by R J Darby
What was he thinking?
Was this really his destiny to take?
Why him and not Niamh? She was the one with the sacred bloodline, after all.
He was merely a leprechaun, common folk of the countryside.
What was he supposed to do?
Why would the world start to count even more black from the night itself?
She released him, falling on his face in the dirt the way his three slain enemies had. Where there has been heat surrounding her, there was now cold coming over him like a blanket, like the cloak of a reaper.
Why has she released it?
Was he dead?
No.
Not yet, anyway.
Something threw him onto his back. Judging by the harshness and the lines it ripped into his side, it was Caonarach.
Even though his double vision as she blinkered in and out of view, he could see that she was reeling away from him. Following something else. Someone else. Naimh!
The woman appeared like a ghost, looking exactly like she had in life, but in her younger years, the ones where she had first met Rowan, which she had always claimed were the best ones.
Caonarach dove towards her, attacking with all of her strength and forcing the female leprechaun into the lake.
Both of them when lost - but that was not something he could see you twice. The pain of losing his wife once had been bad enough. That had changed his world more than Caonarach and her armies ever could.
The pain of the poison was nothing on that, and with his veins shutting down, and with black spreading, he threw himself into the spot where the two had becoming can cold and sunk.
Holding his breath as best he could, he descended the depth.
Down. Down. Down.
Until the only thing lighting the water was the glow of his blade and the pair of hateful, yellow eyes which surged towards them.
Caonarach seized him with both hands, clawing him downwards, so deep that there were clusters of ice hitting his skin on the way down and slicing like broken shells.
His mouth filled with salt and silt before another light came into view, a bottle containing a luminescent sheen. That was even worse news.
He had only seen this once before, but it was a site that had left a lasting impression on him.
The soul of a drowned sailor held captive by its killer. This water was home to mermen; pig-faced creatures of the deep. Their presence only added to the danger.
With a flash of the scale he could not be sure if these belong to his own attacker or those who had captured the mortal. He lashed out, kicking his feet. Escape or injury to the others either would be preferable.
The bottle tipped, and for a second, he thought that he may have an ally. The trapped soul remained within the glass prison. Some laws can only be written by the divine. This was such a rule; only a human, willing to do a generous thing, would be able to free that soul. Not a leprechaun. Not a banshee. Not even me merman, which had it held there. Possibly not even Caonarach herself.
He was running out of breath, lung filling, and unable to shout.
There was only one course of action left to him. He would let the darkness devour him, something she had done to many before including to Saint Patrick. At least that was what the legend foretold.
If the legend of Caonarach was true (and there was no doubt of that), then perhaps the story of the Saint was also. He had to hope so because hope was all he had left.
Caonarach dislocated her jaw, the way that the snake does when ready to eat, and turned him so that he would have to face this - looking into the abyss. She would not be fooled twice. On this occasion, she would rip her enemy into, not risking damage from the Inside after swallowing them. Once already, she had experienced a blade emerging from her at the hands of one who deemed to see her deceased; departed from the world for many years. It was not a risk she would take again.
Rowan was halfway into the monstrous jaws when they began to snap down. He plunged forward, sword first, letting her ripping for him so that he could take one last strike at her, straight into the neck.
In the same instant that the blade punctured her vital organ, his were torn asunder, life leaving him forever. At least within the plane of Tír na nÓg. The Hollow Hills with no his body no more.
Caonarach screamed a cracking noise of her vocal cord-hung to the side. Her now-deceased pray floated by her with a small smile tracing across his lips.
He had done it.
The makings of a translucent prison began to spread across the water above them. The gravely injured Caonarach forced results from the river bed so hard that she muddied the water with a cloud of brown. The glass-like cover with spreading as quickly as she drew near.
When she reached the top, the gap was too narrow to take her and pincered her; still expanding like broken ice shards forming within her skin.
A female floated down, as natural in the water as the tide itself. She extended a hand, taking not the one of her enemies but ripping out the sword from her mouth. Caonarach took a look into the mother of pearl eyes just before the woman forced her downwards, allowing the prison to seal. The elements had back their power, and the sword would be returned to its rightful place.
Chapter Nineteen
All that remains
Some peace had been restored to the land of the Hollow Hills, and in part for the Quiet Place. Though still painted by the death and destruction which has passed, the ancient cycle of life always found its way to repair.
Those that had been lost were celebrated and the great hall in which the children were slain closed off forever, becoming an eternal Monument and reminding the leprechauns that live there of the sacrifice made by the great cobbler Rowan. Not forgetting his dear wife Naimh, who had a portion of her blood coming from the banshee, a great gift that had served their land well.
Following the cyclical nature, children which were created during the festival of the spring equinox, when all of Caonarach's harm had first met with their formerly peaceful town, were born.
The population may have dwindled, but within every burrow and blade of grass continue to burn the passion of Ireland, like those found on his adventure, one that would never cease to burn. Lower in rank, they became harder to discover at least by humans, which was a joy in itself for the community of leprechaun.
Their existence became one of much solitude, with the exception of trading with the Kingdom, something that had become much fairer since the rebuilding of its ancient walls that went with the attack of the fear gorta.
There were, however a few ethereal beings who became drawn to this place. It was a place that they had once known but had left when things had begun to change. After the defeat of Caonarach, the world seems to be returning to the way it once was, the way it should have been. This has come full circle - a sacred shape replicated by the stone rings but now capsulated the town, warding off any humans that may come looking for wishes, and offering protection by the old custom.
It was shortly after Beltane, some seven years later, that a new legend began.
It was said that a young leprechaun, with hair, as red as ruby and eyes as blue as lapis lazuli, was wondering the lake one day and came across something peculiar.
When running back to tell the other villages, fear was stuck among them. For what could a spiritual being along the lakeside be other than a banshee? Or even a Bean Sidhe?
After questioning her, it seems that this creature neither screamed a name nor washed bloody clothes in the water. If not the death omen, what could it be?
The description that the child gave was like nothing back had seen before, and so it was quickly dismissed as the imagination of the young trickster; dismissed and praised, of course, given that this would lead her to a fine life of deception against her foes.
“I swear it! I swear it on the love of our ancestors!” the child would cry over and over again until it became quite irksome to her parents.
That was until a few months later.
The farmers of the area noticed a most peculiar pattern. Wherever their crops grew near the river bed, they flourished like never before. Corn grew taller than a man, and the potatoes were in such abundance that their trading expanded beyond the kingdom of pearl. The rest of the land, however, produced its usual crop.
There was only one answer to what this could be.
The wee one had been quite right and what she had seen. This was the work of an elemental. The glass-like a woman which she had described had brought blessings to their show, much in the way of the gods and goddesses once had in the forming of Ireland.
This, too, of course, became no more than a legend. Much like Rowan and the battle with the great serpent. These things became bedtime stories, following the oral tradition for many generations. Yet, if they had known the truth behind what they were telling, then they might have been more cautious about telling them. The story should have been a warning, not evening entertainment. If the leprechauns of the Quiet Place could only comprehend the nightmares which they placed within their children's heads, then stories would not be spoken at all.
The piece remained, with the fairy kingdom believing their biggest threat to be the mortals across the border. What a foolish misunderstanding, especially when what lay beneath the lakes just a few miles away from them.
The dark lake once called so because of the blood of Caonarach painting it's watered with a vile red, appeared yet even darker.
To those walking by the waters seemed almost black, and for anyone brave (you're stupid) enough to submerge their hand into the depths, they would find the vision of themselves quite lost within a few inches.
Lurking below, however, a pair of eyes quite used to the darkness, could see out clearly. Their yellow cursed the land with such hatred as could only be formed from the one true mother of demons. The world must have balance, including that of good and evil, meaning that as long as that is peace above the surface, the great serpent will always remain.
For the first few years, she writhed, fighting against the invisible forces which held her in the murky prison like a sheet of unbreakable glass. The bones of the leprechaun she had taken down with her, or more precisely the one that had taken her down in his sacrifice, she used to try and scratch away at this invincible shield.
Like the times before, however, the way to her escape with clear. The scales that balanced the world needed to be tipped, not something which you could do alone.
Despite this, a smirk of hideous proportion plays its way across her serpentine face, and she wrapped her tail around herself with a feeling of warm but could not otherwise be gained from such a cold abyss.
Caonarach was confident. She was confident of the evil in the world. It may take time, possibly even centuries, but she settled herself knowing that the greed and pride of mortals would soon have a lock to her cage undone. After all, humans could not help themselves. That was what she loved about them. They liked even more morals and her demon spawn; at least those had to abide by rules. Mortals were an altogether darker race.
And so the long summer ticks on, but with each day that the land is scorned for a human or creature not happy with the many blessings they have been given, scratches appear within the hold around Caonarach. She sits and waits, venomous and cruel; doing what only a beast of this proportion can; taking charge of her eternity, and using it to plan the most sinister return for all races across the land.
Listen well and hear this song,
So that the world stays safe from wrong.
The mighty Caoranach has been slain,
But her evil could rise again,
Because Caoranach is not the only evil,
The darkest deeds come from the people.
If you wish to stay safe at night,
Do all you can to hold back the blight.
Caoranach is easily awakened,
Locks weakened with the lands taken.
Turn not the greed if it hurts the earth,
As she and her kin will watch with mirth.
The snake will never truly be dead,
So we must guard the land instead.
Do not put dirt in the river,
That will just allow Caonarach to slither.
Think before you cut a tree,
Do you really want her to be free?
Caonarach grows strong with cruelty and famine,
So your actions, you must examine.
Because the saints made a start,
Then, Rowan, the leprechaun played his part,
But this is not the end of destruction,
So don't make it easy to break her obstruction.
Caonarach must stay in the gloomy depths of her watery grave,
So be kind to the earth and your future you'll save.
Please give love to the earth and sky,
And the rivers if you don't want to see Caonarach passing by.
Éist go maith agus clois an t-amhrán seo,
Ionas go bhfanfaidh an domhan slán ó chontúirt.
Maraíodh an caranach mór,
Ach d’fhéadfadh a olc éirí arís,
Toisc nach é Caoranach an t-aon olc,
Tagann na gníomhais is dorcha ó na daoine.
Más mian leat fanacht sábháilte san oíche,
Déan gach rud is féidir leat chun an dúchan a choinneáil ar ais.
Is furasta Caranach a mhúscailt,
Laghdaíodh glais leis na tailte a tógadh.
Ná cas an saint má ghortaíonn sé an domhan,
De réir mar a fhéachfaidh sí féin agus a neasghaol le caoineadh.
Ní bheidh an nathair marbh go fírinneach,
Mar sin ní mór dúinn an talamh a chosaint ina ionad.
Ná cuir salachar san abhainn,
In cheated sé sin ach do Chaonarach imeacht.
Smaoinigh sula ngearrann tú crann,
Ar mhaith leat go mbeadh sí saor in aisce?
Fásann Caonarach láidir le cruálacht agus gorta,
Mar sin, na gníomhartha a chaithfidh tú a scrúdú.
Toisc gur thosaigh na naoimh,
Ansin sheinn Rowan an leipreachán a chuid,
Ach ní hé seo deireadh an scriosta,
Mar sin ná bíodh sé éasca a bac a bhriseadh.
Caithfidh Caonarach fanacht i ndoimhneas gruama a uaigh uiscigh,
Mar sin bí chomh cineálta leis an domhan agus le do thodhchaí go sábhálfaidh tú é.
Tabhair grá don domhan agus don spéir,
Agus na haibhneacha mura bhfuil tú ag iarraidh Caonarach a fheiceáil ag dul.
The end...
... For now