The Stolen: An American Faerie Tale

by O'Connell, Bishop

  As she expected, he pulled away first, and this time she let him. His eyes told her all she needed to know.

  “Let’s just get going,” she said.

  “Aye.” He cleared his throat. “Keep your wits about you. There isn’t going to be a welcome mat there waiting for us.”

  “I’m ready,” Caitlin said. “Let’s get Fiona back and go home.”

  Brendan pulled the door open. On the other side was impenetrable darkness. Brendan gave her a look over his shoulder, then stepped through and vanished into the black.

  For that split second, she felt even more alone and more afraid than when he’d gone after the brownie. The idea of going through that door was terrifying, but leaving Fiona alone for one moment more was even scarier.

  She made to step through when the images returned, clearer now, but very different. The onslaught sent her to her knees, her hands to her head. Whereas Caitlin had been an observer before, now she was the target of the torment. Beautiful and terrifying creatures danced around her, taunting and tormenting her. She could almost feel their disdainful touch as they brushed long, graceful fingers over her face.

  “No!” Caitlin yelled.

  The images more insistent, the creatures were laughing, and some leaned in with sharp teeth. As she felt them, or the chill ghosts of them, begin to devour her, Caitlin could feel someone watching her. When she looked up, not ten feet away stood the brownie. Only now, the brownie’s child-­like face was swollen and bruised. Pink blood seeped from a split lip. Red hairs were held tight in the brownie’s shaking hand. The images stuttered, but persisted.

  “I’m sorry,” the brownie said as tears ran down her cheeks, glittering like tiny jewels. “They hurt me. They made me do it.”

  Caitlin’s brain fought back the images and phantom sensations, clinging to a sudden realization: it was a loophole, one Brendan hadn’t considered. The brownie couldn’t give the hair to the oíche, and they couldn’t take it from her, but they could beat the little faerie until she used it against Caitlin.

  “Please,” Caitlin said between gasps. “You can stop this.” She had the sense of cold fingers reaching into her stomach, passing through her flesh like it wasn’t there.

  “I can’t,” the brownie said. “They made me promise. I’ll go away if I break it.”

  Caitlin winced. “You mean you’ll die.”

  The brownie nodded.

  Caitlin struggled to keep her mind focused, but she was getting to her limit. She could feel her sanity slipping away. That’s when she had an idea. It made her sick. Her very soul felt dirty, but she knew there was no other choice.

  Caitlin swallowed the bile back. “If you let me see the hair, I can make it not work.”

  The brownie looked confused. “Magic?”

  “That’s right,” Caitlin lied. “And it’s a magic that the bad ones won’t be able to sense, so they won’t know.”

  Tears rolled down the brownie’s cheeks. “They’ll be mad. They’ll hurt me more.”

  Caitlin forced sincerity into her words. “No, they won’t. When they find out it doesn’t work, they’ll think Brendan or I did something. You won’t be any use to them, and they’ll let you go.”

  The brownie considered it for several long seconds. “You promise?”

  Caitlin smiled, working hard to make it genteel and not insane. “I promise.” She held out her hand. “Give me the hair.”

  The brownie smiled. “Thank you.” She dropped the hair into Caitlin’s hand.

  The hair vanished in a flash of flame.

  The images and sensations stopped instantly. It was nearly as jarring as when they’d started.

  “No!” Convulsions started to wrack the brownie’s tiny frame. “You lied.”

  “I’m sorry,” Caitlin said through tears.

  A blackness that reminded Caitlin of severe gangrene spread over the brownie’s flesh, and she fell to the ground.

  “Hurts, it hurts,” the little faerie said between sobs.

  Caitlin couldn’t speak. She reached to take the child-­like faerie into her arms. The brownie resisted, but Caitlin held her close, trying to offer comfort against the pain her lie had wrought.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the faerie girl stopped moving and the little body vanished in a mist of gray filled with tiny yellow lights.

  Once more, Caitlin was alone. She stared where the body had been and wiped tears away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She took a deep breath, letting the grief and guilt turn to rage. Those dark bastards had put her in this situation. They’d set her up and used an innocent fae to attack her. Caitlin rose and turned to the still open door.

  “I’m done fumbling about in the darkness.”

  Facing the blackness, Caitlin found she wasn’t afraid of it anymore. She clenched her hands into fists and stepped through.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-­TWO

  Strong hands seized Caitlin’s shoulders and pulled her to one side. Instinctively, she lashed out with a fist, but whoever had grabbed her was too close to allow a decent swing.

  “Easy, love,” Brendan said in a hushed tone. “It’s me.” His eyes were bright and wide. “What took you so long? Are you all right?”

  “I’m pretty far from all right,” she said. “I’m ready to get Fiona and go home.”

  He didn’t say anything; he just nodded and released his hold on her.

  After a few slow breaths, Caitlin calmed the fury in her heart.

  She looked around, and what she saw wasn’t what she’d expected. Passing through the door, she’d naturally assumed the Dusk Lands were underground. Instead, it looked as though they’d stepped back through door the other way. The terrain was exactly as it was on the other side, except it was night and a large orange moon hung in a clear spot of an otherwise cloudy sky.

  “Best not to speak unless you have to,” Brendan whispered. “Keep your eyes open and your mind sharp.”

  When he looked at her, Caitlin felt completely transparent, but she pushed her turbulent emotions into her gut. Later, she reminded herself, deal with the costs later.

  She followed him away from the door. As they walked, fear began to tickle the back of her neck. The whole place had a sense of foreboding. Though the terrain was the same as the noon lands, the same hills and even trees in the same places, this was clearly a dark place. Where the grass had been thick and green before, now it was dried and dead, crunching underfoot, with large patches of bare earth showing through.

  The trees were perhaps the most frightening part. In the noon lands they’d been massive, full of leaves, with almost serene faces hidden in the bark. Here, they were barren and twisted, the placid faces replaced with sneers and scowls. It was as if someone had plucked the worst trees from every child’s nightmares and planted them all here.

  After a few minutes, they stood at the top of a hill, and Caitlin saw a thick forest ahead of them. Hundreds, thousands, of those dead, twisted trees were grouped close together. Branches swayed in the wind, threatening to grab anyone who came too close.

  “We’re not going in there, are we?” Caitlin asked in a whisper. She found herself overcome with a fear normally reserved for children on Halloween, visiting strange old houses or graveyards at midnight.

  “Aye. It’s the only way to get to Fergus’s court, I’m afraid.” Brendan put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right with you the whole way.”

  Caitlin hardened her resolve, focused on Fiona, and began walking forward. Brendan took up step beside her.

  Fifty feet from the edge of the forest, Brendan put his arm out and stopped her. “Wait.”

  She didn’t see anything, but she knew something was out there. It was the parking garage all over again.

  Dread danced up her spine and her muscles tensed as an armored figure on horseback emerged from the shadows. It wasn’t
that the shadows had kept him hidden. He literally stepped out of the darkness like it was a pool of black water and he’d been waiting beneath its surface.

  As the figure approached, Caitlin could see his armor was made of scales and had a sheen that continuously shifted from dark silver to deep blue to blackish purple and back again. His face was hidden beneath an ornate great helm. It was the kind knights would’ve worn centuries ago, and on his hip hung a long, thin-­bladed sword. The horse was even more disturbing. It was all black except its hooves, which were gleaming silver, and blemished with flecks of what looked like dried blood. The eyes were glowing red, and smoke blew from its nostrils. It would’ve been less disturbing had the rider been headless, holding a jack-­o’-­lantern under one arm. Vague shadows seemed to move in Caitlin’s peripheral vision.

  “Ready yourself,” Brendan whispered as the horseman approached. “I’m going to try and be diplomatic, but I’m not hopeful.”

  He stepped in front of Caitlin and raised his hands.

  The horseman stopped several feet away, drew his sword, and pointed the tip at Brendan. When the horseman spoke, it was with a deep, echoing voice in a language Caitlin couldn’t understand but was somehow oddly familiar. Not quite Irish, not quite Welsh, but something in between.

  Brendan said something in return and lowered his hands. With each spoken word, the next sounded more familiar to Caitlin, until, inexplicably, she could understand them perfectly.

  “Yes, Fian, we do honor the old agreements, but you’ve no claim to that treaty. Your clan welcomes you no more, and so neither shall we.” A strange accent tinged the horseman’s voice, which was soaked with contempt.

  “This one’s daughter,” Brendan said, motioning to Caitlin, “was taken by oíche-­sidhe this evening past. We come only to retrieve her, nothing more. As a member of the Fianna, I demand that you stand aside.”

  “If you’ve a grievance with the oíche-­sidhe, you should speak to the Rogue Court,” the horseman answered. “His Dark Majesty will not see you. You are an outcast of the Fianna, and you’ve no claim to the treaties. Be gone from these lands, díbeartach. You are not welcome here. Your very presence is an insult to His Dark Highness.”

  Brendan drew in a slow breath before he spoke. “I wouldn’t toss that word about so—­”

  “Silence, scum!” the rider said. “You have no standing to speak to me. I say again, be gone, díbeartach!”

  Brendan drew in another slow breath and flexed his hands.

  Caitlin could almost feel the heat of his anger radiating from him.

  “I gave you fair warning, faerie,” Brendan said, the last word clearly meant to insult. His hands went to his back and drew the knives.

  “You have the impudence to claim the rights granted to those who cast you out, then dare to bring the bane into these lands?” The horseman’s voice was full of rage. “His Dark Majesty shall hear of this offense! I will present him your head, díbeartach!”

  The horseman drew back his sword, but before the blade began its return swing, Brendan howled and leapt at him. He crashed into the horseman, knives biting into the strange armor, and knocked the fae knight off his mount.

  Brendan landed on top of him, but the armor didn’t slow the knight. He brought his sword up and drove the pommel into Brendan’s head. The big Irishman grunted and fell to one side.

  The shadows that had been hovering at the edge of Caitlin’s vision surged forward and joined the fray. The shapes were obscure, and Caitlin wasn’t sure how many of them there were, but they seized Brendan and pulled him away. The fallen horseman got to his feet.

  Panic, followed by fury, rose in Caitlin, and her body acted on its own. She drew her knife and charged forward, sinking the blade into the closest shadow and then slashing out. Darkness and purple lights erupted from the wound, and a shrill howl filled the air as the creature released Brendan.

  Brendan roared and spun, cutting through another shade holding him. Once free, he pounced on the knight again.

  Caitlin hacked into the living shadow again, eliciting more shrieks of pain. What felt like a block of ice struck the side of her face and sent her reeling. She landed hard several feet away and looked up in time to see the deep purple, glowing eyes of the shade closing in.

  She tried to roll and scramble away, but the creature moved fast. In moments, ethereal hands, so cold they burned, gripped Caitlin’s neck and lifted her from the ground. The knife fell from her hand, and her throat began to freeze beneath the crushing grip.

  She tried to pry the creature’s hands loose, but they held tight. As blackness rose up to take her, she thought of Fiona, scared and alone. She gripped the freezing arms of solid darkness, swung her body forward, and planted her boots into the thing’s chest. When it stumbled, she twisted and kicked at where a human’s delicate floating ribs would be.

  The kick didn’t seem to hurt the shadow, but it did cause it to lose balance. Caitlin and the shade tumbled to the ground, and the frozen grip eased just enough for her to reach for the dropped knife.

  Her fingers found the blade. Ignoring the pain of the keen edge cutting into her hand, Caitlin brought the handle up and, using it as a club, smashed it into the shadow’s head.

  The monster howled and released its hold on her.

  Caitlin flipped the knife, caught the handle, and lunged forward. With her whole body weight behind her, she drove the blade into the creature’s chest over and over until the thing evaporated amid a cloud of darkness and purple lights.

  Gasping for air, Caitlin saw Brendan cut down a final shade then sidestep, barely avoiding the knight’s thin sword.

  “You fight well, díbeartach,” the horseman said, “but your rage blinds you.”

  The armored warrior lunged and Brendan moved to block the blade with a knife. However, this was apparently what the knight intended. Before Brendan’s knife connected, the horseman twisted his wrist, brought the sword up, and slashed across Brendan’s chest.

  “You make my point,” the fae knight said.

  Brendan didn’t respond. He flung the knife in his left hand into the ground and took a ready stance.

  The gleaming sword flashed in the moonlight. Brendan stepped to one side. The knight reversed his turn and drove an elbow toward Brendan’s face. At the same time, he brought his sword around to drive it into Brendan’s stomach.

  At the last moment, Brendan twisted and drove his knife into the armored warrior’s elbow. His free hand seized the blade of the sword; carefully holding the flat of it tight between fingertips and palm, he spun in place. Using the sword as a fulcrum, he hurled the knight through the air. He landed with a sound akin to a car wreck.

  Brendan leapt and landed on the prone fae. He drove his knife into the horseman over and over again, striking so fast that the knife was only a silver blur.

  An echoing shriek filled the air as darkness and swirling blue lights escaped from the holes in the armor, the seams in the scales, and the eye slits in the helm. The horse bolted away with a whinny, and in moments, there was nothing but silence and stillness. Then came a clatter as the rider’s suit of armor collapsed and fell into its individual pieces.

  Brendan lifted his hands, threw back his head, and roared into the night.

  Caitlin faltered and, without realizing, stepped away from him. Then, all she could hear was Brendan’s labored breathing as he straddled the empty armor.

  “Brendan?” she whispered, as she forced herself to stop retreating.

  His shoulders rose and fell as he took quick, deep breaths, the muscles in his back and arms contracting in spasms.

  Caitlin approached, slowly, and reached out with a shaking hand. As she touched his shoulder, he flinched and looked at her over his shoulder, teeth bared.

  She gasped and took a step back when she saw the look in his eyes. Some of the fire she’d seen earlier had gotte
n loose.

  He blinked at her, then closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and shuddered once. When he opened his eyes, they were the eyes she knew, the fire restrained once more.

  “I’m sorry, love,” he said. He got to his feet and retrieved his knife from the ground. He sheathed them both before turning to her, eyes cast down. “We need to go. There’ll be others coming soon, and they’ll be none too pleased about this.” He extended his hand to her and took a step forward.

  She didn’t take it. In fact, she took a step back.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I’m the same man I was before. There’s an explanation for this, but now is not the time.” He took another step forward. “You’ve trusted me this far, you need to still.”

  Caitlin didn’t back away this time, but she still didn’t take his hand.

  “Please.” His voice was shaky. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  She looked at him, at the pleading in his eyes, and thought of everything Brendan had done up to now. She extended her hand and took his.

  Together they ran into the dark forest. Brendan led the way down a path of worn marble tiles. They looked centuries old, pushed apart by earth and the dead grass that partially covered them. Most were broken, and all of them were uneven.

  Caitlin tried to keep up, but between the pace and the uneven ground, it was too much. Soon, she was gasping for air as her legs and lungs began to burn.

  When he saw her, Brendan stopped.

  “I’m sorry,” she said between gasps. “I can’t run anymore. I just can’t.”

  Brendan pointed to a tight group of trees just off the trail. “Come on.” He half led, half dragged her behind the cover of the thicket. There, they found a small hollow where the roots had eroded the ground.

  Brendan sat Caitlin down and pulled off the pack. He took out the remaining half-­empty bottle of water and handed it to her as his eyes darted around. He pulled out a roll of gauze, then wrapped his cut hand and Caitlin’s.