.
Conri and Abban both made faces.
“Wee folk don’t run,” they said in unison, and then giggled. They both had drained their tankards of Sucellos’ special brew. “We jig!”
That set the two Fae off on a laughing jag that had them doubled over.
The race was a real crowd pleaser, and Howard could see money – or rather flowers – was exchanging hands with each leg of the race.
When the race ended the sound of the cheers was like a volcanic eruption, and the victorious team was carried on the shoulders of the crowd, which was no mean feat considering two of the runners had equine lower halves.
“You Fae sure know how to celebrate,” the Texan said.
“That we do, fella,” Abban agreed. “But more than that, we know how to wrestle.”
He pointed ahead to where several chalk circles were being set up on the now-vacant race field. The circles were four meters across and crowds began to assemble around all of them.
“That’s your call to action, spawn o’ me loins,” Conri said. He clapped his son on the back hard enough the boy almost dropped his tankard.
“And there’s your prize over there,” Abban said, pointing to the reviewing stand across the field. The seat for the Queen and her consort was still empty, but the chairs on either side of their thrones were full with the elite of the elite of the Sidhe. Every eligible lovely lady, Leprechaun, Elvin, Dwarf, Orc – if such could be called lovely – Nymph, and Centaur of the realm was dressed in their finest and scanning the field for the Fae of their dreams.
“And I’m hopin’ for some grand-Fae in a twelve month or two,” Conri said. “So do your best in the ring.”
Howard saw the already pale Cuan blanch. “I’ll do me best, Da!”
“We all know ya will, Hoss,” the Texan said, putting an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “So let’s go and look over the competition and give them fillies a chance to look you over, eh?”
ROUND 6
CHALLENGED
Howard wasn’t the only one who had the idea to walk in front of the reviewing stand to eye the merchandise and in turn be eyed. All the prospective wrestlers, spear throwers, archers, hammer-tossers, and their supporters walked across the field and before the stand.
Close up, the Texan was all but dazzled by the glowing beauty of most the women on the stand. Even the two-tusked she-Orcs in the bevy of nubile females had a certain glow about them that, despite being somewhat terrifying, were also somehow attractive.
“At least a fella can tell up front they have good dental hygiene,” the Texan quipped while trying to understand the glimmer of the magick, which made the strange beings attractive even to the human.
The three-bearded dwarf woman seemed to glare down at the passing parade of eligible males as if daring them to make some remark.
“I hear it’s the women who always choose their mates among the Dwarves,” Cuan said. “And three women will marry one man.”
“The same man?” the Texan asked. “Them’s pretty scary odds for a guy.”
“Yes,” Cuan agreed as he tried not to stare at the stunning Sidhe above him. “I’d feel pretty outmatched by just one.”
The Texan laughed. “I agree with you there, Hoss. I got me a special lady I just recently met in England and I can testify she’s more than enough for any man or beast.”
All the prospective brides flirted shamelessly with the parading studs who, to varying degrees, strutted or flirted back. Some of the Centaur studs went so far as to rear and paw the ground in displays of pure male bravado.
Cuan blushed frequently as he alternately stared and averted his eyes from the feminine observers.
It all amused the Texan who, a wide grin on his face, beamed up at the Sidhe sirens, touching his cowboy hat and nodding to several who giggled at him.
“I sure have never seen anything like this back in Texas,” he said when he and Cuan had reached the first wrestling circle to sign the boy up for the round robin tournament.
“They’ve not seen anything like you either, Bob,” Cuan said. “Did you not notice them all staring at you?”
“No.”
“Even the Dwarf trio gave a grunt, and I saw one of them point at you when you went by,” the boy said in all seriousness. “Most of the Sidhe have never seen a human, most especially from across the sea like you. I’d be careful if I was you or you might end up having to comb your wives’ beards for them.”
The Texan shuddered at the thought, and the two of them laughed.
“I got me a lady fair,” the Texan said. “At least with Gwen there’s some special thoughts in that direction. So, I think I’ll just leave the courtin’ to you, Cuan.”
At the wrestling circles there were Dwarf proctors, who took down the names and species of the participants. There was already a line of men, demi-men, and Fae lined up. Mac Tir fell in with the group, Howard beside him chatting and finishing his boar leg.
“Sure are a lot of prospective husbands here,” the Texan remarked.
“Oh, there are other prizes,” Cuan said. “Even Fae gold.”
“You mean flowers?” Howard smiled.
“No,” the red haired youth said. “Real Rhinegeild. The Leprechaun Council puts up prize gold. And there are other prizes – cattle, horses, all sorts of incentives. But mostly the competitors do it for bragging rights.”
“But you are trying for a wife?”
Cuan blushed. “The grand winners of the Dornálaíocht, the Coraíocht, the poetry, the spear, archery and hammer throwing, and the races are all brought before the Queen and have the honor to choose a maid.”
“Poetry as well.” The thought made the Texan smile.
“You should try, Bob,” Cuan said. “You write. I read those poems of yours you showed me last night, they’re excellent.”
The Texan shook his head and blushed.
“I’m just a scribbler,” Howard said. “Sometimes, I believe I was intended by nature to be an athlete. I think I’d rather have been a successful athlete than the very minor writer I have become.”
“They wouldn’t have your kind. They have standards here, barbarian,” a familiar voice snarked from several people ahead of them. ”I don’t think they allow mongrels, except Leprechauns.”
The voice belonged to Bran from the tavern courtyard.
“You oughta watch the words that come out of your mouth, hombre,” Howard said. “Lest someone wash it out with soap.”
The Texan was pleased to note again the bullet-headed hooligan’s black eye and slightly swollen lip. “And you ough
ta be careful when you go walking in the moonlight. Seems like you might have a little falling down problem, eh?”
The mustachioed Bran glared at the Texan and was about to speak, but Cuan intervened.
“Just keep your mind on the matches, Bran,” the young Mac Tir said. “You’ll need it, and all your strength, if we get in the ring together.”
“I wouldn’t need half of it for you, you skinny half-breed freak,” Bran sneered. “And that stray dog Yank beside you was lucky at the pub. I’d snap his neck in the ring if he had the guts to face me.”
Howard threw the boar leg away and straightened to his full height. “Did you just insult me twice, hombre?”
He started to step forward, but Conri Mac Tir appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to step in front of him.
“Easy, my friend,” the Cluricaun said. “Uncontrolled violence here is punished very severely. There is nothing this hooligan can say worth those types of problems.”
“Yeah, you protect the fool American, you powerless runt,” Bran said. “He wouldn’t have had a chance last night if he hadn’t caught me off guard.”
“Did you just call me a runt?” The little redhead knit his eyebrows, and his mouth curled into a snarl. His canines seemed particularly prominent.
“Well you are a runt,” The dark haired hooligan shot back. “It’s sure that no decent Kerry woman would’ve let you lay hands on her.”
The elder Mac Tir snarled like a wolf and literally launched himself at the offensive Bran.
Only Howard’s quick reflexes allowed him to interpose himself between the two, scooping Conri off the ground and carrying him away from Bran. Cuan, however, stepped past the two and grabbed for Bran’s shirt.
Cousin Abban stopped the young Mac Tir with his timely arrival and a stern look.