by R J Darby
“I see. Is there something that we could do for you to get the location. I'm sure that we can figure it out once we get there.”
“I'm sure that you could, pretty little leprechauns like you two. Here, take back your map, handsome.” The Merrow passed the piece of paperback.
Naimh rolled her eyes at her husband flushed as red as a rose.
“I would expect that you have something to share with us, no doubt,” Rowan said, although his words came out rather more jumbled. Naimh felt like slapping her palm on her forehead, but at that point, she was almost certain that the Merrow would not approach her husband. He was making such a great fall of himself. Her brow creased remembering that many Merrow had fornicated with humans, so maybe they weren't picky after all. She shook her head.
“I could give you this location, but it will cost you.”
“We know your price. A trinket or a secret.”
“Then, you must have brought something in which to offer me sweet thing.” This time her advances with towards Naimh, and Rowan was not the only one with a blush flourishing on his cheeks. She cleared her throat and rummaged in her pockets, revealing two coins; one made of gold and the other of silver.
“I have been. We had to run from our home. Will these be acceptable?”
The Merrow did not even outstretched her hand. Instead, she gave a long sigh, like a frustrated travelers upon finding he has turned up at the wrong location. “I will not be tracked with your leprechaun coin, and if you don't have anything else to offer-" She was about to dive back into the water when Rowan took a step forward.
“I have a great secret.”
That stopped her from swimming away. Thinking on it, she slipped into the water and twirled to face them with her elbows on the riverbank. Her knees were bent, and her toes jutted out of the water, swinging idly.
“I can work with a secret.”
“I know who is responsible for the summoning of Caoranach,” Rowan said with a puffed chest like a male peacock showing off its colors.
The news of this certainly interested her, for her head picked up, and her forearms tensed a little. Her tongue traced along her lower lip in anticipation as she thought about what good gossip this would be. It was the kind of thing that everyone would want to hear about, on land and in the seas and rivers. She salivated at the notion, trying hard to keep in her excitement and imagining how well she would look when sharing such exclusive information. What he was talking about was indeed a tantalizing morsel.
“He does indeed know that.” Naimh could not help but smile, seeing as the Merrow was now the one struggling to contain herself. Naimh might have been jealous if she had made another advanced that her husband, but the fact she was ogling him for this lucrative secret made her proud. Her husband was a harbinger of information - the likes of which could even stun a Merrow.
“I accept,” the creature of the water said with a voice full of haste, perhaps thinking that the deal might be taken off the metaphorical table if you waited any longer. Naimh sniggered, thinking what a terrible businesswoman she would be. “I will have the secret, and I will tell you where the map leads, and on top of that, I will tell you the directions to get there.” This was more than a simple deal. It was almost like a bid, and it reeked of generosity, a quality which was often said to be lacking in these deal-making creatures.
Rowan lent towards her. She smelled of sweet perfume, amplified by the salt from the waters she had traveled far beyond. It worked in the way that a pinch of salt on chocolate makes the taste so much clearer. The flowers he knew well, but there were other smells intermingled; sea urchin, the sea rose, and another that had ceased to exist in the realms that could be reached by the immortals and grow only in the sunken cities beyond their reach.
“I know that the person who is responsible for Caonarach's awakening was Lady Erin of the Pearl Kingdom's sister. This sister is a rather enchanting fairy and persuaded a man of mortal persuasion and small mind which are now the same thing really, to break the cage of a lake in which she was sleeping.”
A light grew in the eyes of the Merrow, brighter than any he had known. Her words came out quickly.
“Along that river, you will come to a fork. Follow the side that directs you past an oak tree that has been struck by lightning many moons ago. From there you must follow the tide until you come to the Forest of Phantoms. Your treasure will await you there. Mind you, you will encounter many banshees and other dark creatures along the way. Good day, and thank you.”
Eager to get on with sharing gossip, and now in completion of the deal with the trade for information made, she threw herself into the water. By the time the splash had caused the two leprechauns to blink and shield their eyes, the Merrow had transformed into a seal and bolted away with such a speed that seemed unimaginable for such a chubby creature.
Rowan let out a laugh. “Not quite so beautiful now, eh?”
“Are you saying that she was beautiful before?” his wife asked playfully, sending him into frantic stammering, then she could not make head nor tail of. “I'm joking you fool. Let's go. I must admit, I know it's reputation but, a part of me is ready to meet with other banshees. I feel a bit like I may be going home if I still have one left in this world.”
The two did not speak again until we came to the fork, too afraid, but they might miss it and almost certain that they would not be another Merrow to trade with to get directions. And if there was, they had already told what they knew, so they had no secret left to offer.
"Do you think humans have forgotten this part of the world?" Rowan asked as he turned his head about the land. The hills seemed to roll on as far as the horizon with only the winding lake to separate the two sides and a fairy ring dotted about here and there.
"They may have." Naimh eyed the place. It certainly did seem like it was untouched. And humans were frightfully irresponsible. They would dig up the land for precious metals to make jewelry then leave it dead and barren without repair, turning it to quicksand. Their greed would empty rivers without sustainable fishing and would strip trees of life which were too young to have been given a chance to live - just so that they could extend into bedrooms they didn't need and brag to their friends.
With a sigh, Naimh added, "it would be nice if they had forgotten about us. We have enough on our hands with the gorta and Caoranach."
"They'll never forget; we've been immortalized."
"Pictures get lost," she winked, "especially when quick fingers are near."
"True, true indeed, but songs? They last forever."
Naimh stopped and put her hands on her hips. "What song are you referring to?"
"The Fáinne Geal an Lae, obviously, " he retorted as he stopped and faced her.
"No," she crossed her arms, "that song is about a human girl and a reference to a Merrow."
He wagged his finger. "And," emphasis was placed heavily on the word, "a leprechaun."
"Nay."
"I think you'll find it does."
With a huff creased her brow. "If you're so sure, go on then, ding it."
"Alright," he cleared his throat into his balled-up hand and beat against his chest three times before beginning; from the start, of course, he was a true showman.
One morning early I went out
On the shore of Lough Leinn
The leafy trees of summertime,
And the warm rays of the sun,
As I wandered through the townlands,
And the luscious grassy plains, who should I meet but a beautiful maid,
At the dawning of the day.
No cap or cloak this maiden wore
Her neck and feet were bare
Down to the grass in ringlets fell
Her glossy golden hair
A milking pail was in her hand
She was lovely, young and gay
Her beauty excelled even Helen of Troy
At the dawning of the day.
&
nbsp; On a mossy bank, I sat me down
With the maiden by my side
With gentle words, I courted her
And asked her to be my bride
She turned and said, "Please go away,"
Then went on down the way
And the morning light was shining brightly
At the dawning of the day.
She said to me, "go away and let me go - you rake!
There from the south, the light is coming with the dawning of the day
"See! A cap and cloak, the song refers to a Merrow entirely, not a human anyway." She said victoriously.
"How do you work that out?" Rowan asked, indignant.
"Everyone knows that once a man has taken the red cap of a Merrow or her seal cloak, then she is land-bound until she finds them again so that she would look like a human."
Rowan sputtered, "but she is a milk maiden, it says so. 'A milking pale was in her hand'! That makes it far more likely that it was a human. Otherwise, a Gancanagh would have stolen her heart."
"Oh, don't be such a clot! Do you suppose that ALL milkmaids are to be seduced by Gancanagh? That's an awful lot of work for one fairy."
"Well no but-"
"But nothing, there wouldn't be a single milkmaid left, then who would get the milk?"
"Well, I-" Cut off again.
"And furthermore, why can't a woman be two things? Just because she is a Merrow wife doesn't mean that she can't have a calling. Wives can be more than wives, husband." She bit at the last word, looking as grumpy as one of Caonarach's minions!
"I agree, I agree. A wife is more than a wife without question."
"Thank you."
"Yes, you're a wife and a horrid cook," he sniggered, only to receive clout around the ear.
"You useless clot!"
They looked at each other fiercely for the count of almost four seconds and then burst out laughing together. It was good to have an argument like that. Fighting over such silly things was a foundation of any loving relationship. More importantly, giving them a glimpse at normality they had once known, they felt a little more at ease.
The two of them could clearly picture what it was that they were fighting for and why they undertook such a dangerous journey. How far away from home, the little leprechauns were. And yet it seems like nothing. The further away they got from the Quiet Place, the more accepted their fate. Maybe it was because the reminders of the past were days behind and there was nothing in those new parts to make them think about where they had come from. Of course, they didn't need reminders to perfectly picture their children's faces. Things have changed though; they had changed. Maybe that was the answer.
“I don't suppose it will be much longer, will it?” Naimh asked in a manner that suggested her husband might actually know.
“I think a while yet.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because,” he winked, “that's just our luck isn't it. I used up all the luck I have in this lifetime the day that I met you. And the luck of the Irish is faster than any other man's.”
A warmth spread across her. “I say we settle down for the night. Let's find somewhere to make camp.”
The sun was about to sink, and Rowan agreed. A night of cuddling in one another's arms was just the medicine he needed for the ailments he suffered.
Chapter Thirteen
A Sight Most Unwelcome
The night had been long and dark, but the two leprechauns were kept warm, not only by the love they held for each other but by a curiously warm rain that felt like a blanket in their sleep.
Rowan woke first with a yawn so large that the nearest village might see his tonsils, and a stretch so wide that he could have hugged his way around the thickest tree trunk in Ireland.
The rain had stopped. Remnants of it clung to the tips of the grass and hung from the edges of leaves of the tree they had sheltered underneath.
In the distance, the sun broke the sky, and its many fractals had painted a rainbow across the bright blue.
A smile blossomed on his face, like the opening bud of a new flower in spring. The rainbow reminded him ever so much of his family, both the ones that he had produced and those that he had never met.
He shook Naimh awake, not wanting her to miss it, and they watched it together until the paint was quite washed away from its canvas, replaced with clouds which they picked out shapes in as they walked further. It was a pleasant day, but alas, such things do not last.
The first time they saw her, Caoranach, was like a mirage. There were so many stories and paintings that the two leprechauns were worried that they would not recognize the mother of demons. Her aura gave everything away; black as the darkest night and colder than any winter, even the 1963 one where the Scandinavian wind has stripped the country of old warmth and caused hundreds of deaths.
Even at a distance, it was obvious that it was her.
There was more beauty in her than they had expected, at least from the waist up. She had a slender figure with an ample bust. Her hair was long and fell in curls, looking as though she was a fair maiden just returned from a pleasant swim. Her movement was fluid as the lake she caressed the sides of, moving away from them. Thankfully.
Her lower half was not so pleasant. From the waist down, she was serpentine. The way a mermaid tail attached, so too did the long, snake-like body of Caoranach. Had she decided to raise herself upon it, then she might have been triple the height. Surely she would tower over any creature and consume them as easily.
The small triangle which indented the base of her spine was plain to see, tickled by the tips of her hair. Naimh had to wonder if this meant her upper body was nude. From the curve of the scales on her hips, it seemed as though she might have a corset made from her own serpentine scales. That made sense. After all, the humans of Ireland had deemed that nudity was the most disgusting thing. It had been written so in one of the holy books, the book which they all fought over, though Naimh could not remember its name. Caoranach seemed the kind to spit in the face of anything sacred, so nudity would be one more insult that she could enjoy. In a world of demon and fairy, the female form was worshipped. The mother of demons however, had much more pride than any other. The good book that the humans spoke of said that pride was a sin too; one of the seven worst in fact. Naimh could not remember what the others were, although she vaguely remembered that there was something about lust, she was certain that the demon fulfilled all of them.
Even her visions had not made her skin crawl this much. And likewise with her husband. He took her hand, indistinctly, and gripped so tightly that she had an understanding of how he had felt when she nearly broke his fingers in childbirth - on three separate occasions.
Neither of them breathed. They dared not, fearing that even the faintest whisper would travel on the wind into those accursed ears.
When a person is incredibly frightened or drowning (whether this is by fear or in water), there is an overriding sensation to breathe. Even as the brain knows that the lungs will fill with water and that the body will inevitably die (with exception to the water creatures of course), the body, by ancestral command of survival, will desperately seek the air which it needs. A drowned man will become so because his body cannot help but take in water. There is no way to fight with instinct; not possible to defy the very nature of being.
Unless, of course, something worse than death lies ahead. The leprechauns did not breathe for almost three minutes. When they did, it was a short inhale as sharp as a blade in the esophagus, then another minute (maybe two) of statuesque lungs as still as stone.
Only once the creature had gone away, miles away actually, did they allow themselves the courtesy of breathing normally. It was a disgusting thing to think, yet Rowan was certain, but that image would scar him more so than the sight of his torn apart children. He felt guilty for that, then worse still, knowing that in all of the time, but she passed, he had not done a single thing to comf
ort his wife.
There's no way to make up for that, but he decided to try, patting her weekly on the arm. “I think we should get moving to the forest.”
“I agree. I do not know how we are going to fight this, though. Did you see her!”
“I did. With my very own eyes, but I'll tell you how we are going to fight her, and how we are going to be victorious.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, anchoring himself on her as much as giving her something to lean on. “We are going to beat her together.”
Naimh remained huddled in his chest, breathing in the comforting musk of his skin. Her nostrils knew to separate it from the sweat. She could have picked that scent out anywhere.
Finally, she pulled away - though not entirely, her hand remained on his side as they walked.
“To the Forest of Phantoms, it is.”
“Together.”
“Always.”
The final part of the river came into view after about a half-hour of walking.
Rowan took a deep breath, wondering if he would be so equally accepted as his banshee blood wife - and doubting it. “Here it is, then.”
“Here it is, just one more day’s walk to go,” she said almost dreamily.
Naimh had not imagined calling anywhere home again. How could anywhere be a home without her children? She would have been able to understand the move, not that she would have liked it - or that she liked it now. She would even have been content with traveling to another city and leaving behind every material possession they had, including their gold. Those things did not matter to her any longer. The thought of being anywhere without her children, even if she owned it, just didn't quite feel right. It would be a house, not a home.