Fairytale Christmas

by Merrie Destefano

  Arrow pointed at my chest, the hunter did not flee, neither did he shoot.

  Then came a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Perhaps the wind blew my hair aside, revealing my face or my ears. Perhaps it was the Royal Celtic tattoo on my right shoulder.

  “Eire?” he asked incredulously. “Is it really you?” The archer fell to his knees before me, his bow on the ground. “Forgive me, I didn’t...I didn’t know you had woken up.”

  His words stirred something inside me, a welcome memory, but my pain pushed that thought away.

  Something about these wounds was far worse than any I’d received in any battle. My skin felt like it was on fire, like a hundred knives were stabbing my flesh, beginning at my shoulder and then moving throughout my body. I stumbled, my hands curled into fists.

  “Drink this!” He pulled a vial that hung from a cord around his neck, broke the tiny flask open, and offered it to me. “My arrows carry poison. ‘Tis the only way to weaken the Leanan Sidhe when the blood hunger is upon them.”

  I paused, the vial to my lips. My thoughts had grown so cloudy, I didn’t know if I should believe him. His head was down, Greagoir’s sword lay in the snow. If this was another one of Faelan’s tricks—

  Then I saw the crest on his tunic.

  A wreath of roses.

  You will recognize your Guardians by the crest on their tunics—

  My sister’s words, spoken so long ago.

  This stranger was a friend, I could trust him—

  “My leanaí—you must save them!” I gave one final command. “Faelan’s warriors are after them.”

  Then I swallowed the bitter drink he had offered me, wincing when it burned my throat and then my stomach.

  The hunter glanced around us, perhaps searching for more brown bears. “What shape are they?”

  “White wolf cubs. My blessing upon you, hunter, if you save them.”

  I collapsed on my hands and knees, right beside Greagoir’s sword and his still beating heart. The hunter paused only long enough to cover my nakedness with his thick cloak.

  Then he sprinted off, his voice calling out.

  “Find the white wolf cubs and spare them, men!” he said. “And kill every Leanan Sidhe bloodsucker that you see on the way. The forest is filled with them!”

  Eleven

  I caught my breath, then whispered a brief spell and felt the magic swirl through the snowy air until it settled upon me. The hunter’s poison rushed through my veins and I didn’t know how long the antidote would take, but I couldn’t wait. My vision blurred, my footsteps unsteady, I forced myself back to my feet, not caring that my only garment was a cloak. I grabbed Greagoir’s sword, then picked up his beating heart, and tucked it inside the cloak’s pocket.

  I leaned on the sword, trying to regain my strength.

  Had the hunter recognized me? Or was it dark sorcery that made it seem as if I had heard his voice before? I tried to remember what had happened only moments earlier during my battle with Greagoir, but my thoughts were muddled. I could only focus on one thing—

  Two legions were prowling this wood, the Leanan Sidhe and my Guardians. Either one of them could kill my sons. My children could be struck down by accident, just like I had. Or they could be killed by design, because they had royal Tuatha de Danann blood in their veins.

  Greagoir, my nemesis, still walked this forest.

  I had to find my leanaí.

  The hunter’s footprints led the way, through the trees, across a shallow river, and down a gully. I ran, following his trail, gulping cold mountain air as my bare feet sank into deep snow. The path twisted and turned, up a rocky hill, then across an old bridge, and back up to a razor-sharp crest.

  And there they were—

  Down in a narrow ravine.

  My two white wolf cubs were trapped with no way of escape, three of Faelan’s servants surrounding them. I stood at the hunter’s side as he drew his bow and let the first arrow fly. I cried out, for the arrow sailed too close to my youngest boy, Ambros. Through the frozen air it flew, hissing, until it struck one of the Leanan Sidhe in the neck.

  Blood sprayed out.

  Red on white snow.

  The other two monsters growled, but they didn’t pause. Rather, they became more fierce. One of them charged at my older son, Benen, with open jaws.

  “Run!” I screamed. Then I began to sing.

  Snow and frost and ice, obey my voice—

  I conjured what I could, since my banshee voice wouldn’t work against these creatures. Not if they all had wax in their ears, like Greagoir. As my song echoed throughout the canyon, a fresh, thick layer of ice appeared everywhere, glistening on the rocks, and my two wolf cubs slid across it without falling. But the balance of the Leanan Sidhe demons was made precarious, their footing unstable; they stumbled and tripped as they chased my boys.

  The hunter shot one more arrow.

  I focused my attention on that flying missile, transforming it until it became as sharp and swift as a bolt of lightning. Thunder rocked throughout the small canyon when the arrow struck the second villain, square in the chest, straight through his heart.

  The impact shook the ground and nearly knocked me off my feet.

  The hunter glanced at me, obviously surprised at how my magic had affected the impact of his arrow. Then he gave me a quick nod as if to say, do it again, lass.

  I grinned.

  He let the third arrow fly.

  The last Leanan Sidhe turned to run, his scream ringing out.

  The arrow glowed as if it had turned into fire. As soon at it struck the villain, he burst into flames. Light filled the ravine, so bright it challenged the sun. Both the hunter and I shielded our eyes with our forearms, for the glare was blinding. By the time the beast struck the ground, there was nothing left of him but charred ash and bone.

  The entire ravine had been blackened by the fire.

  But none of it had touched my boys. Not a hair of their white fur was darkened by ash.

  They both scampered up the ravine toward me, yelping and howling. I knelt to draw them into my arms and once the three of us were reunited, I buried my face in their thick fur.

  “The fire!” one of them cried.

  “It almost killed us!” the other whimpered.

  “You shall never be harmed by my magic,” I reminded them. “Nor by an arrow shot by a friend.”

  I glanced up at the hunter, who watched the three of us, a broad grin on his face. This was the true hero. This was the Duine who had rescued Ambros and Benen. I swallowed, my throat and chest thick with emotion.

  “Thank you for what you did today. A blessing upon you and your house, stranger,” I said.

  “Kellen,” he said, telling me his name.

  This time when he spoke, standing so close to me, my memory of him returned. He was Cara Maith! Despite the poison that had clouded my thoughts, all the times he had visited me in the cave came back. He’d been tending to my lads and me for years.

  “Cara Maith,” I said.

  He gave me a smile, slow and gentle at first, but it broadened until the very sight of it brought heat. Both Benen and Ambros yipped and pranced around him, and he bent to embrace both of them, scuffing their fur and kissing them.

  Only then did other human hunters run out of the forest, all with swords, bows, and arrows, all wearing a crest of roses on their garments. These were my last few Guardians and my heart cheered at the sight of them. They stopped at the edge of the chasm, staring down at the blackened rocks and charred grass. Before they could lift their gaze toward us, Kellen stepped to my side, blocking me from their view. Even though I wore his cloak, it was still hard to cover my nakedness. He removed his tunic and handed it to me, all while hiding me. I was dressed in a moment.

  “‘Tis your long-lost queen, men,” Kellen then announced, bending to one knee, his bow on the ground. “Eire has returned to us.”

  A rousing cheer rang out, a band of eleven or twelve men rejoicing at Kellen
’s words. They joined us from the shadowed wood and from across the gulley, all first bending the knee and laying down their bows, arrows, and swords. Then, once I had acknowledged them, they each rose and approached.

  It was a time for rejoicing and I delighted in it. My boys yipped and barked, running circles around us. I imagined them wearing their rightful golden crowns, sitting upon thrones and sharing their kingdom. They would make gentle, benevolent rulers. I could see it in their good-natured, frolicking attitude.

  But I feared ruling was not in our future.

  While we all laughed and planned a great feast, I fell to my knees in the snow one last time. I blinked and everything around me wavered. The sun vanished from my sight as everything grew dark; my skin turned cold and all voices faded to a whisper.

  I collapsed on the ground, my face in the snow.

  All I could hear was dark laughter.

  And Faelan’s voice saying, I will find you and I will kill you. Prepare to ride the Faery Cavalcade forever.

  Twelve

  “Stand back, lads,” Kellen said. “Let her breathe.”

  And yet, they pressed forward. I could feel them, shadows in a dark world, hoping for something bright. I wanted to say something to cheer them as they had cheered me, but I was lost to a nether world.

  Kellen’s Leanan Sidhe poison was stronger than I first thought. It surged through me in waves, each one more brutal than the last.

  My boys whimpered and licked my face, crying for me to wake up. One of them grabbed my left hand in his teeth and pulled, trying to force me back onto my feet.

  “‘Tis the Nightshade Blood,” Kellen said. He carefully brushed my wolf cubs aside. “Back, little ones.” Then he snapped off the arrow shaft that still plunged through my shoulder. “She must have a drop or two of Leanan Sidhe in her veins. Many of the Fair Folk do.”

  “Is there not a cure?” one of the other hunters asked.

  “Not here,” Kellen said as lifted me in his arms. “All of my herbs and remedies are back in my cottage.”

  My children were growing frantic, leaping and grabbing onto the cape that wrapped about me.

  I’d just survived an enchanted cup of wine that made me sleep for a thousand years and a battle with a dark supernatural creature.

  Was this poison meant for the Leanan Sidhe going to kill me?

  “Ma, are you hurt?” Benen asked, as he ran around me.

  “Wake up!” Ambros said, his tone fearful.

  “‘Tis my own fault,” Kellen continued, sorrow in his voice. “The poison was fashioned for the blood drinkers. Few would have survived it.”

  “Take my horse,” one of the hunters said. “Ride fast! We’ll follow you.”

  And all the while, my delirium built, a fever boiled from within, and Faelan’s horrible voice continued to taunt me. “Run, though you will not escape. I will find you. You and your children—”

  “Promise me,” I whispered as I curled in pain, writhing in his arms.

  “Anything,” Kellen answered.

  “If I perish, take care of my children—”

  “I vow it.”

  Then I tried to speak the incantation that would turn my twins back into faeries, but my voice was gone. If I died from this poison, they would be wolves forever.

  Together, we rode the horse through the forest, Kellen’s arms wrapped around me, my wolf-cub children yelping and running at our side, as if they feared they would be left behind. Did this Duine understand the words my children spoke, or did their words sound like the bark of a wolf cub?

  It was possible Benen and Ambros would be treated as wild beasts throughout eternity. Now, there would be no hope of them reclaiming their kingdom or defeating the Milesians. They’d never wear golden crowns upon their heads, not while they wore white fur instead of skin.

  I had failed my House.

  I fell into a fretful state, nightmares as real as day taking shape and chasing after me. I imagined my boys grown, their white fur shaggy and dirty, their paws bloody from running away from Duine who hated them. I imagined Faelan sending one army after another across the Muir Éireann, each one more evil than the one before, all of them seeking to destroy the remnants of my House. I imagined Greagoir rising from the dead to come after me, demanding that I return his heart.

  Night shadows filled the glen. The trees towered and thickened around us until we no longer ran on a woodland path.

  In my mind, we were flying over the treetops.

  I imagined that all four of us were black ravens, flying through a blinding snowstorm, all while being chased by a golden eagle with a wingspan as wide as a castle.

  In all my battles—even when I fought beside my husband Fethur during the Milesian Invasion—I had never been so afraid of death as I was now.

  We ran and we flew, all night long, until we reached a small cottage, nestled in an oak grove beside a clear mountain stream. I lifted my head, glad our journey was over, and I expected to see Kellen’s wife greet us at the door. Surely, she’d have a babe on her hip, another three or four asleep in their beds.

  But the door swung open and only a little girl stood there, a sleepy grin on her face. She looked about ten years old. There was no woman here. But there had been once—I saw her in the fine dishes and the handmade lace curtains. Dust and cobwebs covered her finery.

  She’d been here.

  But she was gone now.

  Like my own husband, she was probably dust in the wind.

  Thirteen

  Phantoms pawed at me with long slender fingers. Dragons roared and flew past, their scales ripping my skin. A fire-breathing Caorthannach ran screaming around me, and my torment was never going to end. The room was too small for all of my torturers. Flames licked the walls, stars fell from the sky, arrachtaigh of every shape and size squeezed through the front door and joined in. Imps handed out hammers and knives and, soon, every beast found a place on my flesh to torment.

  I moaned and writhed.

  “Hold still,” a young girl said. “We need to stop the bleeding. Put the spider webs here, Da?”

  “Yes,” Cara Maith answered. “The poultice is almost ready.”

  “Brooklime, oatmeal, and milk,” the girl said, as if she was trying to memorize the formulas.

  “Buttermilk,” he corrected her.

  She began to apply the poultice.

  “Now, drink this,” Cara Maith commanded me as he held a cup to my lips.

  I could not fight. I drank. The hot liquid burned my throat. It was as if I stood in the blacksmith’s shop and he was pouring molten bronze down my gullet.

  “You will perish.”

  My tormentor was the only constant thing in all of this.

  That and the frightened whimpers of my white-furred children. They slept at my feet or curled at my side. Their rough tongues brushed my cheek. Their cold noses pressed into my palms.

  “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” they pleaded.

  Just like back in the cave, I was dimly aware of the passing of days. Sunlight came and went, long hours of darkness prevailed, and always I was cold, alone, and terrified. Then a man’s voice began to slowly pull me back from the Long Night of Poison, a familiar voice. ‘Twas Cara Maith himself and none other. This was the one who had spoken to me as a friend while I slept the enchanted sleep in the cave. He never told me his name then and I never saw his face, but I remembered him telling me stories about their crops and the weather, things he hoped would help me understand this world when I woke up.

  He always believed I would wake up during his lifetime. It was something he and his daughter prayed for every night.

  Kellen. Cara Maith.

  I knew him. He was a friend and one of my Guardians.

  This was the Duine that made me wish I was a Duine too.

  “Isleen, go dig up some more devil’s-bit root. I need to make another healing elixir for Eire,” Kellen said then. “Take the lantern and a blade with you, just in case.” He was somewhere close by a
nd the room was warm, filled with the fragrance of lavender and herbs.

  “Beidh mé, Da,” a young girl answered in Gaelic.

  She was a good daughter. She hadn’t been allowed to visit me in the cave—she wouldn’t have understood why her father cut himself every time he came to the cave, or why his blood then dripped into my mouth—but Kellen told me about her often. Her name was Isleen and I knew her so well it was almost like she was my own child. I knew how she had grieved the loss of her mother, how she loved to visit the sea, how her favorite stories were of the Fair Folk.

  “Wear a cloak,” Kellen told his daughter then. “The winds have shifted and snow is falling again.”

  My eyes flickered open, glad to discover my horde of arrachtaigh demons was truly gone. I lay on a bed of sheepskins, covered with soft, clean linen and woolen blankets. The quaint one-room cottage was spare of furniture, with only two small windows on either side of the house. Copper pots hung from the timbered rafters, along with a fragrant assortment of herbs and flowers.

  Folk medicine was usually handed down from mother to daughter, but Kellen was obviously the gifted one in this home. Perhaps by necessity.

  The little girl’s dark hair hung in long, neat braids, though her dress had several rips and a long strip of fabric had been added at the hem to lengthen the garment. She’d outgrown it, but there was nobody here to sew her a new one.

  She nodded to her father as she grabbed a cloak and headed out the door, a basket and knife in her other hand.

  I sat up, sensing something wrong.

  “How long have I slept?” I asked, rubbing my brow.

  “Days, years. We’ve lost count,” Kellen said with a grin. He stared down into a cauldron that cooked over the hearth. His beard had grown longer and was a bit unkempt.

  I hadn’t noticed how large he was before, how tall he stood or how broad his shoulders. Nor had I paid attention to his dark hair and beard, how they contrasted with his pale Irish complexion.

  But I recognized the gentleness in his voice, the lilting mountain cadence that revealed his smile, even before I could see it. When he turned to study me, I saw the shining blue of his eyes.