Bansi O'Hara and the Bloodline Prophecy

by John Dougherty

  She nodded.

  ‘Fine,’ he went on. ‘Now, some of the faery races tend towards the solitary, but some like to group together in tribes, or clans, or kingdoms, or fiefdoms. Like the Court of the Dark Sidhe. Whose Lord is the nasty piece of wickedness who sent that skin-changing wolf-fellow to get you.

  ‘You see, the Lord of the Dark Sidhe discovered that you were for the first time in your life coming within reach of the gate, and on Midsummer’s Eve, too – one of the very few days of the year when the gate opens. The wise and venerated Caithne of the Sacred Grove—’

  ‘Hold on!’ Bansi felt as if she was in danger of being washed away on a flood of information, none of which she could make any sense of. But the idea was beginning to sink in that this really was about her, Bansi O’Hara; that she hadn’t just been drawn into this strange world of wolf warriors and brownies and Dark Lords by chance; and somehow this scared her more than anything else. ‘What gate? And what’s so special about me?’

  Pogo scowled darkly. ‘If you wouldn’t keep interrupting with your questions, perhaps you’d find out some of the answers!’ he snapped. ‘And if you knew enough of the old tales of your father’s people, you’d know that once there were many ways and paths and routes between our world and yours. Many’s a time some careless mortal would wander by accident into the Other Realm, not even knowing that they’d done so. But now only one way remains – the sole gateway between the realm of mortals and the land of Faery. In your world it stands not far from here, marked with an ancient circle of standing stones; in ours it may be entered from almost anywhere, but only by those few who have the power to do so. Most of the time it remains closed, and passage between our worlds is impossible. But at certain times of the year, it opens – in those magical few days when the barrier between the world of mortals and the world of Faery grows thinner. Even then, though, you can pass through it nowadays only during the twilight hours of dawn and dusk.

  ‘As for what makes you so special: listen, and I’ll come to that. But each thing in its turn.

  ‘Now Caithne of the Sacred Grove learned that you were soon to come within reach of the gate; and she discovered that the Dark Lord knew this also. So as quick as she could she gathered together a fellowship – a company of faery folk who had no love for the Dark Sidhe or their Lord, and we held a council to decide what was to be done. All were agreed that it would bring great peril to our land were the Dark Lord to capture you, but there was much debate about how to stop him.

  ‘Eventually it was decided to send two of us through the gate to find you and keep you safe. It was obvious who should go. Brownies have a deep instinctive understanding of the ways of mortals, almost a sixth sense, so I was chosen to find you, to watch over you and to do what I could to protect you. The other chosen was Tam, a púca who—’

  ‘Sorry, but what’s a púca?’ The brownie’s manner was beginning to grate on Bansi’s frayed nerves; he seemed to assume she knew – or should know – all manner of things about the faery realm.

  Pogo rolled his eyes impatiently. ‘Do you know none of the old stories? A púca is another of the creatures of faery, one of the most magical. Many of the tales have them taking the form of a goat and causing mischief, but there’s more to the púca than that – a lot more. Tam was the only one among us with the power to enter the gate when it opened. Besides, like all his kind, he’s a shape-changer, which made him useful when we were tracking you.’

  A tingle ran over Bansi’s skin. She felt her heart kick, a little jerk of sudden realization. ‘The swan! The swan that followed us? Was that him – this púca – in another shape?’

  Pogo nodded. ‘It was, aye; and me with him. Finding you and watching over you, as we were charged. And I’m sorry we haven’t done a better job so far; Tam should have been able to stop any of the Dark Sidhe from reaching you.’

  Bansi breathed deeply once more, and ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. For a moment, the thought flashed through her head that perhaps this was all a dream; that perhaps her grandmother and Mrs Mullarkey had never woken her up with their boiling of water in eggshells and their mad talk of changelings and faeries. Then she looked once more at the little brown man, and at the shattered window, and became aware of the chill night breeze through her thin pyjamas, and the thought evaporated. This had none of the qualities of a dream. It was real, however bizarre and unbelievable it felt, and what Pogo was telling her had to be the truth – unless he was somehow in league with the wolf. She shuddered, and pushed the idea from her mind.

  ‘So you and this Tam are the good guys, and you’re here to stop the bad guys getting me. But I still don’t get why any of you should be interested in me in the first place.’ She looked enquiringly at the brownie, feeling suddenly tired and confused, and desperately wanting to understand.

  ‘I suppose I must tell you,’ Pogo sighed, ‘although we don’t really have time for this. It has to do with a history of betrayal and death, and with an ancient prophecy – a prophecy that points to you, young lady,’ he added, looking her in the eye so suddenly and intensely that Bansi’s heart twisted inside her. ‘I don’t suppose you know any of the ancient stories – the Irish fairy tales, you’d call them?’

  Bansi shook her head.

  ‘Typical mortal,’ Pogo muttered sourly. ‘No idea who she is or where she comes from. All right, then: imagine a world that exists alongside your own. One where all kinds of beings dwell – little people, beautiful elves, hideous monsters.

  ‘Now imagine that these creatures can walk into your world, and you into theirs, as easy as you can stroll across the garden. This was the Other Realm, long, long ago, in the days of the old tales. And in those days, the power of Faery was much greater, much stronger than it is now. There were some who could create a storm that would reduce a city to dust, or turn an entire army of warriors into sparrows. But not any more; and in a moment I’ll tell you why.

  ‘The Other Realm – the land of Faery, Tir na n’Óg, call it what you will – has always been a vast country of tribes, clans and alliances, of small kingdoms and of solitary dwellers who live under no one’s rule or law. Over one of these kingdoms – the greatest of the kingdoms of Tir na n’Óg, though it was still small by your standards – ruled a king named Derga, a faery of the sidhe race.’

  ‘But not one of the Dark Sidhe?’ Bansi guessed.

  Pogo nodded. ‘In those days, there was no Court of the Dark Sidhe. And had there been, it wouldn’t have stood a chance against the kingdom of Derga. No, he was one of the noblest sidhe who ever lived – a mighty warrior, too, and a great user of magic. He had two children, a daughter and a son whose names were Caer and Avalloc – these, at least, were the names they were commonly known by; no faery will ever reveal their true name if they can help it.’

  ‘Why not?’ Bansi wanted to know, puzzled.

  ‘Because it gives others power over you, of course. Now hold your whisht, and listen. We may not have much time.

  ‘Caer and Avalloc were rare and gifted, even amongst the faery folk, and the people of their kingdom loved them. Not just of their own kingdom, either; their fame spread far and wide, and it began to be said that if ever the land of Faery were to be united, it would be under the rule of Caer and her brother Avalloc. They were known as the Morning Stars of Tir na n’Óg, for it was said that their reign would be the morning of a new day for the land of Tir na n’Óg, beside which all that had gone before would seem as dark as night. Some even said that the land itself, the very earth of the Other Realm, held them in the highest regard.

  ‘But not everyone loved Caer and Avalloc. Amongst the rulers of the other kingdoms there were many who were jealous of them, and who began to plot against their lives, hoping with their own strong magic to seize control of the whole land of Faery once the Morning Stars were gone. And so it was that—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Bansi broke in impatiently, ‘but didn’t you just say we didn’t have much time? I don’t mean to be rude, bu
t I don’t see what any of this has to do with a wolf trying to kill me.’

  ‘Oh, it has everything to do with it,’ Pogo assured her. ‘Everything. You see, the plotters were very nearly successful. With cunning and magic, they turned the people against the Morning Stars: they murdered Derga, royal father to Caer and Avalloc, and made it appear as if his own children were the guilty ones.

  ‘Caer and Avalloc had no choice but to flee the realm for the world of mortals. In those days, of course, the ways and paths between your world and ours were many; oftentimes a mortal could find himself in the Other Realm quite by accident. To the Morning Stars of Tir na n’Óg, it would have been as nothing to simply turn and step from the land of Faery into the world of humankind.

  ‘But their enemies had worked strong magic against them, and they were separated as they fled. Caer found herself here, in Ireland, near to this very place. She came in mortal disguise to the court of the King of Donegal, and was welcomed. For her beauty, her wisdom, and her great courage and skill in battle, the king’s son fell in love with her, and she became his princess and later his queen, bearing him a fine son within the year.

  ‘Avalloc, meanwhile, found himself deep in the ancient forests of India. He dwelt there, suffering no harm from the animals and gaining a great reputation as a healer. In time he, too, married a mortal and fathered a child – a daughter, half-mortal and half-faery, like the child of Caer.

  ‘But in the Other Realm their enemies still feared them, and feared their return. The enchantments they had used to turn the people against the Morning Stars were beginning to weaken.

  ‘So by dark magic, cunning and treachery, they killed them.

  ‘The night the Morning Stars were murdered, a fierce storm raged across the Other Realm and a great winter fell, as if the land itself were mourning the dead. And the power of Faery began to wane and dwindle. It was as if, in killing Caer and Avalloc, their enemies had somehow mortally wounded the very spirit of Tir na n’Óg. And the ways and paths and gateways between your world and ours began to close up and fade away, until only the gate on nearby Slieve Donnan – the hill that overlooks this very village – remained, marked by its ancient stone circle. Even then the power faded, until now it’s rare indeed that the gateway can be used: only on the most magical days of the year, in the twilit hours of dawn and dusk.’

  Bansi was beginning to feel restless. She glanced at the ruined window, remembering uneasily how the wolf had burst through it. ‘I still don’t see what this has to do with me,’ she said.

  ‘You will. Caer and Avalloc were dead, but their children still lived. And those children grew up, and had children who grew up and had children, and so the bloodlines of the Morning Stars of Tir na n’Óg lived on.’

  Light began to dawn in Bansi’s mind. ‘So – are you saying that I’m descended from one of them – from Caer, or from Avalloc? Is that what this is about? It’s Caer, isn’t it? Granny always says we’re descended from the High Kings of Donegal . . .’

  Pogo shook his little hairy head, and looked gravely into her eyes. ‘Thousands of children, this mortal world over, are descended from one of the Morning Stars of Tir na n’Óg. That would be nothing special.

  ‘But you, Bansi – you’re different. For you are descended from both – from Caer through your father’s line, and from Avalloc through your mother’s. You are the first child in whom the bloodlines of Caer and Avalloc are reunited.’

  In the sudden silence, Bansi felt the little man’s gaze burning into her. ‘But . . . I mean . . . the Dark Lord doesn’t think I’m going to want to – I don’t know . . .’ She tailed off. The very idea seemed absurd; she could hardly bring herself to voice it. ‘I mean . . . well . . . it’s not like I’m going to want to – to become Queen of the Other Realm, or something, is it? Even if . . . I mean, just because my ancestors years ago might have been–’

  Pogo cut her short. ‘It’s not just because of who your ancestors were, girl. It’s because of what that makes you. It’s because of the prophecy.’

  His eyes took on a faraway look that made Bansi shiver – though with nervousness or excitement she wasn’t sure. Intrigued, she felt herself being drawn in by the little brownie’s story; and despite his gruff manner, something in her spirit believed him instinctively and wholeheartedly.

  ‘For centuries,’ Pogo went on, ‘every faery of every race from the highest sidhe to the humble brownie has known this prophecy:

  ‘When the Blood of the Morning Stars, joined and flowing together at last, is returned to the sacred earth as the light dies, then shall the power of Tir na n’Óg awaken. Then shall the ways between the worlds reopen. And the one who returns the blood to the land shall come into the inheritance of Derga.

  ‘This prophecy, Bansi, points to you. You’re the child with the Blood of the Morning Stars – the blood of Caer and of Avalloc – joined and flowing together through your veins. And when you return it to the sacred earth – when you come and stand in one of the three hundred and sixty-six sacred places of Tir na n’Óg – then–’

  Bansi reacted as the implications of what Pogo was saying hit her. ‘Hold on a moment! You’re telling me you want me to go and just stand around somewhere in a land full of pixies and monsters so someone else can inherit something? Sorry – no way.’ She looked at him with a fiercely felt defiance, daring him to argue.

  But Pogo was nodding in agreement. ‘I’m not asking you to do that. I’d not have agreed to bring you to Tir na n’Óg even if you’d asked me yourself. Not yet, anyway – not till you’re old enough to deal with the dangers you might face there. And not even then,’ he added as Bansi opened her mouth to protest, ‘unless you agree to come. No, I was sent here to protect you – to stop someone else taking you.

  ‘Because the Lord of the Dark Sidhe knows you are here, at last within reach of the only gateway left between your world and ours.’

  A chill crept up Bansi’s spine. ‘And he wants this inheritance . . .’

  ‘The inheritance of Derga. That’s right. No one’s entirely sure what the inheritance of Derga will be; some think it means his kingdom, which was conquered and broken up and shared out among the kingdoms of those who killed him. Some argue that, since Derga’s children were likely to unite our realm, to become his heir is to become ruler of all Tir na n’Óg. Still others point to Derga’s great magic and power, and claim that Derga’s heir will become the most powerful enchanter in all the land. But whatever the inheritance of Derga may be, it will be something to be prized. So yes, the Dark Lord wants it. And believe me, he’s not someone you want coming after you.’

  Bansi swallowed. ‘But he is coming after me.’

  Pogo nodded grimly. ‘Aye. And he’ll do all he can to kidnap you, and use you to fulfil the prophecy and claim the inheritance of Derga. But for now at least, he only has until the sun sets tonight. You’ll be safe enough after that.’

  ‘Why? What happens tonight?’

  The little man scowled again. ‘Full of questions, aren’t you?’

  It was true; Bansi felt as if she could burst with all the things she wanted to know – not just for curiosity’s sake, but because she felt that the more she knew, the more she could do. And there was still a small part of her that wondered if the brownie might be lying, and whether she could trip him up on some inconsistency. She held his gaze and waited for an answer.

  The brownie sighed theatrically. ‘You remember I said the gate would open only at certain magical times of the year? Midsummer is one of the most magical of all – a time when the veil that separates our two worlds is at its thinnest and most fragile. And so, in the twilight of dawn on the morning of Midsummer’s Eve – almost a full day ago, now – the gate opened; and it will remain open until dusk has faded on Midsummer Day. Even so, the power of Faery is now so weak that the gate can only be passed through in the twilight times of dawn or dusk.’ He paused, and fixed his bright old eyes upon her. ‘Now you’re going to ask me, “Why only at the tw
ilight times?”, aren’t you? It’s like this, girl: the magical times are the meeting times, the border times, the points of balance. Midsummer like midwinter, its mirror image, marks the moment when the lengthening days end and the lengthening nights begin; the meeting place between darkness and light, the place where the balance shifts. Dawn and dusk are the times when day meets night and neither has rule over the other. At those times, our worlds touch. That’s why the gate opens at Midsummer, and why any may pass through it in the twilight times. And that is why the forces of the Dark Lord will try to take you to the stone circle, by this morning’s dawn if they can, or by this evening’s dusk. And why Tam and I will do all we can to keep the Dark Sidhe away from you – at all times, but especially before the day ends.’

  He looked at Bansi with an expression so sincere that she almost felt reassured. With an effort, she forced a smile. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘even if he does get me, he’s just going to want to take me to one of your sacred places. I mean,’ she added, seeing Pogo’s expression darken once more, ‘I know it’ll be bad for you if he gets the inheritance, but he’ll only want to take me to one of the sacred places and get me to stand there, won’t he?’

  Her heart sank, as Pogo’s face took on an even more sombre look. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Well. Now. It’s like this. The thing is, you see, the Dark Lord has a different interpretation of the prophecy. Terrible literal, your sidhe, when the fancy takes them – especially the bad ones. No, he doesn’t reckon that merely bringing you to one of the sacred places will be enough.

  ‘The prophecy talks of the Blood of the Morning Stars, joined and flowing together, being returned to the sacred earth as the light dies. And everyone agrees that means the bearer of the bloodlines of the Morning Stars – that’s you – must stand in one of the sacred places of Tir na n’Óg as the sun sets. That’s it – all you have to do is stand there.