Dark Lord of Geeragh

by Veronica Geoghegan Sweeney

  Seated side-saddle on her back, quite close to me, was the pale and ghost-like figure of the Shee. I flung myself back in terror.

  “Well,” it said, “Fen-the-Nervous.”

  “You…? You did that?”

  It swung one small, elegant foot and said with some asperity, “I don’t want anyone being murdered in my forest. One never get the bloodstains out of the moss.”

  I supposed a figure of such power was allowed its little joke, but I scowled, all the same. I had had a real fright. “Thank you,” I managed. “You and - whatever - or whoever - they were… you saved our lives.”

  “Tush, I would have had to get rid of them soon, anyway. They were amusing for a while, but their smell was distressing the wildlife.” It dropped with the agility of a cat onto the ground, without making a noise. “Now, climb on the back of this temperamental little beast and leave.”

  “I can’t. I mean…I will, but I can’t leave yet, not until I’ve asked you -”

  “Humans are so boring. And so greedy.” It had half-leapt, half-floated onto a nearby fallen log and stood, as if poised for flight. “I have done enough for you, boy. Go away.”

  “But you must help! Lord Bress is ill, and the Princess Aninn -”

  “Go home.” And it began to fade into the leafy shadows.

  I had planned to be polite, perhaps to plead, and, if necessary, to beg. But at the sight of that bland, pale face, so devoid of any emotion, the carelessness of this creature who would not even listen, I lost my temper entirely. “So the stories I heard about you were wrong! I was taught that the Shee kept their word. But you don’t! You’re a dishonest people!”

  “Do not insult me, you nasty little boy. We are not people.”

  “I believed you. And you lied. I think you’re a cheat.”

  The creature became a little more solid; though it did not have eyebrows, where they would have been a small wrinkle appeared. “A cheat?”

  “You granted a wish to Lord Bress - and then you took it back. And you didn’t grant me my wish at all.”

  Now the pale eyes were narrowed. “Regarding your wish, I work to no timetable. No mention was made as to how long it would take. But in my own defence, I will point out that you were both granted your wishes. Lord Bress was given what he most desired and never knew it - a queen, a true consort for him, the female that would have matched his maleness, the other half of himself - and he rejected her.”

  “He didn’t have time to realise that was what he…”

  “I can’t provide time. It’s not my fault that you humans, who are the shortest living of all sentient creatures, waste your lives so foolishly. One would think mortals would grasp at the happiness they are given - but no…”

  “I don’t want a lecture. Tell me how I can help Lord Bress.”

  “You can’t. He has spent too many years feeling sorry for himself, knowing he didn’t gain his throne honourably. He’s brooded on this for so long that he feels he should punish himself. So he sent Aninn away. Now he’ll kill himself slowly with remorse. It will take him a long time, for he’s a strong man.

  “now, your mother, when she learns the truth of this, will be more delighted with this news than with the thought that you had skewered him quickly with a dagger. She’ll smile, Fen. Do you see? You both have your wishes.”

  I had moved closer, during this, as if fascinated with its words - and when it stretched forth its arms in a bored yawn, I was ready, and grabbed at its wrist - but it was too fast and slipped through my grasp. I was rather glad. It had not felt pleasant: it was cold and slippery in a way flesh is not, with no bones nor solid tissure beneath. Now it suddenly disappeared.

  “You’ve had your wish,” its voice hissed crossly, from behind me. I whirled, to see it sitting close, high in a tree, well out of my reach.

  “I don’t want another wish,” I informed it, equally annoyed. “I want the truth!”

  “I don’t bequeath knowledge to humans. They don’t retain it.”

  “But why is Lord Bress so unhappy? How did he come to the throne? What does he have to feel guilty about?”

  The creature crossed its legs and leaned back a little. “You’ve changed, son of Fenfar. I must admit that you are unusual in the realm of horrid little boys - I sensed that at the very beginning, when we met each other’s eyes in the clearing…” When was this? I wondered, and then remembered the curious silver deer, and how we had gazed at each other for an instant, before my breath of wonderment had brought calamity on us all. “And you have shown more courage than grown warriors have, in coming here, at dusk, and all alone.“ It crooked its head to one side a little, “I know too much, and little piques my curiosity… but you do. Why are you trying to help the Dark Lord of Geeragh? Have you forgotten your promise to your mother so soon?”

  I ignored his questions, for I did not know the answers myself. “Just tell me.”

  It shook its head. “I’ve wasted too much time with you already…” And it began to fade, its edges blurring…

  “Wait! Please tell me! I’ll give you anything you like, anything I have! Only tell me the truth! No one else will!”

  Slowly, its edges clarified, it peered down at me. “What could you possibly have, little man, that I would possibly want?”

  I cast about, trying to think: no gold, no jewels…

  But I did have jewels, jewels beyond price. I reached beneath my cloak, and took the dagger from its scabbard. It glowed in my palm. I looked up at the Shee with a grim smile. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

  “Do you need that little toy to tell you that?” it sniffed. “That information would be free.”

  “I’ll let you have the dagger if you tell me what I need to know.”

  It regarded me narrowly. “That toy means a great deal to you.”

  “Aye.”

  “And you’ll give it to me.”

  “Aye, if you’ll -”

  “Alright.” It held a silvery and amorphous hand down towards me. I hesitated, but turned the blade about and handed it safely to the Shee. The jewels in the hilt lit up blue and green and scarlet with even more intensity, as if each stone was a tiny glass lantern. The Shee regarded it. “Hm. Your feelings towards me go beyond the indifferent too, don’t they?” it stuck the dagger into the tree beside it, and turned to me. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

  “For a start, why did you cheat us? Our wishes were meant to bring us happiness.”

  “But you didn’t - specifically - ask for happiness.”

  “Don’t quibble. You distorted matters so that we’d get what we wanted but wouldn’t gain any joy from it. Why did you do that?”

  It shrugged. “I’m spiteful.”

  “Then I was right. You are a cheat. You have no honour.”

  I thought it would become angry, but it merely regarded me from its perch for a few seconds, sitting very still, then it said, “I didn’t actively cause mischief. It’s just that knowing how things stood, it was inevitable that Lord Bress would ruin things for himself. And for you. He does that, has been doing it for centuries.”

  “What do you -”

  “The Shee have… certain powers. We can ‘see’ things. And like Lord Bress, we are not without influence over men’s minds. So I allowed him to realise Aninn’s worth. I may even have been a little guilty of stirring his feelings of tenderness and sentimentality - they’d been lying dormant for so long that that took some doing, I can tell you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You idiot child. Does that sound more ridiculous than being able to grant anything a man desires?”

  “I…I don’t know. So what he felt for the Princess Aninn wasn’t real?”

  “I said I stirred his feelings, I didn’t open the floodgates; he did that himself, surprising me - and frightening himself. But still he destroyed her. Even love couldn’t change him.”

  And I thought an odd thought; that the Shee was wrong, that the Shee did not know ev
erything, after all. Love had changed Lord Bress. He was dying of it.

  And there was something else that the Shee had said, something that hadn’t rung true, could not be true…

  “You said that the Shee and Lord Bress had some influence over men’s minds. Is that true? That he can… tell someone to do something, and he or she will do it?”

  Go to hell, he had said. And she did. I shivered.

  The Shee sighed as if I were very obtuse. “Why do you think he’s in the mess that he’s in? He was a man with no self-knowledge, so how could he expect to know what he wants from others? His life has been one catastrophe after another, so don’t envy him his gift.”

  “I don’t. I only want to know what he can do to right things again.”

  “You said it.”

  I stared at it. “What? What did I say?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it? As obvious as it is impossible.”

  Wildly, I cried, “I don’t understand!”

  In a singsong, bored voice, the Shee said, “In order to find the Princess Aninn, the Dark Lord would have to set right all that he has done wrong. There. Are you happy, now?”

  “But that would be -”

  “Impossible. Yes.” It held the dagger out towards me, hilt first. “Here, take it back.”

  I looked at it, startled. “But… we made an agreement.”

  “I’ve told you all I know.”

  “But you wanted the dagger.”

  “I wanted you to give it up. That was the gift. Now take it back, I have no use for such clumsy items. Take it and return to Geeragh.”

  Once more it began to melt away, to lose what substance it had.

  “But… Lord Bress doesn’t remember anything!”

  “He doesn’t want to. Who can blame him?”

  “I must tell him! Where should he begin?”

  And a thought began to form in my mind, taking shape within me, even as the Shee was fading before me. I shouted at the last of it, a silvery shimmering of leaves, of branches, “The man who left the castle by the South Entry - the man who refused to curse Lord Bress - who was he?”

  But the Shee was gone. All was silent in the forest, then came a faint stirring in the trees, a wind moved the branches, and with that sound came the last, faint music of the bells; the voice came with it, a breath, a sigh, a final gift, “The true King of Geeragh.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I do not know whether it was the Shee’s influence over my little mare, or what we had shared together in those terrifying moments in the forest, but on the return journey to High Geeragh she was definitely the more relaxed of the two of us. She crossed over the river with no urging at all, meandered back through the Mara Woods with less concern that I showed for the shifting shadows all about us, and on the open road she trotted out like the lady’s palfrey that she had been bred to be. She showed no signs of tiring, even when darkness overtook us, and the dim shapes of pale stones and waving hawthorn branched caused her to glance at them mildly, her pretty ears forward in interest, but not to slacken her pace. She was so eager to please I began to wonder if she were, indeed, my mare, or if I were mounted on some changeling.

  I remembered a derelict barn by the side of the road, and here we stopped for the night, and though the mare dozed contentedly, I, in my cloak on the damp straw, had little rest. Every creak of rotting timbers, every rustling in the dank hay, every screech, near or far, of an owl out hunting, brought back nightmares of Pilfeen and his men, and even worse, of his ghostly pursuers.

  On returning to Geeragh I left the mare with one of the stable boys, making sure he had begun to groom her down and that she was comfortable; then I hurried as fast as my legs would take me, to Lord Bress’s bedchamber.

  The great bed was empty and freshly made, the hearth cold and swept clean. I ran to find Poli but she was not in the kitchens nor larders, not in her little office nor her own quarters; I went to find Crorliss in his eyrie, but only his cats were there, meeting my gaze with distant, self-absorbed stares.

  Into the throne room - and there I found guards before the doors to Lord Bress’s study. They allowed me in, as unsmiling and formal as ever, and it was there that I found Poli. She had been crying, was even now in the process of blowing her nose, before returning to packing away the maps over which I had seen Lord Bress poring so many times.

  “Poli,” I managed to croak, “He’s not -”

  “Where have you been?” The deep voice was loud in the silence, and I whirled in shock - and there he was, taking down a map from the wall, scowling at me as he began to roll it up. The look on the Dark Lord’s face was one of irritation, but I could not help the grin of relief on my own.

  “My Lord, you’re alright.”

  “Of course. Where have you been? Poli has been worried, and her sons have been gone all morning looking for you.”

  I glanced back at Poli. She did indeed look pleased to see me, but the seriousness of her glance as she turned back to Lord Bress told me that there was something more to her tears than my absence from the castle. Scabious would have told her that I was gone back to my mother’s cottage. I turned to Lord Bress, debated whether to speak in front of Poli, and decided almost immediately, that there was no time to waste.

  “Sir, I was in the Forest of Lirr, I spoke with the Shee -”

  Lord Bress’s words cut across my own. “You had no right to go off to that place alone - you might have been killed.” He had crossed to Poli, was handing her the map he had taken from the wall. I noticed that she was packing maps and papers into a large leather sachel. “That will be enough, I think, Poli,” Lord Bress told her. “Take it down with the rest. I’ll be ready to go within the hour.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” And she left the room, not without giving me a sad look of reproach as she passed me.

  As the door shut behind her, “You’re going on a journey, My Lord? Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. Nowhere you need trouble your head about.” He was leafing through the remaining maps and papers on his desk, as if to check that nothing important was to be left behind. How very many maps he had packed, I realised. How long, how far, was this journey to be?

  He was walking to the door; I noticed he wore serviceable clothes, with no hint of metal thread about them, and his riding boots. He was leaving, and now.

  “My Lord, I met the Shee - it said…” I stopped.

  “What did the Shee say?” the Dark Lord asked as he paused, impatiently, in the doorway.

  “That… that in order to find the Princess Aninn you must…you must undo the wrongs you have done.”

  I waited, for what, I do not know. But he showed no surprise, merely smiled, rather grimly. “And the Shee volunteered that?”

  “With a little persuasion. I think… “ I studied his face, “I think you already knew what it was going to say, didn’t you, My Lord?”

  “Fen,” he came back into the room and looked down at me, not unkindly. “Your precocity has always been one of your endearing qualities. But you go too far. This visit to the Shee was as unwarranted as it was impertinent. Stay out of my affairs - or by the stars, boy, you’ll find yourself back gathering kelp on some god-forsaken beach.”

  My heart contracted with shame and a kind of grief; never before had he spoken to me like this, and it was very painful.

  But so much was at stake, and much as I respected him, much as I feared him, I spoke up. I had to speak up. “Can I come with you?”

  “Boy!” The Dark Lord turned his rage and frustration upon me, “Do you listen to anything?”

  “Yes, My Lord. But can I go with you?”

  “No!” And I thought he would leave, then, but a second or two passed, and he seemed to hesitate. “Fen,” he said, almost unwillingly, “when a man journeys into his past he must go alone.”

  “He could meet with danger,” I put in, desperately, as I saw him turn. “He could take a friend. Then he wouldn’t be alone.”

  Lord Bress smil
ed faintly. “He is always alone.” And the door closed after him.

  I was standing at the window watching when he rode out alone, with his black stallion and a chunky bay that carried his provisions. I watched him out of sight, then lowered my gaze to the Private Garden. I watched its distant colours blurring before me for a long time.

  Of course, he headed south. It was easy enough to keep him in sight - and, as I had thought, he called in to the Palace of the Twelve Princesses to bid them goodbye.

  I had changed into fresh livery and my story of a message for Lord Bress gained me an immediate entry into the Palace; they knew me, after all.

  I was directed to the garden, where I found Lord Bress walking with the Princess Jet; I would have gone to him immediately, despite my trepidation at this, my latest act of disobedience, but for the first time there seemed to be heated words passing between the Lord Bress and his friend, so I stood on the other side of the hedge and hesitated. The chances of being allowed to accompany him were very remote - even if I had ridden several hours to catch up to him. But my chances of a kindly reception were even more remote should I interrupt him in the middle of what seemed, to my ears, to be an argument.

  “No, Bress!” cried the Princess Jet, with some anguish. “Not even for you! Not even for my father, if he stood before me now and commanded it! I’m sorry, but no!”

  “Sorry! You’re sorry!” Lord Bress seemed to tower over the Princess, but she stood her ground. He turned away in frustration, “I’m offering you your freedom! A return to the castle of Geeragh! Your old position in the hierarchy of things! All will be as it was -”

  “As it was?” she interrupted, with so much controlled emotion that he stopped and turned to her. “do you know how it was for my sisters and myself, growing up in the castle? We were protected to the point of suffication, allowed outdoors only with chaperones, allowed to read only religious books, kept in ignorance, in short, of the entire world around us and all it held.”