《They Call Me Fionn》


 Chapter 1: The Library

    I was watching the Head librarian and was amazed that he was still alive. He was rail thin, had long, white hair and a nose that seem to droop down into the books he was leafing through. He would shake his head as though he was answering some internal voice, close the book and slide it back into the stacks. I was beginning to think that the man was mad.


    He smacked his lips. ¡°Pay no attention to Dewy or Decimal. Here, we do things differently.¡±


    Differently, no kidding. I had simply asked him how to file the books. ¡°How do I...¡±


    The old librarian took another book from the trolley, held it up to the light, fanned through the pages, then stuck his big nose into the book and took a whiff.


    ¡°A book is like a good wine. You have to examine its color, scent it, imbibe it into your very soul.¡±


    He had to be nuts. I watched as he held the book up. His free hand hovered over the book as though he was conjuring some spirit. The thin, spider-like hand began to vibrate. He moved his hand from the book and ran his fingers along the spines of the books in the stacks, back and forth. It was as though he was divining for water. Then his hand stopped and he inserted a long index finger in between two books, and slid the book in.


    Taking another book from the trolley he thrust in into my hands. ¡°Here you go, Master William, you try.¡±


    Master? Where was this guy from? The middle ages? He looked old enough. I took the book and shrugged.


    ¡°I don''t get it.¡±


    ¡°Try it. Try it. It''s quite liberating,¡± he said euphorically.


    I groaned.


    ¡°Look at it. You can''t do it unless you look at it. Good, now, what do you see?¡±


    I looked at the cover. ¡°There''s a half-dressed guy on the cover. He''s kissing a girl.¡± The cover was rather embarrassing.


    ¡°Ah, a Romance. Do you smell the chocolate? The flowers...perhaps, roses?¡±


    ¡°This is...¡±


    ¡°Smell.¡±


    He thrust the book at my nose and I had no choice but to take a tentative sniff. ¡°I do smell something.¡±


    ¡°Ah...¡±


    ¡°Chocolate, I smell chocolate.¡±


    ¡°See,¡± exalted the librarian.


    I tugged on the impromptu bookmark that was the foil remains of a chocolate covered mint wrapper from between the pages and held it for him to see.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Ignoring it he continued on. ¡°Now, hold the book up, let it guide you to its place in the stacks.¡±


    ¡°This is nuts,¡± I muttered under my breath, but I did as he asked and held it up. I noticed the the librarian was smelling the mint foil and licking his lips.


    ¡°No, actually, it is peppermint, no nuts, although I do detect a note of cashew.¡±


    ¡°Cashew is a nut.¡±


    ¡°No, my boy, it is a fruit.¡±


    I wanted to tell him what I honestly thought of this entire episode, but I held back. I had to be polite or face the wrath of the volunteer coordinator for my school.


    ¡°I''ve been thinking, maybe I should volunteer somewhere else, maybe a garage where they change tires...¡±


    Then everything changed. I was about to thrust the book into the stacks, turn and walk out when the book took control. It jerked on my hand. I tried to drop it, but it was as though my hand was glued to it. It pulled me along the stacks towards the back. I stumbled along.


    ¡°Where''s it taking me?¡±


    ¡°Go with it,¡± shouted the librarian, ¡°just go with it, man.¡±


    The book continued to pull me along. It tugged me up the stairs at the back, onto the mezzanine level and suddenly forced me to the ground where it slipped, seamlessly into the stacks. The librarian was staring down at me, a great grin on his bearded face.


    ¡°Let me guess. This is where the Romance section is.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°More to the point is that you understand how we file books.¡±


    I struggled to me feet. My legs were still wobbly from the startling experience of having a book take control of my body.


    ¡°This is insane. No offense, but you''re insane. This entire place is nuts. I''m out of here.¡±


    Trying to move past the frail librarian I found my way blocked. He seemed a lot larger now than he was a moment ago. I doubted I could get past him even if I wanted to. He handed me another book. This one was black.


    ¡°Listen, try one more book, and then, if you feel the same way, then you can seek to fulfill your quest somewhere else.¡±


    Quest? What was it with this guy? ¡°Sure, whatever, Don Quixote, give me the book.¡±


    I took the book and felt the familiar tug. This time I was ready for it and simply let it lead. I followed it to the back of the mezzanine level to the back where the stair well was situated. It took me down the stairs, past the main floor and into the basement where the Children'' s department was. There was a young woman behind the counter. I couldn''t help but stare. She was about my age, but entirely dressed in black. Some people called it Goth, I just called it odd. She followed me with her overly accentuated eyes as the book pulled me passed her and towards the shaded penumbra of a door less back room.


    ¡°Go with it, man,¡± shouted the librarian.


    I could feel Goth girl following me.


    In front I noticed a big, closed vault, like the ones in banks. In the center of the vault was a slot and the book was pulling me towards it. Underneath the slot were the words in big, white lettering. The said: DISCARD. The book shot towards the slot and pulled my hand in with it. I tried to let go, but the book began to pull my arm in.


    The old librarian was whooping and hallooing as though he was having the time of his life. The Goth girl appeared at my side.


    ¡°You should let go.¡±


    ¡°I''m trying to. It won''t let go of me.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure,¡± said the girl casually.


    ¡°I''m sure,¡± I spat back at her. ¡°It''s pulling my arm off...¡±


    The Old librarian was on my other side, his long nose almost in my ear. ¡°Try to clear your mind of all thought.¡±


    ¡°Thought, thought...like how my arm is being pulled out of its socket?¡±


    ¡°Clear your mind...¡± continued the librarian, ¡°deep thoughts...¡±


    I tried, but failed. What eventually released me from the book wasn''t any zen calmness, but the feeling that something on the other side was coating my hand in saliva. I pulled out my hand. It was covered in blue, iridescent slime. I didn''t stop to ask: why is my hand covered in iridescent slime, I just ran. Behind me were the sounds of a cheering, ecstatic, archaic librarian that sounded like he had just won the lottery. I didn''t stop running until I reached the water.

 Chapter 2: XXX Theatre

    I hung out at the water front for the remainder of the day, then went home and had a fitful sleep. The new day dawned. As I got closer to the school, I hoped my actions yesterday would have gone unnoticed. Probably no such luck. I was on a roller coaster that was out of control and there was no way to get off. The one thing I dreaded was to have to explain myself to anyone, because inevitably that would lead to questions about how I felt. How was I supposed to feel? Dad was blown up by an IED, mom was so depressed that she hadn''t been out of bed in days. I was about to blow off my last year of High School. Everyone seemed keenly interest in talking about the one thing I didn''t want to talk about: my feelings. I just wanted to tell them to stuff their questions so far up their Yin that Yang wouldn''t know where to find her. It was family business and it was private.


    The plan was to slip in through the teachers'' entrance; students weren''t allowed there. With five minutes left before the start of school, I could be ensured of a quiet entrance. Other than that, my plan was decidedly thin. I would survive for the rest of the day and when fourth period came, I would pretend to leave for my placement at the library. I just wouldn''t show up. Of course this depended on the Head Librarian not placing the all important call, of me abandoning my post, which was highly unlikely.


    Good, there was nobody in the halls. I had about thirty seconds to get to home room. I had to pass by the co-op/volunteer placement teacher¡¯s office to do this. If I pretended there was nothing wrong, nobody would suspect me...


    ¡°Mr. Sonntag?¡±


    Well, at least that worked in spy movies. ¡°Yes, Mr. Itchyberry,¡± I responded in my best innocent voice.


    He frowned at me. ¡°Eye...Chee...Berry.¡±


    Everything about Mr. Itchyberry was severe. He always tried to be taller than the students he talked to. It was a way of exerting his power over them. At five foot something, it was safe to say he was not a tall man. On the other hand, mom had always said I had not been born short.


    I could tell he wanted to step up onto the chair beside his desk while he talked to me. To prevent confrontation I sat down.


    ¡°Is there something wrong?¡± I added a dash of sincerity to my innocence.


    He frowned again. I wonder if he had practiced that look in the mirror or maybe his job had worn him down into a character of himself. He cleared his voice.


    ¡°Yes, it appears you left your placement early yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well...¡± So much for the library not phoning. How could I tell him about possessed books, a head librarian that was a cross between a love child and Dumbledore, and some creature that produces iridescent blue slime when it sucks on your hand.


    Mr. Itchyberry¡¯s frown softened...oh, lord, here it comes. He¡¯s going to ask me how I¡¯m flipping feeling!


    ¡°Mr. Sherlock has informed me of the circumstances, perfectly out of your control.¡±


    They were? Mr. Sherlock must be the name of the Head Librarian...sounds interesting, weird, but interesting. It suited him.


    ¡°That¡¯s great, then, I¡¯ll drop by today, right?¡± I was anxious to get out of there before he started crying or something. That was almost as bad as someone asking me how I felt.


    His face twisted in a type of agony. ¡°Ah, yes. If that was all there was, then it would be simple. The Principal has asked me to speak with you...¡±


    Coward.


    ¡°You are failing your other courses. I explained the situation with Mr. Sherlock...¡±


    What did he have to do with me passing or failing; he was just some nutty librarian.


    ¡°And the Principal and your mother...¡±


    ¡°You called my mother?¡± I was out of the chair glowering down at Mr. Itchyberry. I clenched my fists. I had promised her not to do anything that would get me expelled.


    He held his hands up defensively, in mock surrender.


    ¡°Yes, there is some good here, some good. You don¡¯t need any of your compulsories, so, and four credits will get you to graduation...¡±


    ¡°What does the library have to do with any of this?¡± I asked trying to control my voice, to keep from shouting.


    ¡°Ah, well¡­we,¡± his face hardened with resolve, ¡°we think it best that you finish out the year by doing a full day co-op at the library. Mr. Sherlock suggested it...¡±


    Though I was furious, though I stormed out of the school, I knew it was the only way I was going to graduate. I decided to take the rest of the day off; treat myself to a little ¡®me¡¯ time.


    I¡¯ve always like dilapidated buildings. There was something about a building in its last stages of decay that took me out of myself. Downtown had a lot of buildings like that. Ever since they built the mall complex in the east end, the commercial life blood of the center of town had drained away. Historically, there had been two theatres, but the fancy one had burned to the ground and the property had been turned into a parking lot. The second, the one that featured XXX movies, still stood in all its raunchy glory, defying time. Supposedly it belonged to Cliodhna Construction. It was there I went.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    I had figured out a way in last year, but you had to be as agile as a mountain goat. It was possible to climb the broken metal fire escape, jump from one roof to another and slide into what must have been a vent. Once inside I worked my way down from the rafters and into the belly of the theatre. Crawling to the edge of a hole, I dropped down onto a hallway and made my way to one of the few remaining balconies. Just as I was about to pull back the moth eaten curtain, I heard the sound of voices below.


    ¡°So, when does he turn eighteen?¡± The voice was smooth and cultured. If I had to guess what the man looked like, he would have been fashioned from the glossy pages of GQ and Sports Illustrated. He spoke in the perfectly pronounced syllables of a Mr. Higgens from ''My Fair Lady.'' I slowly reached the curtain to pull it back.


    A sibilant voice, like water hitting a super heated surface said, ¡°In a few days. I still don¡¯t know why you want to keep him alive. He¡¯s like his father, best dead. Let me kill him, my Lord.¡±


    Why was it that the uber evil villain was always called ¡®Lord.¡¯


    ¡°No, we need him. I need him. Everything depends on him. Do you understand that, Aileen mac Midan?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lord,¡± the voice hissed menacingly as though he was conceding something he hated. ¡°Do you think it a good idea to meet here? After all she is not entirely devoid of power in this world.¡±


    The cultured voice laughed.


    What a strange name, Aileen mac Midan, but it rung some bell inside me and it made me all the keener to hear what was going on.


    ¡°She is mad and of no concern to me. You are sure his memory will return when he turns eighteen?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely, it is when he receives his father¡¯s leadership mantle.¡±


    ¡°Good, make sure nothing gets in the way of him remembering.¡±


    ¡°Everything?¡± hissed the voice.


    ¡°Yes, everything.¡±


    I pulled back the moth eaten cloth to see the authors of these two distinct voices and saw ¨C nothing. There was nobody down in the main section of the theatre. They had vanished. Cautiously I made my way down to where I believed the conversation between the two had been conducted. There was something strange about the floor, a smell, as though a great heat had been present. There were blackened marks on the floor, where the wood had been scorched. I felt the wood. It was still hot.


    Deep in thought I made my way home. Whether I had heard the conversation or not didn¡¯t really matter. Somehow, something had changed inside me. I had questions.


    We were still waiting for the government to come through after dad had been killed in Afghanistan. All my mom would say, is that there were things about his death which made the military not want to extend his pension to his dependants. Other than that, she didn¡¯t say much. As a result, we lived in the poorest section of town in the rent to income tenements.


    Inside everything was dark. The curtains were pulled and the lights were off, the way mom liked it. I noticed that the sink was still full of dirty dishes, and I knew she hadn¡¯t been able to get out of bed again. I went over to the sink and gazed balefully at the orange rusted things. I hated doing them, but they had to get done. I plugged the sink and began to run the water. It must have been the water that brought her out of bed.


    She stood framed in the door way, her hair a mass of fuzzed confusion. She wrapped her robe around her body as she leaned up against the door jam, in the hope that it would keep her up.


    ¡°William, you¡¯re home? Have I slept all day again? I¡¯m so sorry.¡± There was a depth of pain in her eyes that made me immediately forget my own problems. ¡°You¡¯re doing the dishes. Here, let me do them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right, mom. I made most of the mess. You eat anything today?¡± I asked the question but knew she hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°Sure, sure, dear,¡± she said lying. ¡°I had a little bit. I¡¯m feeling a lot better.¡±


    She looked worse. We both knew she wasn¡¯t getting better. Ever since we got the news of dad¡¯s death she had slipped deeper and deeper into depression. I suppose I was doing the same thing, just in a different way. I placed the first of the dirty dishes in the sink and reached for the steel wool. It was going to take some scrubbing to get the crusty stuff off. ¡°Mom, an interesting thing happened to me on the way home.¡± I placed the first dish in the rack.


    ¡°Oh?¡± although she still looked dozy, a tone of interest entered into her voice.


    ¡°I went down to the old theatre...¡±


    Her face widened unexpectedly. ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t go there. It¡¯s dangerous. You know how I feel about the place...¡±


    She rarely talked about anything lately. Just this conversation was enough for me to feel hope, or the stirrings of it inside. ¡°Actually, I don¡¯t know how you feel about it. I really don¡¯t know how you feel about anything...¡±


    As soon as I said it I regretted it. It was the same plea to explore one¡¯s feelings that the counsellors were using on me, and I despised it. Her face seemed to cave in on itself and a blurry darkness threatened to snuff out the light that was barely flickering.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry...¡±


    She held up a frail hand and bowed her head, gathering her strength. ¡°No, no. That¡¯s all right; I¡¯ve been shutting you out. You have a right...¡±


    I could see the pain increasing, etching the lines in her face deeper and deeper. ¡°No, you have the right. You are my son. You are his son, and that gives you all the right in the world.¡±


    The wet dish I was holding was dripping and I recognized how filthy the floor had gotten. I gave a slight, broken laugh. ¡°We¡¯ve really let things go, haven¡¯t we?¡±


    I felt the light touch of her hand on my arm and the tension I had been living with seemed to snap, releasing me from its clutches.


    ¡°You wanted to tell me something about the theatre?¡±


    ¡°It was strange. There were two people there, talking, but when I looked they weren¡¯t there, which is strange because they wouldn¡¯t have had the time to get out.¡±


    My mom picked up a tea-towel and fitted the wet dish into it. She was staring balefully at the pile of dirty dishes. ¡°Maybe you were imagining things.¡±


    ¡°Mom, have you ever heard the name Aileen mac Midan?¡±


    The dish dropped from her hand and shattered on the filthy floor.


    Her face went wide in horror. ¡°Oh, no. Look what I''ve done. I''ve broken it.¡±


    I bent and scooped up the broken shards. Inadvertently I cut my finger. Not a bad slice, but small enough to draw blood. The blood dripped onto the floor.


    She took my hand and wrapped it up in a clean dish cloth. Holding her hand between hers she gave me a searching stare. ¡°You have to promise me something.¡±


    ¡°Anything,¡± I responded. She was beginning to frighten me.


    ¡°If you remember anything, anything, odd, you have to promise to tell me immediately. Will you do this?¡±


    ¡°Sure. Mom, is there anything you''re not telling me?¡±


    She continued to stare into my eyes. ¡°You''re blood is precious. You must know that.¡± Then she turned and stumbled back into the black bedroom. ¡°Your blood is precious,¡± she muttered before being engulfed.


    I suddenly took a deep breath. My blood was precious? What was that supposed to mean? Alone, I could have excused it, but her reaction to the name of Aileen mac Midan indicated there was some type of connection. And of course, there was also the fact that my eighteenth birthday was coming.

 Cliodhna

    Nothing momentous happened for the remainder of the week.  Sherlock was weird; Madame ¡®H¡¯ was cryptic, and I was resigned. When I told mom of my academic fate she actually got out of bed and smiled. How could I disappoint that?


    I did meet the rest of the staff. A lot of them had their origins from all over the world, which I found interesting. There was a woman, who caught my attention immediately.  She wore a head scarf, what did dad call them, right, a Hijab. I even knew how to tie one¡­the curse of my memory.  I found out from James, the only other male on staff (Sherlock didn¡¯t count) that she had emigrated from Afghanistan. She had the most startling, clear blue eyes. There was a story about Alexander The Great visiting Afghanistan¡­


    I know, I know, I have a thing for eyes. I really don¡¯t know why. I understand eyes are supposed to be the windows to the soul, and that eyes can reveal lies or truth.  The earliest recollection I have of eyes were those of my mother¡¯s. She would come home at night, lean down over me and tuck me in. Then she would sing something to me. Usually in Gaelic; mom was Irish. I refused to go to sleep until she did that. I have never seen eyes as beautiful as hers.


    So, an uneventful week: some mystical book filing, even some discards, which I looked forward to. I managed to get the hang of it. Instead of letting the book drag me through the library, I did as Sherlock suggested, and ¡®just went with it, man.¡¯


    As I felt that characteristic tingle on my hand, when it was on the other side of the vault slot, I just let the book drop. I marveled at the iridescent blue slime residue on my hand, but it quickly evaporated like rubbing alcohol leaving a cool feeling to my fingers.


    ¡°There are only a few people who can do that,¡± said Madame ¡®H¡¯ after a deposit.


    ¡°Get slime on their hand?¡±


    ¡°No, deposit in the Vault, before you only the Head Librarian and myself.¡±


    ¡°What about the others¡­¡±


    ¡°James and Sasarana, no.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you do it,¡± I said to her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like getting slime on my hand,¡± and she had turned away.


    I do believe she was beginning to like me.


    After my failure at Story Time, Madame ¡®H¡¯ had taken me up to Sherlock¡¯s office where I had been forced to explained things. He just advised me against accepting books from the vault and that was it. I could tell Madame ¡®H¡¯ wanted to say more, but she didn¡¯t.


    I looked at my watch.  It was time to go, but I didn¡¯t want to. It was a strange feeling. Leaving the library you had to pass the Head Librarian¡¯s office. I hesitated outside Sherlock¡¯s office door. It was shut, which was strange. I knocked.


    ¡°Come,¡± said a muffled, distracted voice through the thick wood.


    I went in. Sherlock was standing behind a big lectern that was carved in the shape of an owl. Resting on its wings was an enormously large book. He was stooped over it, his half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He was dressed in a pin striped suit, nothing out of the usual except those stripes were alternating pink and black.


    ¡°Oh, master Suntag, so glad you came. I was wondering when you would knock.¡±


    I was being expected? ¡°Is everything all right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, H says you are working out fine, fine.¡±


    ¡°She did?¡± I must have sounded surprised.


    ¡°Yes, she did. Is there something I can help you with?¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, do you think I can stay later today. I really don¡¯t have anything urgent at home. It¡¯s all right with my mom¡­trust me.¡±


    He closed the book. I was suddenly possessed with the desire of taking a peak at what he was looking at.


    ¡°Trust isn¡¯t the issue¡­¡±


    Then what is? I thought.


    He ran a long hand in front of his pink and black suit. ¡°As you can see, I am going out: official business with the board; would you like to accompany me?¡±


    I hesitated.


    I had been in involved with Councillors and administrators for my entire High School life. All of them, poor souls, had been trying to help me ameliorate my problems. Invariably it had always descended into a fencing match, until I got bored and shut down. However, with Sherlock involved I couldn¡¯t imagine anything being boring.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the hesitation as a yes. William, toss me my hat.¡±


    He used my first name. Usually I resented someone, who wasn¡¯t my friend, using my first name, but strangely I was pleased.  Behind me on a rack was a black fedora with a pink band. I grabbed it and tossed it to him. He deftly caught it on the tip of his walking stick and flipped it onto his head.


    ¡°Why are you dressed like that?¡±


    He was pulling on an overcoat. ¡°Dressed like what?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen many people wearing  pink and black pinstriped double breasted suits.¡±


    He winked at me. ¡°Exactly, shall we go?¡±


    I found out that this meeting we were going too had been arranged by the Library Board¡¯s President. Sherlock, for some reason wouldn¡¯t divulge the name.  Although it was supposed to be in secret, Sherlock had made sure the media had been notified. When I pointed out that this would probably tick off the board, he just smiled.


    ¡°It is my intention to, as you have appropriately said, ¡®to tick them off.¡¯ Besides all is not as it seems.¡±


    I was about to ask him what he was talking about when I noticed where we were. There isn¡¯t much to my Town. One main street with a series of decaying buildings, pawn shops, banks and bars and restaurants. The big retailers had moved to the outskirts where taxes were cheaper. I noticed we had stopped at the worst bar in town. Everyone knew that a biker gang hung out here. We were meeting at a biker bar?


    Outside the seedy building was a rather nervous looking reporter, camera hanging around his neck. He was puffing desperately on a cigarette.  Clark Kent he definitely was not.


    ¡°So glad you could make it, Tom. Nobody else come?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding, right. No one is going up against Cliodhna.¡±


    Cliodhna?  Cliodhna Construction. She owned half the town. She was the President of the Library board? Why?


    ¡°Yet, pardon my observation, but, you¡¯re here.¡±


    Tom threw the cigarette he had been puffing on down onto the sidewalk and ground it into the cement. ¡°I¡¯m desperate. This better be good.¡±


    ¡°William, this is Tom McCreedy, the owner of the Belligerent Chronicle.¡±


    The Belligerent Chronicle was a weekly newspaper that specialized in anything nobody else would print. It would publish whatever it could get its hands on.


    The reporter begrudgingly pressed his lips tightly together and gave a terse nod. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    Sherlock stepped up to the scarred and pitted door and rapped sharply on it with the end of his stick. A little slot, eye level, slid open, revealing a bloodshot eye that blinked repeatedly. There was a satisfied grunt on the other side of the door, and then the sound of several dead bolts being slid and unlatched. Sherlock led the way into the dark abyss and... I hesitated.


    ¡°Are you coming, William?¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, are you sure I¡¯m old enough to go in there?¡±


    ¡°You are able to Discard books at the library, I think that qualifies you, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    That was the problem, I was thinking a lot about things, and still wasn¡¯t able to tie things together with any common sense. ¡°Why would any Board want to meet here?¡±


    ¡°Cliodhna owns the building. It was her ¡®request.¡¯¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The interior was even worse than the pitted door. The floor was filthy, the chairs and tables were broken and gouged as though a hundred knives had been at them. In the centre of the floor was an enormous man with a great, black beard. He crossed his massive arms and glowered at us. I noticed he only had one eye. Violence seemed to radiate from him.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± snarled the man.


    I stared at him.


    Tom was looking at the filthy floor. ¡°Don¡¯t look at him,¡± he said tensely between his teeth, ¡° stop looking at him.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re looking at me,¡± snarled the biker.


    ¡°I am.¡± Some people say I have a death wish, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s true. I¡¯m just curious by nature.


    ¡°What are you staring at?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°The tattoo, on your arm.¡±


    ¡°Which one,¡± growled the biker, clenching his fists.  Both of his bare, muscular arms were covered with tattoos.


    ¡°The one that says MOM.¡±


    ¡°Cliodhna  is waiting in the back room,¡± snapped the biker.¡±


    Tom leaned in, after we had passed the giant. ¡°Nobody, nobody talks to Kelly about his MOM tattoo. The last time somebody laughed at that tattoo he sent seven men to the hospital.¡±


    ¡°I hope they had insurance.¡±


    Despondently, Tom just shook his head.


    We had stepped into an elevator, which surprised me, because the bar was only two stories, at the most. What was also surprising was that there were a lot of numbers on the floor panel.  Sherlock pressed the bottom one.


    ¡°We¡¯re going down,¡± I observed.


    No answer.


    After the doors finally opened, Sherlock, taking a deep breath strode out.  Tom was now sweating profusely, mopping his forehead with a hanky.


    ¡°Nervous?¡± I said jokingly to him.


    He stuffed his hanky into his pocket and glared at me. ¡°Cliodhna¡­seriously?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t really know her.¡±


    ¡°Trust me kid, don¡¯t get to know her.¡±


    When I saw Cliodhna sitting at the end of the long table I tried not to stare. If Sherlock had been cloned, and his sex changed, and was a hundred years younger, you would have Cliodhna. I¡¯ve seen couples that have been together for a long time, so long that they begin to resemble each other. It looked like Sherlock and Cliodhna had been married for a very, very, long time¡­She stood up and glided over to Sherlock. She kissed him twice, once on each cheek.


    ¡°You have kept yourself too long from us Ciabhan¡­too long.¡±


    If they weren¡¯t married, they had been or were lovers.


    Why was Tom shivering in fear?


    Then I saw what Tom was staring at. Off in the far end of the room were two large men dressed in suits. One was black and the other white, not brown and pink, but really black and really white. Both of them had sunglasses on which was strange because the lighting wasn''t very bright.. They seemed to be exuding a strange scent almost like rotten eggs, which made me wonder about their hygiene.


    ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind,¡± said Cliodhna, ¡°but the other members were pre-occupied.¡±


    ¡°I expected as much. It¡¯s why I invited my friends here,¡± said Sherlock blithely. We were still standing. I had the feeling we weren¡¯t going to be invited to sit.


    Cliodhna laughed. It was a high, melodic sound, but there was a rough edge to it, the feel that it could become as sharp as a knife. I joined the laugh, which was a mistake.


    ¡°What are you laughing at, boy?¡± snapped Cliodhna. The laugh had only been for her and Sherlock. Was I seeing things, or had there been a flash of red in her eyes?


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know¡­It just seemed the thing to do.¡± I responded naturally. I was going to say something smart but it died on my tongue.


    Sherlock drew me close and whispered into my ear. ¡°A word of caution: let me do the talking. You really don¡¯t want her to like you. You see those two overly large gentlemen at the end of the room. They really Pookas. One wrong move and they will kill us.¡±


    I had no idea what a Pooka was so I just smiled. When Sherlock didn¡¯t reciprocate, my smile died.


    ¡°I apologize for my young prot¨¦g¨¦. He will not interrupt again. I¡¯ll answer for it.¡±


    Cliodhna gave a grudging nod and a manipulated softness returned the corners of her mouth.


    Tom, like a good reporter, had his pencil and pad out. A bead of sweat fell from his nose staining the pad. He nervously flipped the page.


    ¡°This is off the record,¡± said Cliodhna coldly.


    The pencil started to smoke and Tom dropped it. It fell to the floor smoldering.


    ¡°Let¡¯s cut to the chase,¡± said Sherlock. ¡°We have the Vault, you want it, and we¡¯re not going to give it up.¡±


    ¡°Always to the point, that¡¯s what I like about you Ciabhan. Well, let me match your point with counter point. Cliodhna snapped his fingers. The big white fellow ambled over and handed Sherlock a document. He took it, turning it gingerly in his fingers. He took his glasses out and placed them on his nose.


    ¡°I can take care of that, you know,¡± purred Cliodhna. ¡°All you have to say is, I do and you can be young again.¡±


    Sherlock ignored her and tentatively bent the paper with his finger to make sure it wasn¡¯t alive.  He examined it. ¡°You¡¯re moving the library over to the derelict school?¡±


    Cliodhna smiled. ¡°You will have so much more room there.¡±


    ¡°This is preposterous¡­You can¡¯t do this.¡± Sherlock wasn¡¯t sounding so sure of himself anymore.


    ¡°I have already done it. The library, all the books, you and your staff will be moving at the end of the month, unfortunately, for you, the Vault will have to remain.¡±


    Sherlock gave a great defeated sigh.  ¡°If it is to be done, then tis well it were done quickly. Why did you call this meeting? If you don¡¯t mind me asking.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to see your sweet face again and see if you had forgiven me.¡±


    Sherlock looked grim. ¡°I have not.¡±


    ¡°A pity, well, soon things will be different. Then I¡¯ll make the changes whether you want them or not.¡±


    Sherlock shrugged. ¡°Cliodhna, you have always gotten your way. Does your husband know what you are up to?¡±


    With that we left the room, entered the elevator and pressed the ground floor button. Of course we followed. All the while Cliodhna screamed at us with such foul language that it made me blush. Rather speechless, under the glaring hatred of Kelly¡¯s gaze, I followed Sherlock and Tom out of the bar.


    Once outside, Tom gasped for air as though he had been holding his breath. He began to feel his arms. ¡°We¡¯re alive. We are alive.¡± Then he fumbled for a cigarette and lit it up.


    ¡°You have your story, Tom?¡± asked Sherlock.


    ¡°More than enough, probably enough to get me killed. This is great,¡± said Tom.


    ¡°Good, good,¡± said Sherlock, but I could tell everything was not good. ¡°William, given our predicament do you mind if I walk alone. I have to do some thinking.¡±


    Sherlock strolled off down the street.


    ¡°What¡¯s the deal, between him and Cliodhna? They¡¯re an item, right?¡±


    Tom stared up at the sky, but when help didn¡¯t come he just grunted. ¡°Come with me, kid, do I have a story for you.¡±


    <hr />


    I just finished reading  an amazing book, "Irish Fairy Tales," by James Stephens. I''m trying to incorporate some of his ideas into my story. It is an amazing work. I down loaded it free on Kobo. It''s an open source book.

 Forcing My Hand

    Tom¡¯s office wasn¡¯t much. He had rented a couple rooms on the second floor of one of the dilapidated buildings down town. It smelled of mould and wood rot. There were old papers everywhere. The front page banner on each of them was in Edwardian font which read: The Belligerent Journal. From the piles of papers around it looked like he didn¡¯t sell many. I wondered how he stayed in business.


    Leaning up against the walls were canvas flats, some were painted in pastoral scenes and others were wallpapered to look like the insides of a house. There was also a stack of heavy plywood and rectangular supports made for two by fours. Hanging in the middle of the room was a rack of costumes, mostly dresses, suits and uniforms. I like the red surge jacket with the gold buttons and brocade.


    ¡°You must run a theatre or something,¡± I joked.


    ¡°Dinner theatre, once a month we put on a show. You wouldn¡¯t believe how much they pay. I had to cut the newspaper back. Sales of late haven¡¯t been great. With the two I survive, pay the bills.¡±


    He put his camera on the counter and opened up a little fridge and pulled out a carton of ice cream and a bottle coke. ¡°Sit down, if you can find a place.¡±


    I shoved a pile of newspapers over on a moth eaten old couch. Sitting down, the chair, having lost its springs, nearly consumed me. ¡°Nice clothes. Where did you get the British Uniform?¡±


    Tom turned around. He looked momentarily confused. ¡°Oh, that old thing. I picked it up at an estate sale. Go ahead, try it on.¡±


    He spooned two massive helpings of ice cream into two glass jugs and then filled them up with coke. They foamed to the top and over flowed.  While he was doing that, I tried on the jacket. It was roomy in the shoulders and a bit long in the sleeves, but it wasn¡¯t a bad fit. I buttoned it up. Then I noticed the pith helmet. I picked it up and sat it on my head.


    Tom turned to me and grimaced. ¡°Not bad. Ever hear of the poem ¡°Charge of the Light Brigade?¡±


    I was going to say no, but the curse of my memory kicked in: ¡°Half a league, half a league,


    Half a league onward,


    All in the valley of Death


    Rode the six hundred.


    "Forward, the Light Brigade!


    "Charge for the guns!" he said:


    Into the valley of Death


    Rode the six hundred.¡±


    Tom looked mildly impressed.  ¡°Yeah, well, all righty then. You must have a lot of friends.¡±


    I didn¡¯t really appreciate Tom¡¯s sarcasm. ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°Well, kid, I don¡¯t mind. If you¡¯ve got a mind, use it. Here we go,¡± he said handing me a float, ¡°Just one second.¡± He rummaged through another drawer and pulled out a couple mars bars. He peeled them and stuck them into the float. He handed me the float. ¡°You¡¯re going to need this, especially after what I have to tell you. Cheers.¡±


    I drank. I had never had coke float and a mars bar for supper.


    ¡°No matter how rotten things get, this always seems to fix it.¡±


    ¡°You know Sherlock for long?¡±


    ¡°Since I was your age¡ª you see he has a habit of taking in strays¡­but very particular strays, if you know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°You file books, at the library?¡±


    ¡°I could file them, but I never made it to the Discard Vault. I could see things, but that was about it.¡±


    ¡°So, none of this stuff is freaking you out?¡±


    Tom shrugged and took another swig on his float. He took the bar out and bit into it. ¡°What¡¯s there to freak out about; reality is stranger than this stuff.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    He took one of the old Belligerent Chronicles from the counter and tossed it to me. On the cover  was a picture of a man, hair pel-mal, being led away in hand cuffs by the police. The guy looked insane.


    ¡°I know this story. Didn¡¯t he try to eat the face off a dog?¡±


    ¡°Thought he was a zombie, took some bizarre drug. So, you see,  Sherlock¡¯s stalker from Faery doesn¡¯t  surprise me.¡±


    ¡°You think Sherlock does drugs?¡±


    ¡°Seems that way doesn¡¯t he, but no, for him this stuff is real.¡±


    ¡°Cliodhna, she¡¯s stalking him?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know who she is, do you?


    ¡±


    ¡°Cliodhna Construction.¡±


    ¡°No, you dolt, she¡¯s a Queen from Faerie and she has it bad for old Ciabhan Sherlock.¡±


    To me, the disparity in age between the two seemed to be a hindrance. ¡°Isn¡¯t he a bit too old for her?¡±


    Tom almost spit out his drink. He started to laugh. ¡°You don¡¯t know squat do you. Of the two, Sherlock is the babe.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re wrong.¡± It was obvious that I was right.


    ¡°You ever seen someone that old move around like he does, most of them are so crippled up all they can manage is a walker and a quick shuffle.¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯m supposed to believe she¡¯s some ancient Queen from Faerie?¡±


    ¡°Believe what you will. I¡¯m just telling you the truth,¡± said Tom.


    I looked at the pile of papers. ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem that people like the truth.¡±


    ¡°You seem to have a good memory. What did Cliodhna say to Sherlock when he was grumbling about being old?¡±


    Immediately I remembered exactly what she had said to Sherlock. I hadn¡¯t understood it at the time, but now I did. ¡°She said: ¡®I can take care of that, you know, all you have to say is, I do and you can be young again.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Impressive, you know what that means?¡±


    ¡°She can¡¯t make him young¡­¡±


    Tom rolled his eyes. ¡°Duh, she¡¯s a Queen of Faerie, one of the Tuatha de Danann, of course she can.¡±


    ¡°If she¡¯s the Queen why doesn¡¯t she just take him?¡±


    He groaned. ¡°Didn¡¯t your dad ever teach you anything about the birds and the bees?¡±


    ¡°That would be tough considering he¡¯s dead.¡±  I regretted the words immediately after saying them. I had no intention of making a play for anyone¡¯s pity or sympathy.


    Tom shrugged. ¡°Death happens all the time. We all get run over by the grim reaper, kid.  Ciabhan should have died a long time ago. In fact, he wants to die, but¡­¡±


    ¡°She won¡¯t let him.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. You have to understand his predicament. What would you do if you met this really hot girl. I mean she just devastates you. You¡¯re in love. It¡¯s great, time goes on, but she won¡¯t give you any space, in fact, she lives in your space, inhabits it. She¡¯s driving you crazy¡­¡±


    ¡°Ask her to leave.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, a normal girl might cry, give you a smack, swear at you, call you a creep and leave but this is a Queen from Faerie. You saw those big guys right? Do you know what they mean?¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°She¡¯s an equal opportunity employer?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a smart guy, I can appreciate that. I used to be a smart guy.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    Tom reached into a drawer and pulled out a couple liquorice sticks. He tossed me one. Didn¡¯t he have any real food?  ¡°It became real. It became real for Sherlock a few hundred years ago.¡±


    ¡°I know he¡¯s old, but¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll never leave him alone, you know. It¡¯s reciprocal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what?¡±


    ¡°Reciprocal. If she leaves him alone she has to go back to her husband. Without Sherlock she can¡¯t stay here.¡±


    I held up my hands to signal surrender. ¡°All right, all right, let¡¯s just say this Faerie place exists. Then, if she¡¯s a Queen, shouldn¡¯t she have a lot more power.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of Queens and Kings in Faerie, dude.¡±


    ¡°Is this King fellow that bad that she would be afraid¡­¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d skin her alive¡­no, literally. Then he put her back together and then do it over and over again just for laughs.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a nice guy. And again, how does the Vault fit in?¡±


    ¡°If Sherlock controls it, he keeps Cliodhna away; if Cliodhna controls it, she drags Sherlock back to Faerie for a makeover.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said tersely. I was becoming progressively irritated about this talk about psychotic Faerie Queens. ¡°Listen, all this talk about¡­¡±


    ¡°You still don¡¯t really believe do you?¡±


    ¡°And you do? You¡¯re supposed to be a journalist. Where are the facts?¡±


    ¡°Have you ever found yourself somewhere where you¡¯ve never been before?  It seems fantastic, everything seems sharper, more realistic. It¡¯s like a dream but it¡¯s real. Then you pass through or leave it and you can never find that place again.¡±


    I refused to answer because I knew exactly what he was talking about. When I was younger, I liked to climb, anything. One day when I was hiking through the woods I came on this gorge that had the best rock faces to climb. I climbed all day. The next day I tried to find the same place again, but it was gone. I¡¯ve never been able to find it since.


    Tom laughed, clapping his hands together. ¡°I knew it, you¡¯ve been to Faerie!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, maybe I have. What¡¯s it to me?¡±


    ¡°The world, besides, that¡¯s the least of your worries, lad.¡±


    A cold feeling crawled up my back and wrapped its fingers around my neck. Somehow, I knew he was coming to this. Part of me believed him and part of me thought he was insane, like the rest of them, but what did that make me?


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Cliodhna¡­she likes you.¡±


    That cold feeling turned glacial. ¡°That¡¯s crazy. You saw how she reacted towards me.¡±


    ¡°Kid, we¡¯re talking about Faerie here. Our rules don¡¯t apply to them. Her snapping at you was like her saying, ¡®come here lover boy and give us a kiss.¡¯ Sherlock should have seen the danger in bringing you to Cliodhna. He should have known better.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying he set me up?¡±


    Tom shrugged. ¡°Just saying, if I was desperate to get rid of a girl, one tactic would be to set her up with another guy.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. I mean, she¡¯s like¡­how many years old?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, a few hundred years, at least, maybe a thousand.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d call that a bit of an age difference.¡±


    ¡°You ever met someone old that behaves like an adolescent, well that¡¯s Cliodhna. Anyways that¡¯s just the beginning of your problems.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Cliodhna is insanely jealous,¡± he made a little circle with his finger next to his temple, ¡°I mean wo-ho.  She can¡¯t stand anyone having anyone in their life other than her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get you.¡±


    ¡°Sherlock had a family once.¡±


    ¡°He¡­they¡­she¡­¡± This explained the terminal sadness that seemed to underpin his loony behaviour.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Tom drew a line across his neck.  ¡°If she has taken a liking to you, whoever you love ¡­¡±


    There was no one. Dad was dead. Both my dad and mom¡¯s parents were gone. I was an only child¡­oh, no, my mom. I stood up abruptly. ¡°listen, I¡¯ve got to go.¡±


    ¡°Sorry kid, just thought you should know¡­¡±


    I ran out and down the stairs, out onto the street and into the night. The row housing we lived in wasn¡¯t very far away. The urgency in Tom¡¯s voice followed me.  It had gotten dark enough that the street lights had come on. It was wet out. A mist had settled onto the concrete and pavement making it glossy.  Then, I heard the sirens.


    The fire truck raced by, followed by the police and then the ambulance. In the slow acknowledgement of someone stunned, I realized that the source of the excitement was coming from the row housing where I lived. I ran. I leapt over a hedge and cut across a number of lawns.


    I could smell the smoke before I saw the fire. Flames were shooting up from the row housing. I counted, but I didn¡¯t need to because I knew. Nine, eleven, thirteen, they were all on fire, but the unit that was totally engulfed by flames was thirteen, my home.


    With systematic precision the Fire Fighters had hooked onto a fire hydrant and were blasting a continuous stream of water onto the flames. The police were setting up a zone to keep people out.  The water didn¡¯t seem to be having any effect. If anything, the flames roared more.


    ¡°Mom!¡± I yelled searching the crowd. I saw the faces of our neighbours, and I saw the pity in their eyes. ¡°Mom!¡±


    I panicked. My trajectory took me through the people and towards the burning house. A policeman turned to me, but hesitated. I realized later that it was Tom¡¯s red surge jacket that threw him. That was all I needed. I ducked and roll past him. I could feel the heat now, burning against my cheek. The flames swirled up as a section of the roof fell in.  If she was in there¡­


    If I hadn¡¯t been tackled from behind I would have run into the burning house and died. I will always remember what I saw then. There was someone in the burning infernal, moving in the flames. It was like a black pupil wreathed in an iris of red, but the pupil had legs, arms and a head.  It was somebody ¨C walking towards the door. The figure was carrying someone. The flames licked around the form hungry to consume, but couldn¡¯t touch the figure. Out of the flesh scorching flames, out of death, stepped Ciabhan Sherlock, and he was holding the unconscious form of my mother.

 I Find out who I am鈥?ort of.

    Around three in the morning I realized that we no longer had a home. Mom had been treated and bandaged, but still remained in an induced coma, which was a good thing, because burns can be terribly painful. There had been a girl at school who had been burned when she was young. The entire right side of her body was badly scarred.  When you looked at her, it was like looking at two people. Nobody ate their lunch with her. So, one day I just asked her if it was all right to sit and eat. I sat down and we became friends. She told me the pain was indescribable, the surgeries, the therapy, but what hurt the most was the way people treated her. To them she was invisible, no longer even human. Somehow I could relate.


    I got up, stretched, and took a walk to the waiting room where the television was always on. It was late, so there wasn¡¯t anybody there.  The news was on. The Talking Head, a blond haired woman with harsh, serious features, frowned down at me.


    ¡°A fire broke out tonight down at the Riverside Apartment Development. Fortunately, the fire department was able to confine the blaze to several units before getting it under control. There were no casualties thanks to the quick thinking of one young man, Tom?¡±


    I was surprised when the screen dissolved into the big face of Tom McCreedy standing outside the remains of my home holding a mic. It seems that dinner theatre wasn¡¯t the only thing that he did. He must have combed his hair because he looked almost respectable.


    ¡°This is the site, where only a few hours earlier a daring rescue saw a woman carried from the burning inferno. Had it not been for this hero¡¯s quick thinking death would have surely visited this abode.¡±


    ¡®Death would have surely visited this abode?¡¯ I was going to have to have a chat with Tom about his writing.


    The picture on the screen was now of the burning apartments. Someone must have had a cell phone or something.  My mind spun. It was like I was seeing the entire thing again. I had experienced this often with my memory, but now, it was like another echo of me had penetrated my mind. I waited to see the form of Sherlock emerging from the fire. I saw the shape, the man, the woman he carried, but instead of Sherlock, I saw myself. I was dressed in Tom¡¯s red surge coat, pith helmet on my head and I was carrying my mom out of the flames. Once outside, I collapsed on the grass and the first responders surrounded us.


    The picture flashed back to the Talking Head. ¡°Tom, do we have any information on the name of the hero?¡±


    Tom stared back at me. ¡°Yes, Leslie, the hero goes by the name of William Suntag, and he is presently at the hospital by the side of his mother, the woman he rescued.¡±


    The Talking Head gave a ghostly hint of a smile. ¡°Heroes aren¡¯t made every day, and even more seldom do we see them in action. Now, on to international news where a ring of human traffickers¡­¡±


    I shut the television off.  I know what I saw, and I knew that Sherlock had brought my mom out of the flames and then had slipped away. I had nothing to do with it. The only thing that I did was get tackled by the police.


    As I was going back to the hospital room, I was stopped by a nurse. She held out a piece of paper. It was weird because she didn¡¯t say anything; she just stared at me worshipfully. At first I thought she was showing me some form with my mom¡¯s medication on it or something, but it was blank. She thrust a pen at me.


    ¡°My daughter asked me to get your autograph, she admires men in uniform.¡±


    I took the pen and scribbled my name. Uniform? It was then that I noticed that I was still wearing the jacket. I thought about the charge of the light brigade, didn¡¯t they all die?


    ¡°Ah, I better get back to my mom¡­¡± I said awkwardly, ¡°you know¡­ hero business.¡±


    Tom was waiting for me, standing in the dim light beside my mother.


    ¡°What the¡­¡± I said, not too pleased with his intrusion.


    He picked up the pith helmet, and turned the star on the front of it towards me.  He was grinning unapologetically. ¡°I installed a really small camera in the centre of the badge, see. Did you see the news story?¡±


    ¡°I saw.¡± The camera explained the footage, but not the footage of me, because how could I take a picture of me?


    ¡°It was great resolution wasn¡¯t it¡­¡±


    ¡°Listen, Tom, I¡¯m not in the mood for this. My mom is hurt, besides it¡¯s a lie, and you know it.¡±


    Tom grimaced. ¡°What, people going to believe an old multi-centenarian Librarian rescuing your mom from a fire that couldn¡¯t touch him? Besides, they couldn¡¯t see it, even if they were looking.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Faery magic, Will, people can¡¯t see it unless they either have a connection or they are invited to view.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your connection? What¡¯s my connection? None of this makes sense. You should go, Tom, you should go and leave us alone.¡±


    ¡°My connection?¡± he looked a bit startled and a bit hurt. ¡°Sherlock didn¡¯t tell you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Cliodhna¡¯s love child¡­¡±


    ¡°Sherlock?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s generally how it works, and as far as you¡¯re concerned,¡± he nodded towards my mom, ¡°you have to ask her. Listen, sorry for using the footage without passing it by you, but the station paid me two grand for it.¡±


    I felt a burning flush. ¡°You have to go, now.¡±


    Tom went to leave, but then turned back. ¡°Keep the surge jacket and the helmet. You earned it.¡± He left.


    I felt like throwing it after him, but I didn¡¯t, besides, after the fire it was all the clothing I had.


    I took a careful look at my mom resting behind the bandages. When she woke up she would be in excruciating pain. For now, she slept.  There would be time for pain later, pain for all of us. My connection to Faery¡­ ¡®Who are you, mom? Who am I?¡¯


    The chair was going to be as comfortable as it was going to get.  So Tom was Cliodhna¡¯s and Sherlock¡¯s son. Strange; there had been no recognition on her face when Sherlock had brought Tom to the meeting.  No, hi, son, how are you doing? Eating properly? Want some more coke with the ice cream? On the other hand Tom didn¡¯t seem to overly happy to see his mom. I closed my eyes.


    My sleep tends to be deep, so deep that nothing bothers me, except when I dream. Then those dreams are so real, so sharp, and so vivid that I have to pinch myself to make sure I¡¯m dreaming. If I don¡¯t feel anything, then I¡¯m dreaming, but if I feel something, well, then I must be awake¡­


    Just outside of town there are a range of rocky hills. You have to get through them before you get down to the big lake. They¡¯re great for climbing. There¡¯s a road that branches off from the main one. I believe I¡¯ve only taken it in my dreams, but it leads to a lighthouse. It¡¯s strange that there should be a lighthouse in the middle of the hills, miles from the water. It¡¯s a big, black and white banded affair that goes up and up, culminating in a lantern at the top.


    I rap on the front door and then try the latch. Like always, it¡¯s open. To get to the cliffs I like to climb I have to go through the lighthouse. Usually it¡¯s empty, but not this time. Sitting in the centre of the room is Cliodhna. I pinch myself. My arm hurts. I¡¯m in serious trouble and I know it.


    ¡°So,¡± I said, summoning up enough courage to sound brave, ¡°you tried to kill my mom.¡±


    ¡°Muirne?¡± She looked mildly surprised that I would even ask the question. ¡°Of course I tried to kill her, silly, she¡¯s your mother, duh.¡±


    Did a Queen of Faery just say ¡®duh?¡¯ Homer was  Greek, wasn¡¯t he, so maybe Aristotle went ¡®duh¡¯.  I doubted it. ¡°So, you fancy me?¡±


    Cliodhna twisted  up her face and made a gagging motion with her finger pointing toward her  open mouth.


    If Tom was right, I¡¯d be lucky to make it out of this dream alive, if dream it was. ¡°So, are you going to get out of my way so I can go climbing?¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.¡°Oh, you are your father¡¯s son, aren¡¯t you?¡± she said mockingly.


    I resented her insinuation that she had some special knowledge about my family. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about my father,¡± I spat out beginning to flush.


    ¡°Oh, ho, touchy aren¡¯t we¡­since I wasn¡¯t successful in getting rid of mummy,¡± she started to laugh, a high out of control laugh.


    ¡°Amusing, psychotically amusing,¡± I said as drolly as possible. If she knew how angry she was making me, I would lose this confrontation. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about my family.¡±


    That shut her up. She got up from the chair and strode aggressively toward me. I made sure there was a nice, solid, work bench between us.


    ¡°Oh, but I do. I really do. You are very much like him.¡±


    Maybe if I played along, this dream would expire or something and I could go climbing. ¡°All right, how? How am I like my father?¡±


    ¡°Well, you do have those pretty sea blue eyes, and your hair, the colour of a desert dune, and your legs like the trunks of young saplings¡­¡±


    ¡°Glad to know I look like a geography lesson. Where did my dad die?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡± Her eyes seem to shine with excitement.  ¡°A magnificent fight.¡±


    ¡°How did he die?¡± I must have raised my voice, because she smiled. Oh, no, did I just tell her that I fancied her?


    ¡°He died in battle, like a Captain of the Fianna should die.¡±


    I shook my head. Cliodhna was as mad as a hatter and she didn¡¯t even have a hat.  ¡°Dad was blown up in Afghanistan.¡±


    ¡°Is that what they¡¯ve told you?¡±


    ¡°Listen,¡± I ignored her and strode forward towards the exit on the other side of the Lighthouse, ¡°if you¡¯re going to stop me, stop me; I¡¯m going climbing.¡±


    ¡°Stop you? Why would I do that?¡±


    I paused at the door. ¡°I thought you and Ciabhan were an item?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°What we have, is eternal. What I want with you is something much, much more¡­how can I say, physical.¡±


    I felt my face flush, but this time out of embarrassment.  Cliodhna began to laugh, delighting in my discomfort. Desperately I needed to turn the tables on her. I searched my mind and found it. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had a son.¡±


    The laughter died on full lips which she pressed together into a tight, white line. ¡°I have no son,¡± she snarled at me.


    ¡°That¡¯s funny, because that¡¯s not what Tom says. Remember Tom, the chain smoking reporter?¡±


    She was screaming at me now, such a horrendous scream punctuated with such sharp profanity that it threatened to burst my ear drums. I backed out of the door and slammed it shut behind me. I looked around. I wasn¡¯t in my climbing grounds at all, but back in the hospital.  I sat up in my chair and my covering fell off and onto the floor. Somebody had replaced the red surge jacket with a blanket.


    The room was even darker, but somebody was on the other side of the room, watching me.


    ¡°You must feel a bit like Scrooge,¡± said a familiar voice from across the room.


    ¡°Pardon?¡± I was just grateful that the voice in the dark wasn¡¯t Cliodhna¡¯s.


    The man who was wreathed in darkness leaned forward. His bearded face looking even more ancient then usually. He was no longer wearing his black and pink pin striped suit. He had on a pair of black pants, black jacket and had a black bandana on his head that read ¡®Black Jack.¡¯ He looked like a pirate.


    ¡°Faery past, Faery present and now for Faery future,¡± said Sherlock.


    I rubbed my eyes not bothering to ask him even how he got into a restricted room. It seemed if you had a connection with Faery you could come and go with impunity. ¡°I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    Sherlock sighed. ¡°You remember everything, right?¡±


    I started. ¡°How do you¡­¡±


    ¡°So do I, so does Tom, so does Madam ¡®H¡¯. When you are touched in the head by Faery, your mind opens up.¡±


    ¡°You can say that again about being touched,¡± I grumbled.


    Sherlock chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s what I like about you, Fionn, you have a sense of humour, rather dry but it¡¯s still humour. Your dad was like that.¡±


    Ah, I wanted to scream. ¡°Stop it will you, with the names, all ready. I¡¯m William Suntag.¡±


    ¡°I understand, Will, it¡¯s all a bit hard to grasp, forgive me.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said at least he wasn¡¯t screaming at me. He didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°You knew my dad?¡± Seems everyone knew him, except me.


    Sherlock nodded. ¡°He was a great man, a great leader and so they killed him.¡±


    ¡°Killed him? Listen my dad was a Captain and he was blown up by an IED in Afghanistan. He was sent home in a match box, that¡¯s how much was left of him, with a medal pinned to it. You know what I did with the medal?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t listening. ¡°I threw it into the river.¡±


    Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out my dad¡¯s medal. He tossed it to me. ¡°I had a mermaid fetch it.¡±


    I was gob smacked. No words came to my lips as I ran my fingers over the medal¡¯s shiny surface.


    ¡°I believe I owe you an explanation, and an apology.¡±


    ¡°Apology?¡±


    ¡°I believe I just said that, yes. You see, I should never have brought you to that meeting with Cliodhna.¡±


    ¡°But you did.¡±


    ¡°I did, and when I saw her reaction to you, I knew she would go for Muirne.¡±


    ¡°I told you to stop with the names¡­¡± I said between my teeth. ¡°You put my mom at risk, on purpose?¡±


    ¡°I am sorry, but to understand what happened, you have to understand the names, and I think you should use your own name, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Think, think¡­¡± my voice was rising in volume again. First the dominatrix of Faery, now her favourite whipping boy¡­


    Just then my mom groaned.


    ¡°Mom, you¡¯re awake.¡±


    She opened her lips and spoke. ¡°Listen...It¡¯s true¡­¡±


    ¡°Should I get the doctor?¡±


    She reached out and gripped my hand. ¡°No, Fionn¡­listen.¡±


    ¡°Listen to your mom, Fionn¡­¡±


    ¡°Mom, what are you saying?¡±


    She pulled me close so that she could whisper in my ear. ¡°Fate is inexorable. My name is Muirne, you are Fionn and your father¡¯s name was Ull, leader of the Fianna, of the clan Bascnie.¡±


    What was I going to say, sorry, mom having your body covered in third degree burns has addled your mind?  So, all I did was just nod my head in silent agreement. Satisfied with this she just closed her eyes and went back to sleep.


    When I was sure she was sleeping deeply, I turned to Sherlock. ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°It means that you¡¯re going to remember, eventually, everything. In the meantime we have to come up with a plan to keep Cliodhna from killing your mom.¡±


    ¡°You have any ideas, because when I saw her in my dream¡­¡±


    Sherlock was up and pacing, obviously agitated. He paused. ¡°You saw her in your dream?¡±


    ¡°I thought it was a dream, I mean I was sleeping, but I could feel things.¡±


    ¡°This is worse than I thought.¡±


    ¡°I guess her being in my dreams isn¡¯t good?¡±


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I suppose not?¡±


    He was tapping his chin. ¡°I could give myself up.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said suddenly, with a fierce conviction that startled even myself. ¡°Then she gets her way, and if she gets her way then she¡¯ll continue to get her way. The only way to stop her is to shut her down.¡±


    ¡°Spoken like a true hero,¡± mused Sherlock.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not a hero and neither was my dad. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. So, how do we keep mom safe?¡±


    Sherlock rose up out of the chair. ¡°We take her to the Vault.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but she¡¯s moving the library in a week.¡±


    We were standing face to face. He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder.  His eyes were very dark. ¡°Over my dead body, and I mean that in a very literal sense.¡±

 My Aunties

    ¡°How are we going to get my mom out of the hospital?¡±


    ¡°You are still thinking in a limited manner,¡± explained Sherlock patiently. ¡°Everyone saw you carrying her from the fire and not me. That¡¯s how we¡¯re going to do it.¡±


    ¡°Magic?¡±


    Sherlock gave a bit of a groan. ¡°What is magic if not advanced technology to someone who has never experienced it.¡±


    ¡°Faery magic is advanced technology?¡±


    ¡°It works both ways. Ancient things, lost lore, can seem as advanced to us now, as the things we might create in the next hundred years. The creatures of Faery once inhabited this earth before our ancestors drove them, so to speak, underground. They did some really fantastic things.¡±


    I tried to wrap my mind around a land populated by Cliodhnas and I gave an involuntary shiver.


    Sherlock must have read my mind. ¡°Not all Faery creatures of the female sex are like Cliodhna¡­some are much worse.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for that little bit of information. So, what do we do, wave our arms about, say some incantation, do three turns¡­¡±


    Sherlock gave me a look of sadness. ¡°Firstly, it would help if you took this a little more seriously.¡±


    The rebuke stung. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Sherlock took his cell phone out of his pocket and began to text.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to make magic using your cell phone?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s time to call in your aunts.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any aunts¡­¡± I began and then realized that just a little time ago, I was just Will, good old Will, destined to flunk out of his last year of High School. Now, I was ¨C I really didn¡¯t know what I was. ¡°I have aunts?¡±


    ¡°Two of them, your father¡¯s sisters.¡±


    ¡°Why haven¡¯t I heard about them before?¡±


    ¡°Too dangerous.¡±


    I was waiting for more, but he seemed too busy texting. Now I understood why teachers abhorred cell phones in class. ¡®Yes, students it¡¯s time for quadratic equations, Johnny, can you text me the answer, since you¡¯re on your cell phone.¡¯


    ¡°What do you mean too dangerous?¡±


    ¡°When they get here, they¡¯ll explain things, as much as they can, besides, they trained you.¡±


    ¡°Trained me? You mean potty trained, right?¡± That would explain why I didn¡¯t remember them. I was too young.


    ¡°No,¡± Sherlock said abruptly. ¡°They trained you how to fight ¨C or at least, how to move unseen ¨C a skill you have obviously let slide.¡±


    ¡°How could I let something slide, when I don¡¯t even remember it, which is really strange, because I remember everything.¡±


    I must have been shouting again because he put his fingers to his lips. ¡°Do you? Do you really? What¡¯s your earliest memory?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, when I was eight, I suppose¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you find it odd that before that time you don¡¯t remember anything. Have you seen any pictures? Where did you live? Any birthday¡¯s any celebrations?¡±


    He did have a point. For someone who was supposed to have such a wonderful memory, I had one gaping hole. Nobody remembers being a baby, those memories are made up by stories passed on by adults: ¡®remember when little Willy nearly died when his runaway stroller went careening down the hill into traffic¡­¡¯ I didn¡¯t even have that. Nothing.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re telling me these aunts of mine have something to do with my childhood that I don¡¯t remember?¡±


    ¡°They were your childhood, and their names are Bovmall and Lia Luachra, and they¡¯re druids.¡±


    I just knew it. They weren¡¯t just my aunts, but they were druids. ¡°All right, I¡¯ll bite, what¡¯s a druid?¡±


    ¡°The holders of knowledge and wisdom of the ancient world.¡±


    ¡°And they trained me, what, to be a druid?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡± his cell phone vibrated. He glanced at his screen and then back up at me. ¡°I¡¯ll let them explain it to you. They¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°In the hospital?¡±


    A voice sound at the door. ¡°Yes, behind you.¡±


    I expected¡­I don¡¯t know what I expected, but Aunties Bovmall and Lia Luachra couldn¡¯t have been more different. Both seemed to be ageless, caught beyond youth and before old age. One was short, stalky and soft, while the other was tall, lanky and severe. They were both dressed, like you would expect a druid to be dressed, in dark, deep hooded cloaks.


    The short one fixed Sherlock with a withering glare. ¡°It certainly took you long enough for you to text us.¡±


    The taller one, who turned out to be Bovmall, floated over to us. Embarrassingly, she pulled me into her arms and crushed me to her chest. She was a good head taller than I was, and I was over six feet.


    ¡°You poor thing,¡± she cooed. Then she saw my mom in the bed and went to her side. ¡°Poor, poor Muirne. You should have called us,¡± she chastised Sherlock.


    ¡°In my defence,¡± grumbled Sherlock, ¡°we don¡¯t have inter-dimensional cell phones. It¡¯s hard to text into Faerie.¡±


    Both were now focused on my mom and ignoring Sherlock.


    ¡°I had to wait until you were back from your holidays.¡±


    Lia Luachra turned on him again her curly red hair seeming to flame about her round face. ¡°That¡¯s no excuse. You should have found a way.¡±


    With that a heavy silence settled on the room. Then Lia Luachra turned on Sherlock again. ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°Well?¡± he said absent minded, and then an expression of surprise filled his face, followed by immediate disappointment. ¡°No, he hasn¡¯t.¡±


    I was pretty sure that the ¡®he¡¯ he was talking about was me.


    Bovmall looked confused. She fixed all the compassion her large eyes held on me. ¡°He should have remembered by now.¡±


    ¡°Of course he should have remembered; we put the glamour on him ourselves. How old are you, boy?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be eighteen on Wednesday.¡± I have no idea why I told them about my uneventful birthday. It was something I valued as much as an old pair of shoes. I¡¯ve always prided myself on nobody knowing my birthday, except me and my mom.


    ¡°The glamour doesn¡¯t give until his eighteenth birthday,¡± stated Bovmall.


    Lia Luachra seemed even more perturbed. ¡°We can¡¯t wait for Woden¡¯s Day. He¡¯ll probably be dead by then.¡± She thrust her hand into a big purse she had swinging from her shoulder and pulled out something that looked like sticks. Their ends had been paired away and some rune like characters had been written on them.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t we supposed to be thinking about a way to get my mom over to the library?¡±


    I was hoping for an answer, but all I got was a chubby, but imposing, finger, summoning authority from the heavens. Auntie Lia luachra had effectively silenced everyone. She held the wands in front of her, closed her eyes and started to mumble something. When she was finished she threw the wands up into the air. All but one fell to the floor.  One floated in the air.


    Aunt Bovmall reached up and snatched it down. She examined it and passed it to Lia Luachra. Both of them turned their disturbingly delving eyes at me. Bovmall held the stick out for me to take.


    A stick with some strange rune painted on the end, just what I wanted for my birthday. Actually, the only thing I cared about getting for my birthday was a cake. Mom was no great cook, but she was able to manage to bake a cake. Often they were sad affairs, containing craters that were filled in with copious amounts of bright green, or blue icing.


    I took the wand.


    It was like being hit with a wall of warm water, forcing me to close my eyes. When I opened them I was watching the strangest scene. Aunt Lia was cutting a bunch of willow branches from a tree. Each one she tested, slashing at the air. Unsatisfied she discarded them until she had one that made a particular whistling sound as it sang through the air.


    ¡°Fionn,¡± she shouted.


    I expected myself and wasn¡¯t disappointed. I had never seen  pictures of my younger self, so when I stepped out of a clump of vegetation with twigs and leaves sticking out of my hair, I was shocked by my own familiarity. I was me, but was not me.


    I went up to Aunt Lia warily, eyeing the willow whip.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to play a game. It¡¯s called¡­¡± I didn¡¯t like how she was looking at me, and neither did my eight year old self. ¡°Whip Fionn.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I like that game,¡± I said rather soberly.


    ¡°Well, the rule is this, I chase you, and try to whip you.¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like being whipped.¡±


    Poor kid, I thought.


    Aunt Lia smiled. ¡°If I don¡¯t catch you, then you can avoid that.¡±


    And with that, she pounced, swinging the whip with all her strength.


    I dodged, ducked, leaped.  For someone as round as Aunt Lia was, she certainly was fast. It was a good bit of information for me to tuck away, especially if I had to run from her. She caught me once, when I fell, laying the whip against my rump. I swear I could feel it.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I shouted, ¡°that¡¯s not fair. I fell.¡±


    ¡°You think the sons of Morna will care if you fall? They want you to fall, and when you are down¡­¡±


    I watched Auntie Lia lay into my younger self with a triplet of vicious blows on my back side.  If this was the past, then I was really feeling it. ¡®Get up,¡¯ I thought to myself, ¡®run.¡¯ I did manage to regain my feet and run. I practically ran up a tree to get out of the reach of my nimble aunt.


    Why was the woman smiling up at me? Was she laughing?


    ¡°All right, well done. Now it¡¯s your turn.¡±


    What did she mean ¡®it was my turn?¡¯ It was my turn for what? Then I realized we had played this game before, and this part, by the big grin on my face, I was looking forward to. Surprisingly, Aunt Lia handed me the willow whip. I gave the air a few vicious slashes, and then I was after her. I understood that it was my turn to beat her.


    If it had been that easy, then I would have paid her back blow for blow, but Aunt Lia was a druid and every time I got close to her, close enough to strike, a root would trip me, or a branch would wrap me on the head.


    ¡°You¡¯re using magic,¡± I bellowed, ¡°that¡¯s not fair!¡±


    Aunt Lia chuckled a taunt. ¡°And why should I not use magic, I¡¯m a Druid. You can use magic, if you want.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a Druid.¡±


    She just smiled at that.


    Then I had a thought. I wondered since I was somehow witnessing the past, could I effect the it? I could feel pain in my dream with Cliodhna when I pinched myself. I stepped towards my aunt who was backing away from my younger self and stuck out my leg. Aunt Lia tripped and fell backward. The magic that had been protecting her burst like a bubble. As my aunt crawled away, her amble buttocks jiggling, I laid into her with the willow whipping back and forth.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Shouted Aunt Lia back in the hospital room holding onto her behind and staring at me murderously. ¡°That was not supposed to happen!¡±


    I noticed that Sherlock was grinning.


    ¡°No, no, this is good,¡± said Aunt Bovmall in an ethereal voice. ¡°The boy used magic. This is good, very good, Fionn.¡±


    Aunt Lia huffed at me and begrudgingly said, ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    I was suddenly startled by the possibility that I was indeed Fionn, but then again I may have been him, but I wasn¡¯t now, no matter what everyone seemed to think. ¡°Call me Will.¡±


    Aunt Lia arched her eyebrows in what seemed like a sudden rise of esteem towards me. She huffed but nodded. ¡°So, Will, do you have any idea how we¡¯re going to get your mom out of here?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± I said in surprise. ¡°You two are supposed to be the cavalry. That¡¯s why Sherlock gave you a call, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Aunt Lia gave me a warning look and stuck her hand back into her bag and started to fumble for another wand. ¡°Boy, we brought you up to be a leader, now lead or I¡¯ll have to get another one of your memories out.¡±


    I held up my hand. ¡°No, no, I prefer to remember all on my own.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± said Sherlock, ¡°what do you want us to do?¡±


    I was in it now. My mom¡¯s life was on the line. Strangely enough I was as calm as a summer¡¯s day. ¡°If we¡¯re going to take her out of here, we need someone who looks like mom in the bed¡­¡± I looked at my aunts. ¡°Can you do that?¡±


    Bovmal¡¯s sharp angular face split in a rather frightening smile. She cracked her knuckles. ¡°Not only can we do that, but we can do better.¡±


    Aunt Lia nodded knowingly. ¡°Reverse Glamour, you think?¡±


    Sherlock nodded. ¡°Absolutely, I should have thought of that.¡±


    Aunt Lia patted Sherlock patronizingly on his cheek. ¡°No you wouldn¡¯t have. You just provide the eye candy, lover boy.¡±


    I gave an involuntary shiver. She actually thought Sherlock was handsome? I suppose under the white hair and beard, and beyond the aged wrinkles he must have been, at one time, handsome.


    ¡°What¡¯s a Reverse Glamour?¡± I asked.


    Aunt Lia rolled up her sleeves. ¡°Watch and learn, laddie, watch and learn.¡±


    I watched, and if I knew what was happening, perhaps I would have learned, but I was totally clueless. They stood on either side of my mom, joined hands and started singing something. It sounded like ¡®hickery, dickery dock,¡¯ but after that it lost its similarity. A shimmering light descended from their arms, falling about my mom like a blue iridescent shield. The sudden light became so brilliant it forced me to close my eyes, and when I opened them there were two versions of my mom.


    ¡°You¡¯ll want to stand away from her,¡± cautioned Sherlock.


    Suddenly two responders appeared at my mother¡¯s bed side with a gurney. They gently removed her from the bed and slid her onto it. Then they backed out of the room. When I say backed out, I mean they walked backwards. I watched them leave pulling, or pushing my mom in reverse.


    ¡°And we best leave with them,¡± said Sherlock. ¡°We need to make sure we get into the ambulance, so we can reroute them by the Library, or else they¡¯ll take her back to the fire.¡±


    I noticed that my aunties weren¡¯t following. ¡°Aren¡¯t you two coming?¡±


    Aunt Lia looked at me as though I had caught some terrible contagious disease. ¡°Heavens, no, we have¡­¡±


    ¡°Other things to be doing,¡± finished Aunt Bovmall.


    Sherlock and I left them in the hospital room as we followed the responders out into the lift.


    ¡°What do they have to do that¡¯s so important?¡± I asked.


    Sherlock looked a bit awkward. ¡°Don¡¯t ask. The less we know about Druids the better.¡±


    We followed the first responders out and climbed into the back of the ambulance. I looked at the fellow who was sitting with my mom, and waved my hand in front of his face.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem to mind us being here.¡±


    ¡°To him, we¡¯re not. Brace yourself.¡±


    I was wondering why he had said that, when the ambulance lurched backwards, catching me off balance. I wasn¡¯t ready for the vehicle to go backwards. The siren wailed and we sped away. We were soon closing in on the library.


    ¡°Hold on, I have to change paradigm,¡± said Sherlock moving his hands through the air, which became thick. His fingers were leaving marks, rune marks, much like the writings on the wands. The ambulance slowed down and came to a stop.


    ¡°I thought you said you weren¡¯t a Druid,¡± I said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not, but when you¡¯ve been around as long as I have, you pick up a few tricks. Grab the end of the gurney. We have to take it from here.¡±


    I opened up the doors behind me and started to pull my mom out of the ambulance. The gurney¡¯s wheels fell to the pavement and locked into place. I bumped the gurney hard against the pavement.


    ¡°Sorry, mom.¡± She continued to sleep. The first responder in the back continued to stare at the place where my mom had just been. ¡°Won¡¯t he know she¡¯s missing?¡±


    Sherlock grunted lifting his end of the gurney down onto the pavement.  ¡°No, to them she will still be here.¡± He shut the door and slapped the side of the vehicle which started to move, this time in the right direction.


    ¡°That¡¯s really awesome,¡± I said sincerely. ¡°You think you can teach me?¡±


    Sherlock gave me a strange look. ¡°Your aunts already taught you magic, amongst other things.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ve forgotten?¡±


    ¡°No, you just don¡¯t remember.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the same thing?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he tapped his temple with a long index finger, ¡°It¡¯s all up there. In a way it¡¯s good that you don¡¯t remember.¡±


    We ran mom up the drive way to the library¡¯s front doors. ¡°How do you figure?¡±


    ¡°Well, if you remembered everything, all at once, it would probably kill you.¡±


    ¡°But won¡¯t I remember on Wednesday when I turn eighteen?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but then, you¡¯ll be eighteen.¡±

 Show Down

    Madam ¡®H¡¯, Sasarana and James met us at the doors. I could swear the nun statues pasted into the library¡¯s front wall were staring at me accusingly. Their derisive looks were almost as bad as Madame ¡®H¡¯s. It wasn¡¯t my fault that Cliodhna had gotten fixated with me, was it?


    ¡°Take her down to the Vault,¡± said Sherlock. There was a nervous quaver in his voice.  ¡°It¡¯s the only safe place now.¡±


    Sherlock waited outside while the others pulled mom into the library, down the stairs and into the children¡¯s department.  I hesitated, not wanting to go inside right yet.


    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± I asked Sherlock.


    Bells from the churches in town started to ring. Slowly, one after another they all joined together until a great cacophonic noise ripped the air in waves of chaos. Then she was there, down the hill, bathed in the light of the intersection, Cliodhna. She was dressed like a spy in a dark, waist hugging trench coat, along with an oversized hat that was tilted down so that it hid most of her features.


    ¡°She¡¯s not supposed to show up until the end of the week ¨C right?¡± I said not really sure of anything.


    Sherlock seemed to be fretting about his ¡®t¡¯ shirt and head bandana, maybe he felt underdressed for the meeting. He took the bandana off his head and quickly wrapped it around his neck like a cravat. ¡°Quickly,¡± he said, ¡°lend me your jacket.¡±


    ¡°You want my jacket?¡±


    ¡°Yes, if you want to survive to fight tomorrow, give it to me now.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to fight at all, not really. Everybody was telling me that I was a leader, a fighter, but personally, I wasn¡¯t feeling it. I shrugged out of the surge jacket and tossed it to Sherlock. He caught it and slipped into it. I have to say, with the black and red, he did look rather dapper.


    ¡°Whatever happens, get inside and lock the doors.¡± Sherlock strode down the hill towards.


    I knew Cliodhna was off her rocker, but I hesitated. I didn¡¯t want to retreat into the library. I have to admit, I was totally fascinated with this confrontation. It was like any good book, rife with conflict.  Against my best judgement, which wasn¡¯t very good to begin with, I followed Sherlock down the hill, catching him up.


    ¡°Are you mad?¡± he said tensely through his teeth.


    ¡°Apparently,¡±  I said with false bravado.


    Out from the corner of one of the banks, at the bottom of the hill, stepped Yin and Yang. The big black fellow was dressed in a white suit and the big white guy had on a snappy black suit. They took up their positions on either side of Cliodhna.


    The street lights flickered and a tumble weed rolled across the street.


    ¡°Sherlock?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Why do you have a gun holster around your waist?¡±


    ¡°More appropriately, you should ask why we have guns.¡±


    Running my hand down to my waist I found the smooth handle of a large revolver.  The lights flickered again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me, we¡¯re in Faerie.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t then. Do you know how to use a revolver?¡±


    A few times, when my dad was home from leave, he had taken me to an indoor range and had taught me how to shoot. I wasn¡¯t very good at it, but that didn¡¯t disappoint him. He had said that some people just weren¡¯t meant to use a side arm, no big deal. I think maybe he was saying that to be kind.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said.


    ¡°Good,¡± responded Sherlock. He stepped out into the middle of the empty road his spurs jingling.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got spurs,¡± I observed.


    ¡°Cliodhna likes them.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t surprised by that. She seemed to like all things gangster, spy or cowboy. ¡°How is she doing this? I thought we could only get to Faerie through the Vault.¡±


    ¡°The Vault is a more permanent passage way. She can do this for very small amounts of time, when she¡¯s really angry. If we can get her to use more of her power, she just may vanish.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your plan? Get her to expend her power by killing us?¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to be part of it,¡± he said dryly.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your life.¡±


    It was like a showdown in some grade ¡®B¡¯ cowboy movie. We were facing off against Cliodhna and her goons in the middle of an empty street. Another tumble weed rolled between us. It was a nice touch.  I noticed that the traffic lights facing us were still red.


    ¡°Let me do the talking,¡± muttered Sherlock. He was now chewing on a big, fat cigar.


    ¡°I can see where your son got his smoking habit. Cliodhna do that?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m hoping to provoke her. She hates second hand smoke.¡±


    We all moved closer our spurs jingling. I was tempted to start singing. One of John Wayne¡¯s first cowboy rolls was this character names Singing Sam. A cowboy that sang before he filled people full of led. I noticed that Salt and Peppers¡¯ hands were twitching over their own six shooters. Cliodhna was carrying a big old sawed-off shot gun. My dad used to tell me how soldiers sometimes preferred a sawed off for close in fighting, how their blasts could leave devastating holes in the middle of people.


    ¡°Are you sure you want to get close to her?¡±


    Sherlock grunted. ¡°Try stopping.¡±


    He was right. My legs seemed to be moving of their own volition. Cliodhna raised her hand, we stopped and she raised her shot gun and took aim¡­


    ¡°You have thirty seconds to get out of town¡­¡± she drawled, which sounded funny because I think she had an Irish accent. She was chewing something. Hocking and spitting she sent a big wad of chewing tobacco onto the pavement.


    I groaned. ¡°That¡¯s nasty. You guys ever pay attention to any public service advertisements about tobacco consumption. I mean it really isn¡¯t good for your health.¡±


    They both looked at me. Sherlock was stunned, and Cliodhna, for some reason, looked offended, almost violated. Strangely enough she wasn¡¯t chewing tobacco anymore and Sherlock¡¯s cigar had vanished. That was strange.


    ¡°You daaaaare¡­¡± Cliodhna wailed in the highest, shrillest voice I¡¯ve ever heard. Its pitch was so intense it brought me to my knees in agony.


    When she stopped, her shotgun was inches away from my head and her finger was trembling on the trigger. There was a glossy, faraway look in her eyes. I could feel Salt and Pepper on either side of us their sidegun drawn and aimed.


    ¡°I told you not to talk,¡± hissed Sherlock agitatedly, quietly, as though we were in the middle of a mine field. ¡°Why do you always have to talk?¡±


    ¡°You talk.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡±


    Strangely enough, I wasn¡¯t freaking, or passing out. In fact I was rather cool. I calmly put my finger in the mouth of the shot gun and moved it away from my head. Cliodhna¡¯s scarlet red lips twitched.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to do that?¡± I told her calmly.


    A look of startling confusion overcame her. ¡°I don¡¯t? Why don¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Well, for starters, you¡¯d blow my head into a thousand pieces and no matter what Salt and Pepper did, they¡¯ll never be able to put me back together again.¡±


    ¡°Salt, Pepper?¡± she asked inquiringly trying to find some reference point.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.¡°Your boys here, ebony and ivory, and I¡¯m not talking Stevie Wonder.¡±


    She must have been a big television fan because all of a sudden a light went on behind the crazy woman sheen in her eyes.  ¡°Oh, like Sammy Davis Junior and Dean Martin¡­¡± she said excitedly.


    All of a sudden, on either side of me stood Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Junior, which was really disturbing. I expected them to start cracking jokes, or dancing, or singing, which was really, really disturbing. Cliodhna was smiling, as though I had just given her the best Christmas present in the world.


    ¡°I can tell we are going to get along famously¡­¡±


    ¡°Mistress mine,¡± said Sherlock breaking into our moment, which I was terribly grateful for.


    Cliodhna pulled a perturbed and pouting face at Sherlock. ¡°Oh, you still here Ciabhan?¡± Then she noticed the red surge jacket. ¡°Oh, very nice jacket¡­¡±


    Her spy trench coat melted on her changing into an identical surge jacket, but with about several pounds of gold and silver lace all over it. She looked like a rock star. ¡°Look,¡± she said quite proud of herself, we look like twins.¡±


    I had no idea how we were going to get out of this, but I was beginning to think distraction was the better course than valour. The red lights had changed to amber. Wasn¡¯t that backward?


    Cliodhna linked her arms around our shoulders and brought us into her grip. She was astonishingly strong and probably able to snap both our necks, except for the fact that she seemed delightfully excited.


    ¡°Can I make a confession?¡± she said conspiratorially.


    ¡°Please do,¡± I grunted feeling her grip tighten. I could tell Sherlock was having a hard time breathing. His skin was taking on a blue tinge.


    ¡°Once I get you two back to Faerie, we¡¯re going to have so much fun¡­¡± she twirled a few strands of Sherlock¡¯s white hair in between her fingers. ¡°Dear Ciabhan, you are in such need of a makeover. The hair, the wrinkles, the wizened muscles will have to go¡­¡±


    I was desperately gazing at the amber light, hoping, praying it would change. Somehow I knew that something was going to happen as soon as it did. Whether that was good or not, I didn¡¯t have a clue. Then it dawned on me: did I do magic when I made the chewing tobacco and cigar disappear? And, if so, could I do it again? Was that why she had gotten so upset?


    ¡°And you, my beauty,¡± she said, I¡¯m assuming towards me, ¡°you are going to make me marvelously famous¡­¡±


    Green, green, green, I desperately thought.


    I could feel her hot lips on my cheek now, and boy were they hot. My skin started to painfully burn. ¡°Greeeeen!¡± I shouted.


    And the lights turned green.


    In the centre of the intersection a black dot appeared spiraling open, growing into larger proportions until it occupied the entire centre of the intersection. A spectral wind began to blow, sucking air into the black hole. It seemed to effect Cliodhna more than me and Sherlock. Cliodhna swatted at her hat, to snag it before it blew away, but too late. It summersaulted from her head and into the black hole where it vanished, blinking out of existence.


    ¡°Aaargh!¡± she yelled. ¡°That was my best hat.¡±


    Reaching for her hat had provided us with an opportunity to twist free of her.


    ¡°You,¡± she shouted, pointing a black lacquered finger nail at me, ¡°you did this! Your mother is as good as dead.¡±


    Steve and Sammy were the first to get pulled in. They tumbled over each other and slowly slid, clawing at the pavement, into the nothingness that was the hole.


    Cliodhna struggled forward, fighting against the wind that was trying to pull her in. I looked over at Sherlock. His hair and beard were flapping towards the hole. ¡°I¡¯m going¡­¡±


    I knew what he was going to do before he said it. He was going to tackle Cliodhna and force her back into the hole. I also knew that it wouldn¡¯t work. Don¡¯t ask me how I knew this, I just did. Instead of driving her into the hole he was just going to make her stronger. Not only would it fail, but in the end it there would be nothing stopping her from waltzing into the library, killing my mom and claiming the Vault. Something like that, in my world would have excited the police, but I had a feeling we weren¡¯t exactly dealing with my world; it was more Cliodhna¡¯s world now. But Sherlock was right; our only hope was in driving her into the hole. He was just the wrong one to do it.


    I tackled Cliodhna.


    I once tried out for the football team at school. They had these sledges. You would run and tackle them and push them across the field with all your might. Grunting and sweating as I pushed an enormously heavy sledge across the field, it had dawned on me that in a game the sledge would be pushing back. I expressed my concerns for the flowers and butterflies we would be grinding into the grass to the coach. Needless to say, the coach asked me to turn in my helmet.


    Cliodhna, in surprise glared at me. She had expected Sherlock not me, and then she grinned and began to push back. She was a lot stronger than any sledge. I had made a fatal mistake. I had thought what was true for Sherlock would not be true for me. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.


    ¡°I knew you would come to me. It was only a matter of time.¡±


    If this, bone crushing embrace, was what substituted for a hug in Faerie, I wonder what a kiss was.


    ¡°Sherlock,¡± I called out, painfully hoping the old fellow would come to my aid. Out of my peripheral vision I could see my red surge coat beating a hasty retreat up the hill, so much for the Light Brigade.


    ¡°So, what brings ¨C a girl like you ¨C to a place like this?¡± I gasped between breaths. It think I felt my ribs cracking.


    Although the spectral wind still howled about us, the pressure lessened. Maybe I had hit on something here. Cliodhna couldn¡¯t crush you if she had to think. This was very valuable information if I was going to live.


    She looked at me adoringly. ¡°My dear Fionn, you, of course.¡±


    ¡°What about Ciabhan? I thought you two had a thing?¡±


    She frowned admonishingly and squeezed. ¡°I thought we already went through this?¡±


    ¡°Do you have to do that,¡± I said letting go of her back and sticking my hands up in the air, the international sign for surrender, ¡°squeeze so hard.¡±


    The pressure subsided. Then her head jerked up and her nostrils flared as though she was sensing some new danger. I saw her eyes focusing on something behind me, something that surprised her. When she tried to unwrap her arms from around me I grabbed her and tangled her up.


    ¡°You idiot,¡± she snarled, ¡°let me go.¡±


    In her eyes I saw the reflection of someone or something running down the hill¡­It wasn¡¯t a person. It looked like a panther, a very large, black panther. Cliodhna was now desperately trying to get away from me, and the effort was threatening to pull my arms out of their sockets. Then the black shadow hit us. In a tumble of tangled limbs and fur and curses we tumbled into the black hole that was tugging on us. The last thing I remember was Cliodhna and her famous, ear drum shattering scream.

 Poetry

    Warmth caressed my face. It was so nice, nice ¨C and wet. Then I felt my entire head rising off the ground, lifted by some external force. My head fell back...then a rough wetness, and then my head was being pulled up again, only to fall again. Had I become a yoyo? Flailing about, I opened my eyes, to see a big pink tongue coming at my face. I rolled away to coming up on my haunches. A cow was licking my face, and what a cow it was.


    I¡¯ve seen black cows, white cows, hairy highland cows, but I¡¯ve never seen psychedelic cows. This creature was a black backdrop with red and orange swirling flames shooting all over its body. It was like a crazed painter¡¯s expression of what country life was. The cow, a big hoof clumping into the ground, stepped forward to lick my face again. I crossed my arms defensively.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been crying,¡± said a detached, unemotional voice.


    Turning around; I knew who was talking.  I thought of Alice in Wonderland, maybe I was in Wonderland and I had fallen here with the Queen of Crazy Eights. Madame ¡®H¡¯ was sitting on the grass in full lotus, arms resting on her inner thighs, fingers in the classic ¡®Ohm¡¯ position. Her eyes were closed in meditation.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t crying,¡± I said defensively, ¡°besides it¡¯s creepy to watch someone sleep.¡± She had no right to be meditating peacefully while I got licked by a cow.  This is a dream, this is all a dream. I rolled back and closed my eyes. I¡¯ll just open them in a few minutes and wake up to my old life. I¡¯ll go to school¡­I¡¯ll fail¡­everything will be normal.


    ¡°Sure you were,¡± said miss serenity, eyes still closed and breathing deeply. ¡°The cow was licking the salt off your face.¡±


    ¡°Right, the salt off my face, listen¡­¡± then I recalled the lethal ball of fur colliding with Cliodhna and suddenly had the impression that I should be polite to her. ¡°You were the panther, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± was all she said taking another deep breath in through her nose and letting it out slowly.


    ¡°Why?¡± I was wide awake now. The black cow with the racing flames on its flanks gave me a baleful, bovine stare and mooed.


    ¡°It was the only solution to the problem.¡±


    ¡°Sure, makes sense. Just go on out, change into a panther and attack an insane Queen of Faerie, seems perfectly logical to me.¡±


    ¡°As logical as you tackling her and manipulating the elements.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Madame ¡®H¡¯ opened her eyes. It was then that I noticed that she wasn¡¯t dressed in her normal robes of black. In comparison to her Goth self she looked rather cheery. She wore a flowing blue dress that was cinched at the waist by a gold belt. She noticed me staring.


    ¡°What?¡±


    I blushed. What should I say? Oh, madame ¡®H¡¯ you look very beautiful today. That would just lead to another contest of wills. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    She gracefully came to her feet, straightened her dress and strode by me with a knowing smile. She knew what I was thinking, and the fact didn¡¯t really bother me. I watched her walk ¨C no, that really wasn¡¯t what she was doing. She was swaying with each step, just like the wind blowing through the grass. I caught my thoughts. What was happening? Maybe the place was changing how I thought. Was it making me a poet? Please, no. I didn¡¯t want to be a poet. She was the one that belonged here not me. Even the cows had given up on my salt stained face to watch her. So entranced was I, that she had to stop and look back over her shoulder to break it.


    ¡°Are you coming? Or do you want to wait for Cliodhna?¡±


    I stumbled forward into clumsy action and soon we were walking through a golden field of some type of grass, together. She smelled of lavender.


    ¡°You¡¯re a panther?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Amongst other things.¡±


    ¡°How did you do it? I mean¡­¡±


    ¡°Who am I really, I can¡¯t be human, right. Is that what you¡¯re asking? This is my home. Besides I should be the one asking the questions.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Sherlock was trying to stall her, maybe distract at best. You removed her.¡±


    ¡°I did what?¡±


    She stopped and turned on me. ¡°You really don¡¯t know what you did back at the Library.¡±


    ¡°You mean I cause the black hole¡­¡±


    ¡°Worm hole is a better term for it. If it was a black hole¡­well, we wouldn¡¯t be alive.¡±


    ¡°I made a worm hole?¡±


    ¡°Supposedly,¡± she said dryly.


    ¡°So, If I make one now, we can get back? All I need to do is make another one?¡±


    ¡°Try.¡±


    I waved my arms around like I thought a magician might, but nothing happened. ¡°Suppose I got lucky.¡±


    Madame ¡®H¡¯ started to walk again and I followed.


    ¡°This place is familiar,¡± I mumbled to myself.  It was similar to a series of fields on the outskirts of town: Crazy Potter¡¯s field we called it. He had apple trees we used to raid when we were kids. He¡¯d come chasing after us with a pitch fork threatening to skewer us and roast us for barbeque. It wasn¡¯t until much later that we found out that Crazy Potter wasn¡¯t crazy at all, just lonely and looking for a bit of excitement.


    I began to remember some book I had glanced at. It was interesting enough, a book of magical creatures. ¡°You¡¯re a skin changer?¡±


    She stopped, her shoulders rising and falling with the defeat of a big sigh. ¡°You ever shut up?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not like this, usually, but near death experiences and killer Queen¡¯s from Faerie and Librarians who turn into fury spitting panthers sort of get me going.¡±


    ¡°All right, fine. I am a skin changer. It¡¯s a form of magic, like your ability to manipulate elements. Mine is just more personal.¡±


    ¡°I can manipulate elements, like the periodic table will listen to me?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, I believe so.¡±


    ¡°But I can¡¯t remember¡­¡±


    ¡°You will. Your Aunties taught you.¡±


    We started to walk again. The field had changed. Up in front of us was a tree line. Just then we heard the strains of music from the woods. If I live to be a thousand years old I will never be able to forget that music, it was really that bad. Imagine a cat with its tail caught in a door, and that cat is playing an electric fiddle with its teeth, and then add a chorus of doomed souls from Dante¡¯s infernal and you might understand what I heard.


    ¡°What in the world is that?¡± I said placing my hands over my ears.


    ¡°It¡¯s your destiny.¡±


    ¡°Listening to bad music is my destiny?¡±


    We followed the cacophonous caterwauling noise, leading us deeper and deeper into the forest. I had thought that Faerie, if that¡¯s where we were, was supposed to be somehow different. When I expressed this to Madame ¡®H¡¯, she laughed.


    ¡°What? You thought it would be full of flouncing nymphs and come hither water sprites?¡±


    ¡°Well ¨C yes.¡± I knew I was sounding really shallow. ¡°Is there something wrong with that?¡±


    Just then the noise stopped abruptly. She put her finger to her lips and motioned me to creep along closer to the ground. We were very close and I noticed the lavender scent was stronger. ¡°There are,¡± she whispered, ¡°indeed nymphs and water sprites in Faerie, but they¡¯re more likely to rip your throat out than to kiss you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s really good to know,¡± I said talking through what felt like cotton thick air.


    Madame ¡®H¡¯ gave me a discerning look and the vaguest hint of a smile flittered across her face, but the moment was destroyed by a heart spiking scream ripped out of the woods as if someone was being murdered.


    ¡°Come on,¡± shouted Madame ¡®H¡¯ as she leapt into the woods towards the screams. I say screams, because instead of one, there were many now.


    I felt like telling her it would be a better idea to head in the opposite direction, but she was gone. The screams weren¡¯t so different from the music, same voices just different intensity. I rushed through the trees until a scene, full of violence, on the bank of a stream, opened up to me. There was a wild man, a great double gripped sword, clasped and held above his head, in preparation to strike down. In front of him, Madame ¡®H¡¯, in panther form, was crouched ready to spring. She snarled, her white fangs gleaming. Behind her huddled a group of young men. All of them were dressed in mini-togas and sandals. Half of them had broken harps. Around their crowns were laurel leaves, most of them had been torn and now hung like leafy camouflage.


    Made brave by Madame ¡®H¡¯, a particularly golden locked fellow pointed an accusing finger at the wild, hairy, sword wielding man and bleated plaintively. ¡°He broke our harps! He came out of nowhere, kicked them out of our hands and started to break our harps. When we tried to defend ourselves he drew that¡­that¡­great thing of his!¡±


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    ¡°I repent my actions,¡± snarled the man who took a menacing step forward. ¡°I should have taken me sword to your untalented heads first and then the caterwauling would have ended, permanently.¡±


    The man tried to slip over to the side, but Madame Panther was having none of it and she followed him warily with her eyes.


    ¡°We are poets. We claim clemency! The High King has proclaimed this,¡± wailed one of the young men.


    ¡°If you¡¯re poets then I¡¯m a dancing dryad, and as for your High King, I have none. My king was killed long ago. I would be asking you to be giving him a message for me, in song, but I would never, ever inflict anyone with your noise.¡±


    He made a threatening stamping motion.


    The poets screeched.


    Madame Panther snarled.


    This wasn¡¯t going to end well. I could sense it, almost see it. The hairy fellow, who reminded me of Animal from the Muppets, was going to attack, and Madame ¡®H¡¯ wasn¡¯t going to back down. She was determined, for some reason to defend the poets. I never liked poets, not that I knew any, not personally. That wasn¡¯t true. I like some poetry, like Browning and some Elizabethan poets like Sidney and Raleigh. But contemporary poetry, to me was full of whining and complaining about how terrible life was. I just felt let telling them to shut up; life sucked, best to get on with it.


    The big hairy fellow was also aware of the standoff. He took his sword down a notch to a less threatening position. ¡°Listen, I¡¯ll be making you a deal I will. Tell me a poem and if it¡¯s any good, then I¡¯ll let you live, but if it is anything like your singing, I¡¯ll dice you right out of existence. And in the waiting, you, miss kitty, you can turn back into your real self, and I promise not to attack ¨C until my decision.¡±


    Madame ¡®H¡¯ morphed back into her fashionable self. Her dress seemed a bit rumpled. She was panting, visibly exhausted from her effort to maintain her panther form. Had the big fellow wanted to attack now would have been the perfect opportunity. He raised his sword¡­


    ¡°Swear by the High King Uail of the clan Baiscne,¡± said Madam ¡®H¡¯ quickly.


    The sword went down and a sad note seemed to play in his eyes. He gave his big, shaggy head a nod. ¡°By him, I will swear.¡±


    Was that a tear in the corner of his eye? He pulled up a log and sat down on it laying the sword flat across his massive thighs.


    ¡°And your name is?¡± asked Madame ¡®H¡¯.


    He looked at her obliquely and then wagged his finger like you would at a naughty child. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re a sly one you are, a worthy opponent. I¡¯ll give you that, and my name. My name is Fiacuil mac Cona.¡±


    Madame ¡°H¡¯ gave him a respectful nod.


    After a long pause, one of the poets stepped forward, but Fiacuil stopped him with the flat of his hand. ¡°No, no, no. You must give me your name, now.¡±


    The poet went to speak, but Fiacuil growled at him. ¡°Not you, you unimportant dolt, her. The Lady with the teeth and the claws...you so do remind me of my wife.¡±


    I had never seen anyone so uncomfortable as I saw Madame ¡®H¡¯. Then after another long pause, she also gave a terse nod. ¡°My name is Helga Ni Murchu.¡±


    When I heard her name I almost laughed. Nobody had a name like that.


    ¡°A noble name, although the first name is a bit peculiar.¡±


    ¡°My mother was Saxon,¡¯ explained Madame ¡®H¡¯ as though it was a family secret she would rather not discuss.


    Fiacuil looked a bit confused, as though he was trying to remember something. Then he gave up. He waved the hesitant poet forward. ¡°Come on, come on. I want this argument settled, between me and my sword, on who shall drink first.¡±


    The most senior of the poets, with his knees knocking and knuckles being chewed, stumbled forward. He took the only harp they had managed to keep safe from Fiacuil¡¯s fury and was about to strum...


    ¡°No, harp,¡± snapped Fiacuil, ¡°I¡¯ve had enough harps to last an eternity.¡±


    The nervous poet cleared his throat. ¡°An Ode...¡± he began in his best declarative voice.


    ¡°No Odes,¡± growled Fiacuil. ¡°I don¡¯t like them. They give me indigestion.¡±


    Helga rolled her eyes. ¡°Well, what type of poem do you like? If you don¡¯t like any you might as well get chopping.¡±


    Fiacuil looked like he was just about to take her up on the offer, but then he laughed. ¡°I like Limericks. Best structure for drinking. That¡¯s it, give me a limerick. You know  limericks don¡¯t you?¡±


    The poet swallowed and nodded his head so his blond curls bounced and he began:


    ¡°The lion is wonderous strong


    And full of the wiles of wo;


    And wether he pleye


    Or take his preye


    He cannot do but slay.¡±


    Fiacuil tilted his head back as though to savor the words. Then finally making his decision he jumped up to his feet and swung his sword about his head and began bellowing: ¡°Chopping time!¡±


    Helga transformed back into a panther and coiled to leap on the big man and the poets gave a chorus of mortal screeches.


    Caught between the fascination of the two combatants and who would win, I decided to do the right thing. Throwing myself into the opening I held out my hands and yelled: ¡°I¡¯ve got one. I¡¯ve got one. It¡¯s much better than these clowns.¡±


    Fiacuil let his sword drop and Helga turned back into her human self and fixed me with startled eyes.


    ¡°How long have you been spying?¡± she snarled.


    I suppose she still imagined herself as a panther.


    ¡°Enough to know your name,¡± I said and regretted it when she blushed. ¡°But you, you want a real limerick, a real drinking limerick, right?¡±


    Fiacuil nodded his great shaggy head. ¡°Of course...¡± He was looking at me through his suspicion inspired slit eye lids. ¡°You look familiar.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± I rushed on. I figured I only had a few moments before Animal started waving his sword about again. ¡°Try this on for size:


    There was an Old Man of Nantucket


    Who kept all his cash in a bucket.


    His daughter, called Nan,


    Ran away with a man,


    And as for the bucket, Nantucker.¡±


    There was a halting moment when I felt things could go either way. Helga was at my side...Helga, how was I going to get used to that name? Madame ¡®H¡¯ was just so much cooler. Then the laughter came. It wasn¡¯t the psychotic out of control laughter of Cliodhna, but the deep earthy bellowing of someone that had been lost but had suddenly found that there still was humour in the world.


    ¡°Another, another,¡± shouted Fiacuil, eyes gleaming in anticipation.


    ¡°All right,¡± I was suddenly very grateful for my memory. ¡°Try this...


    A bather whose clothing was strewed


    By winds that left her quite nude


    Saw a man come along


    And unless we are wrong


    You expected this line to be lewd.¡±


    Fiacuil was on the ground laughing so hard that tears were welling out freely from the corner of his eyes. He was like some great prize fighter who had just been floored. He motioned for me to hit him again. ¡°Another...¡± he bellowed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you another¡­


    There once was a young lady named bright


    Whose speed was much faster than light


    She set out one day


    In a relative way


    And returned on the previous night.¡±


    Fiacuil was pounding the earth, eyes streaming with tears. Having reached humour saturation he sat back on his heels and clapped his great hands together. ¡°I haven¡¯t laughed so much since...¡± then his eyes lit up and I thought we were all dead. He was suddenly on us, pulling us into his massive arms, hugging us to death. After a few more moments of odorous affection, he really did need a bath, he stepped back wagging his finger at me.


    ¡°You are just like your old man...you are Fionn, son of Uail mac Baiscne. I knew you were familiar!¡± Then he turned on Helga. ¡°And you are his girl friend.¡± He wrapped his arms around both our necks, and pulled us into his smelly chest in a half-nelson grip. ¡°Let the heavens cry for joy for today you have found your liege man. Your hand of slaughter!¡±


    And with that, Fiacuil walked away with both of us embraced as though we were long lost family, which I suppose, in a way, we were.


    The poets were left to clean up after their near demise.

 Man Cave

    Swirling like translucent images in my mind: memories, all trying to get to the surface. It was like catching a motion of something moving in your peripheral vision, you turn and there¡¯s nothing there. Was this the beginning of my lost memories returning? Part of me wanted to remember, but another part didn¡¯t. At the moment I was siding with the part that didn¡¯t want to.


    Fiacuil marched on through the trees, swinging his sword back anf forth making a great path to walk on. I tried to tell him that it was all right to walk around some of the bigger vegetation, but he just laughed at that. He said, since I had denied him the opportunity to chop poets, that he still had to exercise. I was glad Madame Helga didn¡¯t have to fight him. I hate to admit it but I was becoming partial to her surly nature and the lavender¡­¡±What¡¯s it with the lavender already?¡±


    I didn¡¯t mean to say it out loud, but I noticed her neck stiffen and her cheek muscles twitch.


    Fiacuil laughed again. He playfully chopped another tree out of the way. ¡°Pheromones, shape shifters give them off to warn people to stay away, or come close¡­¡±


    Helga remained silent.


    ¡°You would think it would be one or the other?¡±


    ¡°You would think so, but no. My wife was the same way. You never knew when she was going to kiss you or stick a knife between your ribs,¡± he reminisced. ¡°How I miss that woman.¡±


    Helga suddenly burst past us nearly nocking me off my feet and past Fiacuil, who prudently let her go. Her fury followed her like fumes.


    ¡°She¡¯s as safe as me in these woods. If anything comes near her they¡¯ll scent her and turn tail and¡­if they know what¡¯s good for them.¡±


    ¡°I wish I had as much common sense.¡±


    Fiacuil chortled.


    ¡°What happened to your wife?¡±


    The big man shrugged his massive shoulders. ¡°When your dad died it was the heart went out of us. Some transferred their allegiance, some died, some, like me, fought on, and now, I fight the world.¡±


    ¡°Why do you hate poets?¡±


    He gave me a peculiar look. ¡°They sing to the High King of the exploits of the new leader of the Fianna nah-Eirinn, your dad¡¯s killer.¡±


    I was about to say ¡®my dad died in Afghanistan,¡¯ but I decided to give up on that. ¡°Who killed my dad?¡±


    ¡°Goll Mor mac Morna and his brothers, and they would have done you too, had my wife and I not thrown them off.¡± Suddenly he looked worried. ¡°Those bloody poets. I bet they heard me call you Fionn. It¡¯s only a matter of time before the Morna boys catch your scent.¡±


    The details of my dad¡¯s death in Afghanistan had been sealed. He had been part of the Special Forces. Because what they did was secret, not too much of the circumstances of their deaths were known. The report they had given mom was that it was an IED, but now, I was having my suspicions.


    Just then, a keening sound, starting low and then pitching high, leapt into an ear drum bursting octave. There was no protection from the sound, not even my hands pressed to the sides of my head could muffled the sound. Something hit me in the head.


    Fiacuil was throwing acorns at me. He tossed another, this time hitting me in the forehead. He motioned for me to put them in my ears. In desperation I stuffed them in, and almost if by magic the mind agonizing sound blinked out. Nothing, not a bit of sound could I hear.


    Following Fiacuil, we ran off in the direction that Helga had taken. The trees quickly gave way, opening up to a grassy fen of grass and brackish water. Beneath a twisted, dead tree we saw what was making the sound.


    It was a great bird like creature with massive, bat wings. Once, on a school field trip we had gone to the Museum of Art and Civilization. There had been a mad artist who had gotten the idea that it would be neat to plasticize corpses. He had replaced the bodily fluids with plastics, eventually preserving the cadaver. Seeing the skin and the fat peeled away from the body had fascinated and repelled me, especially the couple making out. The reason I¡¯m mentioning this is because that was exactly what Cadaver-bat-woman looked like, except that instead of feet, it had claws.


    And wrapped up in its stringy pink muscle exposed legs was an unconscious Helga. Fiacuil was running at the thing waving his big sword in the air, which was futile, because Cadaver-woman just opened up her massive wings and flapped away. We stood on the merge of the forest and fen and watched it slowly fly away.


    I took a step into the Fen and Fiacuil grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. Following his example I popped my own acorns out of my ears.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to follow, before we lose sight of it,¡± I explained.


    ¡°Don¡¯t have to. I know where it¡¯s going.¡±


    ¡°Where is it taking Helga?¡±


    ¡°Bloody poets. I¡¯m telling you I should have chopped them. Well, the meddling girl got hers for stopping me.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°You really like her, don¡¯t you? I suppose that¡¯s a good thing.¡±


    ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°The King of Kerry, he¡¯s your step-dad. He got all twisted when he lost Muirne. Went off his rocker, started looking for dead bodies and ¡®doing¡¯ things to them, to make them live again. I¡¯ve been fighting him ever since.¡±


    ¡°Well we¡¯ve got to rescue her, before he kills her and turns her into one of his things.¡± Then it occurred to me what Fiacuil had just said. ¡°Muirne¡­are you talking about my mom?¡±


    Fiacuil shuffled his feet apologetically. ¡°Don¡¯t be too hard on her. When your dad died, she needed a protector. I was on the run. She figured the King of Kerry was a good place to hide you. Of course she didn¡¯t tell him who your father was. It worked for a while, but when he found out¡­¡±


    Something weighed on the corner of my mind, like a memory trying to break through. ¡°How did he find out?¡±


    ¡°You beat him at Chess, seven times,¡± explained Fiacuil. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me how he knew, he just did. Gave you that overweight porcine look of his and said: ¡®you are no normal lad, you are Fionn, the son my wife gave to Uail mac Baiscne, and you are no longer welcome here.¡¯¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°The King of Kerry is a powerful man, but he was afraid of Morna and his sons, and he was no Uail. Of course your mom took you and fled. That¡¯s when the King started going a bit weird and getting into the cadavers.¡±


    ¡°What does he want Helga for?¡± I asked.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t want her.¡±


    ¡°Then why did he¡­¡± I went to ask but suddenly knew the answer.


    ¡°For bait laddie, he wants you, because he knows that through you he hopes to get Muirne back.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to happen,¡± I said in a cold determined voice.


    Fiacuil hefted his massive sword, held it up to the dying sun so that the edge caught a gleam, and grinned. ¡°Thought you might say something like that. Me and the King of Kerry have a score to settle, and I¡¯ve been waiting for someone like you to breach the walls.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course you can. Things will get clearer during the assault, but right now I need to get you a weapon.¡±


    I followed him out onto the fen. Left to myself I would have soon drowned. The tufted topography of water and grass seemed all the same, but not to Fiacuil. There were times when it seemed as though he was walking on water. So, I followed him. As we zigzagged through the fen Fiacuil kept up a stream of good natured chatting.


    I learned that my dad was a great fighter, that it had taken treachery and overwhelming odds to bring him down. I wanted to tell him that explosive devices planted on the road side often had that effect, but the big guy seemed to be on a run. Names kept coming up: names like Morna, Goll Mor, Garra Dov, Art Og¡­really strange names that, bizarrely enough, felt familiar. Then the name of Cona¡¯n slipped out of his lips.


    ¡°Conan the barbarian?¡± I asked. ¡°My dad actually fought Conan the barbarian?¡±


    ¡°Bested him too. Cona¡¯n, by himself was no match for your Dad.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s huge, muscles everywhere¡­¡±


    Fiacuil kept trudging forward. ¡°Bald as an egg, gruff as a badger, thick like a bear, right here,¡± Fiacuil pointed at his head and then laughed. ¡°After you get past his foul mouth, he is pretty predictable in a fight.¡±


    ¡°Foul mouth?¡±


    ¡°Coming or going, he¡¯d insult you, call you the most foul names. Woman, babe, man or beast, it wouldn¡¯t matter. He would rain foul language down on them like spit from the heavens¡­ ah, we have arrived.¡±


    The other thing I learned. Fiacuil was still fighting a guerrilla insurgency, outnumbered and out gunned, or so it seemed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see anything.¡± I was staring at what seemed to be an endless expanse of fen, nothing but water and grass.


    ¡°It¡¯s right there,¡± said Fiacuil jabbing the air with the tip of his sword which disappeared. ¡°Glamour, courtesy of my good wife. Just walk into it and you¡¯ll see.¡±


    Taking a step forward my foot disappeared, followed by my leg and then my entire body. On the other side was a great cave. Not a dark gloomy cave, but a cave that seemed to be glowing and flickering with light. This didn¡¯t seem to please Fiacuil.


    ¡°I told her once I told her twice; the House Leprechaun she sent me is useless. All he does is sit around watching television all day, eating chocolates and complaining about how he lost all his gold during the investment meltdown in 08. I am more than capable of cleaning up after myself.¡± I followed Fiacuil as he stomped into his man cave.


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    On one side of the cave¡¯s wall was a massive television. It was wafer thin, but with a deep, high definition colour intensity that stunned me. On it flickered jumping scenes of gorgeous girls and hunky guys running across a beach. There was somebody out in the water flailing about, drowning.  Strewn all over the nicely tiled floor were empty, dirty dishes, half eaten meals. There was a pile of dirty clothing that would make Everest look small. Apparently, his House Leprechaun wasn¡¯t doing a very good job, except watching television. In front of us was a massive chair which hid the perpetrator.


    Fiacuil stuck his sword into the pile of dirty clothes, grabbed the back of the chair and swiveled it around. Instead of a diminutive little man with a red beard, green clothes and a big shiny belt buckle, there was Bovmall, my aunt. She held a long black remote control and poked it at Fiacuil like a knife. She wasn¡¯t looking very happy.


    ¡°Can you explain to me why you have a plethora of bouncing, jiggling, giggling women programmed into your security device?¡± From the look on my aunt¡¯s face, she was definitely not amused. She pressed down on a button and the screen became segmented into a number of smaller rectangles, all giving a different view of the fen and the forest. I suddenly knew how Fiacuil had been able to find the poets so quickly.


    ¡°Ah, well,¡± muttered Fiacuil his face becoming dark with guilt, and then noticeably brightening. ¡°The Leprechaun you gave me. It must have been the Leprechaun.¡±


    ¡°The Leprechaun,¡± she said slowly taking a step closer to her husband who backed away. She was still a good half head taller than the large man. The sharpness of her features seemed very keen, like the edge of a sword. ¡°The same Leprechaun that had a CV as long as my arm?¡±


    ¡°You know, words can lie.¡±


    ¡°The same Leprechaun,¡± she said her voice rising, ¡°that had served the very High King?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Fiacuil. As he backed up he gave a pleading look at the pile of dirty furs, and mouldering burlap loin clothes. ¡°He didn¡¯t like to do laundry.¡±


    She poked him in the massive chest with one of her long fingers. ¡°Didn¡¯t like to do the laundry, didn¡¯t like to do the laundry¡­¡± Then she was in his arms, hugging and kissing the hairy Animal.


    I cleared my throat, just to remind them I was still there. Bovmall  broke away from Fiacuil, my presence bursting their domestic bliss. It was as though I had just appeared. While the sharpness of her face remained, her big eyes seemed to melt when she saw me. Was I a puppy or something? She stooped, which was odd, because I was pretty tall, and rubbed her hand on my head.


    ¡°How¡¯s the wee one. I thought we had lost you when Helga knocked you into the hole.¡±


    ¡°You saw that?¡±


    ¡°We did, but we got there too late,¡± she said looking a bit sheepishly. ¡°Lia didn¡¯t want to miss the last card.¡±


    ¡°Last card?¡± I really had no idea what she was talking about.


    Bovmall looked at the pile of laundry. ¡°Bingo,¡± she mumbled and then rushed on picking up the remote control. She pressed a couple of buttons and the many small screens merged to form one. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see what is causing such problems.¡±


    ¡°How did you know anything happened?¡± asked Fiacuil suspiciously. His eyes widened. ¡°You didn¡¯t put the Find my Husband app on my cell phone.¡± He reached into his loin cloth, which must have had a pocket and pulled out, much to my surprise, a cell phone. After pressing a few buttons he looked at Bovmall in feigned shock. ¡°I am offended that you should doubt my loyalty.¡±


    Bovmall tumbled, head over heels, off her moral high ground, so she did the next best thing, ran a diversion. The screen was playing things backwards until we saw the winged creature nabbing Helga and flapping away across the fen. We looked rather stupid standing there unable to do anything.


    ¡°Kerry, has her,¡± grumbled Fiacuil.


    ¡°And why aren¡¯t you after him. He¡¯s like to have her turned into one of his beefy jerky plasticized zombies by now,¡± snapped Bovmall.


    Fiacuil shook his shaggy head. ¡°He won¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°And why wouldn¡¯t he be doing that?¡±


    ¡°Because he want¡¯s Murine back.¡±


    Bovmall¡¯s tight, angular face went slack and pale. ¡°Of course, I had forgotten that. You have a plan?¡±


    ¡°I was thinking we¡¯d just go up there, start calling him names and get our behinds blasted off...of course I have a plan, woman.¡±


    Bovmall crossed her arms. ¡°Well, husband of mine, let¡¯s have it.¡±


    I felt Fiacuil¡¯s massive arm and weight as he draped it over my shoulders. ¡°Young Fionn needs a spear.¡±


    ¡°He needs a spear. You¡¯re going to be poking Kerry with a spear. Oh, what will you be doing while he is suiting Kerry up as meat on a stick? I suppose you¡¯ll be swinging that massive big sword around, and yelling your favourite war chants. A good plan, except,¡± her voice rose perceptively, ¡°he¡¯s made of plastic, and unless you melt plastic he¡¯ll last for a thousand years.¡±


    She had a point. If Kerry had done to himself what he had done to his creations, he had extended his expiration date substantially.  She was right, plastic was very hard to get rid of. There was a massive island of plastic floating in the middle of the Pacific.


    Fiacuil was now at the back of the cave, looking really animated. He motioned us over to what looked like a long stick draped in canvas. He flourished his hand over it like it was a great give away prize in a game show, and then snatched the canvas away. It looked like a normal spear except the blade was covered entirely in wax.


    ¡°What have you done? If I told you once, I told you a dozen times, never dabble in magic. Leave that to me.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± protested Fiacuil, ¡°it was that Leprechaun you sent me. Only thing he was good for.¡±


    Curious. I knelt down to get a closer look at the head of the spear. Underneath the clear wax, I noticed that it was coated in some type of white substance, and suddenly I knew.


    ¡°That¡¯s white phosphorous. It bursts into flame when it¡¯s exposed to air. My dad hated white phosphorous grenades. He said they were a coward¡¯s way.¡±


    ¡°It is, it is, but when you¡¯re made of plastic...¡± explained Fiacuil.


    ¡°Well, then he¡¯d melt.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll need a diversion to get past his defenses,¡± pondered Bovmall. Apparently she must have thought his plan had some merit. But that will wait a moment.¡±


    She turned on me, her eyes becoming all soft and big again, and that set me on guard.


    ¡°Mom?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve placed her in the Vault, so, for the time being, she¡¯s safe, but Cliodhna is back and she¡¯s really, really angry.¡±


    I was suddenly conflicted between wanting to free Helga and going back to fight Cliodhna.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we can handle her for now, besides, if you were to come back without your memories then you would be next to useless.¡±


    My birthday was only a day away. In fact all I had to do was take the night, free Helga and then get back to the Library the next morning. Who needed sleep when someone was trying to kill your mom. ¡°I¡¯m eighteen tomorrow.¡±


    Bovmall made a sour face. ¡°If we get the timing right, yes.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, get the timing right?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not an exact science, but when people visit Faerie, time tends to warp. What would seem like a day in Faerie could be a year in the place you came from. I¡¯m sure it will be all right, Tia is one of the best druid time manipulators. I¡¯m just saying this so that you¡¯ll be ready.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying we might get back too late?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m saying.¡±


    I chewed on the inside of my mouth. ¡°You can get us back?¡±


    Bovmall nodded. ¡°Yes, but so many trips in such a short period of time will put me into a coma. I¡¯ll have to sleep for about a month, so, I¡¯ll be totally useless.¡±


    I reached out, grabbed the spear, making sure I didn¡¯t let the wax covered head brush up against anything. ¡°So, what type of diversion do you have in mind?¡±

 The Kerry Center

    I really didn¡¯t know what to expect, but when I saw where the King of Kerry was living, my jaw nearly dropped off my face. It was an auditorium, completely enclosed, circular and massive. Any team in the National Hockey League would have been pleased to play there. We were hunkered down behind a ridge and I went to stand up.


    ¡°It¡¯s a rink! The King of Kerry lives in a rink?¡±


    Fiacuil pulled me down. ¡°Easy, lad, don¡¯t get too excited. You see those black things sitting on the roof?¡±


    There were black statues on the roof, ever number of feet. They looked like gargoyles. ¡°Aren¡¯t they statues?¡±


    Bovmall grunted. ¡°Do statues do this?¡± She was holding an ogham wand and gave it a flick. A bunny materialized out of the ground and started to dash across the ground between us and the auditorium. One of the statues, the closest one to us, detached itself from the roof and like a dart shot down towards the rabbit. As its talons struck, the rabbit vanished in a puff of grey smoke.


    ¡°They¡¯re like the bat-woman creature that took Helga.¡±


    ¡°As soon as we stick our heads above this ridge, they¡¯ll be on us,¡± growled Fiacuil. ¡°I didn¡¯t see this coming.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you have me, sweetie,¡± reminded Bovmall. ¡°I¡¯ll conjure a pack of wolves. They¡¯ll lead them to the opposite side. Then you two run for it. I¡¯ll follow, if I can. If I can¡¯t get to the front entrance and I¡¯ll be there.¡±


    ¡°What will happen to you once they figure the wolf pack is nothing more than smoke?¡± I asked pointing out the gaping hole.


    She glared at me harshly. ¡°Do you, or do you not want to get Helga out of there?¡±


    ¡°I do, but I don¡¯t want to get you killed,¡± I explained.


    Bovmall gave me an adoring look. ¡°Did you hear that Fiacuil, he doesn¡¯t want us to get hurt, isn¡¯t that sweet.¡±


    Fiacuil grunted. ¡°Fionn, if there is one thing that we excel at in Faerie, it¡¯s getting hurt, preferably hurting others. Ready?¡±


    ¡°Ready,¡± barked Bovmall turning into a wolf right before my eyes while simultaneously conjuring a pack. They dashed up over the ridge and were gone.


    ¡°We will wait a few moments; give her a chance to get them onto the other side.¡±


    I heard the howls of the wolf pack. ¡°She¡¯s a wolf?¡±


    ¡°No, a shape shifter, but her favourite form is a Timber Wolf, long legs,¡± he said wistfully. Then he shook his head and braced himself clapping a big hand on my shoulder. ¡°Well, ready?¡±


    ¡°Ready...I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Bovmall had done her work; there wasn¡¯t one of the harpies on this size of the auditorium, and we ran. We made it to the paving square before the great glass entrance.


    ¡°Stop,¡± shouted Fiacuil coming up behind me. He was puffing away like a big steam engine. He doubled over bracing himself while he gasped for air. ¡°You dad was fast, but he would have had nothing on you...¡±


    A howl sounded off in the distance. Auntie wasn¡¯t going to keep them away for long.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get inside,¡± and we raced across the square. Banners lined the way to the entrance suddenly flapping in the wind. I looked up and on the front face of the building were great posters of beef-jerky worries. They were dressed up like gladiators.


    I reached and opened one of the many doors. ¡°Do a lot of people come here?¡± I asked.


    Fiacuil growled. ¡°The ones that do never come out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s reassuring.¡±


    If this was like any rink, then the entrance would lead directly to the ice, but Fiacuil stopped me, looking up the stairs. He placed a finger in front of his lips and motioned for me to ascend while he would go in on the floor level.


    It was a great cavernous building full of images of what might be and echoes. Creepy. I wondered what would have possessed Kerry to build such a sterile and empty place, and then I heard the laughter. It was full and laboured as though the humour was being squeezed painfully from the lungs.


    I entered one of the feeder passages on the second level, moved through the dark and into the seats that surrounded the scene at rink level.


    Seated at center ice (and there was ice) was the King of Kerry...or perhaps I should say, Queen of Kerry. He or she had a blue gossamer gown and was standing imperiously in from of his throne. Kerry seemed to have some unresolved issues. Right now it looked like he thought he was some Ice Queen. Behind him was a backdrop of a castle.


    When I was a kid my mom had taken me to an ice show. We had been so far up in the stands that the skaters were about the size of small dolls. While the King of Kerry had been able to change his looks, his masculine, wheezing voice remained the same which made me want to laugh. Even though I could see the humor, the creepy red blotches on the ice made me wary. Kerry was pointing his scepter down at Fiacuil who was standing defiantly in front of the raised platform.


    What was the idiot doing?


    ¡°You thought to surprise me?¡± wheezed Kerry swishing his cape as he moved about dramatically. ¡°It will take more than a pack of wolves and a big sword to defeat me. So, where¡¯s the boy. He¡¯s the one I want, not some hairy brute.¡±


    Then I heard a scraping motion of something over my head. I looked up. Hanging from the rafters, where the pennants and the retired jerseys should have been, were a number of cages. Most of them were empty, some were not. In the closest one was Helga. She was looking worse for wear and seemed entirely unconscious. Then there was a sound directly above me.


    ¡°Not a bad looker, Kerry, for someone made of plastic.¡± The voice was deep and rich and searching for laughter. ¡°Not someone I would be asking to the alter.¡±


    There was a bearded man, seated in his cage. He was around the same size of Fiacuil, except broader, if that was even possible, in the shoulders. His long, black hair was neatly tied back. There was something about him that made me feel uncomfortable. I wanted him to like me, but at the same time, he had a look in his eye, as though he was laughing at everything.


    I ignored him.


    ¡°Listen, why don¡¯t you toss that little tooth-pick up here and I¡¯ll break the lock with it.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t trust him,¡± hissed Helga now awake. ¡°Give it to me.¡±


    ¡°Little kitty wouldn¡¯t last a minute down on the ice, give it to a real man.¡±


    ¡°Like Kerry?¡±


    ¡°Would the two of you shut up,¡± I hissed, ¡°before Kerry -- hears us...¡±


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    Sure enough, Kerry was now staring up at me. He pointed his scepter at me. ¡°Fetch me the boy-child!¡± he yelled.


    ¡°Run,¡± shouted Fiacuil who charged the stand. A black square materialised on the ice beneath his feet. He tried to move past the line but couldn¡¯t. Out of the air, and around him formed a black cage snapping on him and taking him prisoner.


    ¡°Fionn,¡± said Helga, ¡°don¡¯t step onto the ice unless there¡¯s an opponent there.¡±


    ¡°Fionn?¡± said the fellow in the cage, ¡°you¡¯re Fionn?¡±


    ¡°So everyone keeps telling me.¡±


    ¡°Run,¡± shouted the man and Helga both at the same time.


    I had failed to see the beef-jerky stooges, who were holding long spears with wads of cotton candy impaled on them, surrounding me. The Ice Queen Kerry tried his best falsetto laugh which ended up with him having a coughing fit.


    ¡°Bring him here, down to the ice where I can deal with him, personally.¡±


    I could have run, but the place seemed to be suddenly crawling with preserved beef-jerkies. Cotton candy spears pointing at me, I was forced down the aisle to the rink level. Strangely enough they let me keep the spear. Fiacuil¡¯s cage had yet to be lifted up into the rafters with the rest of them.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I apologized when I was close to him.


    One of the cotton candy plastic zombies tried jabbing me with his spear, but Fiacuil reached out, grabbed the spear, and broke it over the thing¡¯s head. An eye popped out and rolled along the ice, but that didn¡¯t seem to deter the thing.


    Kerry giggled with excitement, clapping his hands. I looked up at the beautiful Ice Queen. Being close allowed me to see the zipper running up the back of Kerry¡¯s neck. ¡°So, what do you think,¡± he said casting his arms wide, ¡°of my winter wonderland?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not going to work, you know.¡± I decided to cut to the chase. I knew megalomaniac sociopaths liked to grandstand, and I really wasn¡¯t in the mood. ¡°My mom isn¡¯t going to come back to you.¡±


    The Queen of Ice seemed a bit caught off guard and started to talk to himself.


    ¡°I can¡¯t really answer that dressed like this.¡±


    ¡°Well, then I better get changed.¡±


    "What do you suggest?"


    "Something sheer, maybe charteuse?"


    "No, idiot, something more masculine."


    I watched with a strange fascination as Kerry reached for his neck and unzipped. The Ice Queen outfit, peeled away leaving him a standing, naked piece of beef-jerky. ¡°My hero out fit,¡± he screamed, ¡°now.¡± One of the cotton candy things brought him what looked like a pile of clothes from which rubbery fingers extended.


    Quickly, Kerry suited up. After he was done, he glared down at me from the sensitive eyes of Russell Crow. His rugged face twisted. ¡°Why do you think she wouldn¡¯t come back to this?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± I wanted to say, ¡®because you¡¯re crazy,¡¯ but I didn¡¯t, ¡°she¡¯s a bit preoccupied at the moment. You see, Cliodhna wants to kill her.¡±


    He pouted then brightened perceptible. ¡°Do you think she would consider coming back once that was over?¡±


    Fighting down the sudden revulsion I felt rising up in my throat like vomit, I was able to respond. He wanted to turn my mother into another one of his plasticized creations.


    ¡°You know if you were nice...¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can be very nice,¡± said Kerry enthusiastically. ¡°But while we wait, we might as well have some entertainment.¡±


    Like two prize fighters facing off across a ring I was thrust down onto a stool which marked my corner. Kerry was given a throne. He waved his hand imperiously and the cage Helga was in was whisked along the rafters until it hovered over the ice where it slowly lowered.


    At ice level the gate on the black cage sprang open and Helga, tentatively, stepped out onto the ice. I shifted uncomfortably and wondered how I could get the wax off the spear¡¯s head and plunge it into Kerry before being overwhelmed.


    ¡°This will be the second time she has fought today,¡± said Kerry with admiration. ¡°Nobody makes it to the third round.¡± He waved his hand again and a great drum roll sounded through the auditorium. The castle fa?ade in the background trembled and the gates swung open. I could hear both Fiacuil and the other warrior gasp. If it made them gasp it almost made Helga, who was all ready standing on rubbery legs, fall.


    It was a mountain troll. I¡¯m a big video file, and with my memory, if someone calls ¡®mountain troll,¡¯ I see the entire thing. Fiacuil must have known what I was thinking about.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you be jabbing no ogham wand up its nose.¡±


    I could see, literally, every red, corded muscle on the creature. Ugly with skin, ten times uglier without. It had multiple scars, most likely from multiple fights, all over its body. One of its eyes was out of its socket hanging down the side of his face only held onto by a long optic nerve. The ice cracked as the thing moved closer to Helga.


    Panting, she tried to turn into her panther form but the most she could manage was a few whiskers, a partial tail and the tip of an ear.


    The troll hefted its club.


    ¡°Kerry,¡± growled Fiacuil under his breath just loud enough for me to hear, ¡°get Kerry.¡±


    I began to rub the head of the spear against the leg of the stool with more intensity.


    The troll swung at Helga which she just managed to avoid by slipping beneath its legs. Stupidly the creature stuck its head down between its crotch and fell head over heal. Helga was on the thing trying to rip its other eye out, but given the fact that she only had a small knife that was proving difficult. The creature swatted away at her, made contact and sent her sprawling across the ice.


    Just then my spear ignited. I butt ended the first beef jerky zombie and kicked another one who fell creating a log jam of plasticized corpses. The spear was blazing now, and I knew I only had a few moments before it went out. Taking small steps on the ice I built up enough speed and then slid, shouting, right at Kerry who held up a finger as if to say, ¡®just one moment.¡¯ The flaming spear sunk deep into where I assumed Kerry¡¯s heart was. If he had placed it in a jar I was in big trouble. The plastic around the spear gave a high pitch screech as drops began to fall sizzling onto the ice. He gave me one bewildering look at the spear and then -- died.

 An Old Girl Friend

    I tried to pull the spear out of Kerry¡¯s chest, but he just collapsed on it and ignited. Supposedly his Russell Crow suit was very flammable; globs of flaming plastic shot everywhere. The heat from the burning king was intense.


    ¡°Get me out of here,¡± yelled Fiacuil.


    The beef-jerky zombies, suddenly discovering their new found independence started to attack everything around them. I looked around, bewildered. The warrior with the man-bun hair was crawling out of his cage. It had fallen and busted open. With an iron bar in his hands he was laying into the closest zombies, cotton candy, amongst other things, went flying through the air. He seemed really, really good with that bar.


    ¡°How?¡± I shouted turning my attention back to Fiacuil.


    ¡°Up on the stand, there¡¯s a consol. I saw him press a button.¡±


    I ran up the stairs onto the platform where Kerry¡¯s first throne was. Helga was back up and desperately avoiding the troll¡¯s club which was making great scything sweeps. Fortunately, some of the cotton candy people were wrapped around the troll''s legs. They were also trying to get behind Helga.


    ¡°Behind you,¡± I shouted a warning. Helga was able to summersault out of the way.


    The troll¡¯s club smashed into one of the zombies and it collapsed around the club and went sailing through the air.


    From the platform I had a great vantage point, and could even see behind the castle backdrop. I realized how much trouble we really were in. Behind were a dozen more immense cages, with creatures that made the troll look insignificant. Fortunately, they were still in their cages.


    ¡°Fionn,¡± shouted Fiacuil, ¡°the button.¡±


    In desperation I started pressing all the buttons, which was the worst thing I could have done. True, Fiacuil¡¯s cage door sprung open, but so did the all the cages behind the back drop. Simultaneously it started to snow inside the auditorium, and the rink ice began to melt.


    The warrior with the man bun had created a path of plastic destruction around him and was making his way down to what was now looking more like a swimming pool than a rink, which was, fortunately for me, only ankle deep. I didn¡¯t know how to swim, which was rather embarrassing. It wasn¡¯t for mom¡¯s lack of trying. Every so often she would enroll me in swimming classes, but the result was always the same. My muscles would seize up and I would sink like a rock. In my head I was doggy paddling like mad, but in reality, I just sank.


    ¡°Get out of there,¡± shouted Fiacuil wading into the water which was now, inexplicably waist deep.


    Vibrating with the ferocious battles that were happening there, the backdrop suddenly shredded apart. Stringy red beasts of all descriptions splashed into the pool. One creature with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle ripped into a monster that had multiple snake heads. It tore a head off and sent it sailing through the air where it fell, plastic venom pooling out in a green water cloud right by my feet.


    Helga was able to separate herself from the troll because it had been attacked by the eagle-lion thing. Bruised and beaten she swam over to where I was. Treading water, which was now well over my head, she held out a hand. ¡°Will, let¡¯s go.¡±


    It felt good, someone calling me by the only name I was really comfortable with.


    ¡°I can¡¯t swim.¡±


    The water was now up to the second rung on the platform steps. Where was all the water coming from?


    ¡°That¡¯s all right, just get in the water. I have my NLS.¡±


    That was nice, if I knew what NLS stood for I might have been comforted.


    ¡°I sink like a rock.¡±


    Then, as I hesitated the platform shuddered and began to collapse. The troll had crashed into one of the main supports. I jumped, and as predicted, sank.


    Helga embraced me in her loving arms and when I began to flail about she gave me a sharp rap on the back of the head nearly knocking me out.


    The next thing I was conscious of was being pressed against the glass walls of the Kerry center as the water rose. Then Fiacuil was there fighting with the warrior with the man bun. They were trying their best to drown each other.


    Helga must have gotten distracted or maybe it was because she was totally exhausted that we both began to sink. No longer able to hold herself and me up, she gazed at me apologetically, shook her head and abandoned me. While I sank I was treated to the view of her legs kicking for the surface. There was no sense in both of us drowning.


    I must have been made of stone or something, because I had no buoyancy. Looking up I saw Fiacuil and Man Bun thrashing about along with myriad other legs that were also pumping like crazy. Maybe if I had been made of plastic I would have floated. I was going to have to breathe in the water soon, and then it would be all over.


    Then Bovmall was there, on the other side of the glass, still in wolf form. She had the arm of one of the plastic zombie gargoyles between her jaws. I pounded on the glass and motioned to her that I was about to drown, and she turn tail and ran away. My last hope was fleeing with her hind quarters, and then she turned and charged the glass. With all the acceleration she could muster she was going to throw all of her weight against the window in an attempt to smash it. She was going to break her neck. At the last moment, she leapt, turned sideways and slammed broadside into the glass. By herself I doubted her weight would have been enough to break it, but just before she hit, a blue magical aura enveloped her. The impact made the entire pane of glass detonate like an explosion, and the water, in a rushing torrent flooded out onto the cement square that surrounded the center.


    I lay gasping, grateful for the air. Aunt Bovmall, back in her human form, lay unconscious on the ground. There was blood running from her nose and ear, never a good sign. Fiacuil gave Mr. Man Bun one parting kick, making sure he was also unconscious before ambling over to join us. Helga, hair and tattered clothing matted to her form, limped over tentatively. They both were expecting the worst.


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    ¡°Is she...¡± whispered Fiacuil and then wrapped himself around the fallen form of his lanky wife. He lifted her up, threw back his big, shaggy head and howled at the sky. ¡°She¡¯s dead, Noooo...¡±


    Then Bovmall coughed and opened her eyes. ¡°Did you hear the song of the Banshee, you big dolt? I¡¯m not dead, and if you keep howling like that you¡¯ll be wishing I was.¡±


    Fiacuil went to put her down but she shook her head. ¡°Not dead doesn¡¯t negate the fact that I almost died. I need to heal. Don¡¯t you be putting me down.¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± sobbed Fiacuil.


    Right then and there I wasn¡¯t thinking about anything except how much these strange people were coming to mean to me. It wasn¡¯t so long ago that other than my mom, I had no family. Now I was the inheritor of the craziest, homicidal relatives anyone could have desired.


    Bovmall gave me a weak smile. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I won¡¯t be able to get you back to your mom. I have to heal. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you to the cave,¡± bawled Fiacuil.


    She reached up and tenderly touched his wet, bushy beard. ¡°Oh, shut up you big oaf and take me home.¡±


    Fiacuil turned and began to trudge away.


    Why didn¡¯t I follow? Maybe it was because what was going on here was private and I had no business inserting myself into that. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and Helga was there.


    ¡°Helga...¡± I started to say, but her icy glare stopped my tongue.


    ¡°Don¡¯t ever call me that.¡±


    ¡°H? I¡¯ve got to call you something.¡±


    She gave a terse nod and her features softened. ¡°H is fine.¡±


    Mr. Man Bun gave a groan and started to show signs of movement.


    H looked nervous. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get away from here.¡±


    I had no disagreements with that. The sooner we got away from the Kerry Center the better. After we crested and descended the ridge from which we had launched our attack, I turned to H.


    ¡°Thanks, back there. I don¡¯t know if I would have made it without you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that, of course you wouldn¡¯t have, but yeah...you¡¯re welcome.¡± She paused and seemed to be considering something on the ground, even though when I looked I could see nothing. She looked at me, eyes so open and stark as though all illusion or pretence had been stripped away. It troubled me. ¡°Thanks for coming for me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± We began to walk. Where? I hadn¡¯t a clue, nor did I really care; the moment with H was enough. I urgently wanted to get back and protect my mom from Cliodhna, but part of me believed that if I just kept walking with H, then everything would be all right.


    ¡°Why did you do it?¡± she asked not looking at me but scanning the horizon.


    ¡°It was the right thing to do.¡±


    She scratched her head and looked at me with a sideway, curious expression. ¡°The right thing to do... If you haven¡¯t noticed, not too many people in Faerie consider much about right and wrong.¡±


    ¡°I was meaning to ask you that. I mean, is everyone from Faerie certifiably insane?¡±


    She laughed. She had a nice smile, and then the smile faded into the flat line of the neurotic. ¡°I¡¯m from Faerie.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, right. Sorry about that.¡±


    Grinning she reached out and took my hand. It was totally unexpected and the shock of electricity that shot through my hand and up into my arm was startling.


    ¡°That¡¯s all right; I got out while I could, while I was still sane. Those who stay here too long...well, you¡¯re right, they do go insane. Look at Kerry.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I really don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I guess that says a lot about Fiacuil.¡±


    She stared at me, searching. ¡°You,¡± she wagged her finger, ¡°you are very funny. Has anyone told you that before?¡±


    ¡°Funny, hah hah, or funny peculiar?¡±


    She thought about it for a moment and then gave herself a nod to the internal conclusion she had just reached. ¡°Both.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I looked down at our hands. ¡°I suppose this means you¡¯re my girl friend.¡±


    Giving me a smart bunch in the arm, she broke away from me and ran a little way along the path we had been following. I chased. A thought slipped into my mind, maybe, when I caught her, if I caught her, maybe I should give her a kiss.


    H stopped suddenly.


    ¡°You need to know something.¡±


    Oh, great. She¡¯s married, or has a number of ex-boyfriends I¡¯m going to have to fight to the death or something.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a lot older than you.¡±


    ¡°I figured that.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m over a hundred of your years.¡±


    I scratched my head. ¡°I never thought of having a centenarian as a girl friend.¡±


    She smiled, so, I thought that was the right thing to say.


    ¡°Back at the Kerry Center, why was Fiacuil fighting Mr. Man Bun?¡±


    She stopped and stared at me, taking both her hands in mine. A silence that presaged something important settled about us. ¡°His name is Goll Mor Mac Morna, the man who killed your father.¡±

 Hs Mom and Dad

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know how I should feel. Part of me wanted to embrace the anger, to let it surge up and take possession of me ¨C yet, another part wanted to know why, wanted to understand, wanted to have a memory in which to latch itself onto. Call it sense, which was seemingly in short supply in this place called Faerie. Maybe if I could make sense of things¡­


    We had been walking for quiet some time and it felt like we were just going in circles.


    ¡°Tell me again why we shouldn¡¯t go to Fiacuil¡¯s cave?¡± I asked H.


    ¡°Well, if I was Goll that¡¯s where I would go. He¡¯d try to separate you from your biggest supporter.¡±


    ¡°Faicuil.¡±


    ¡°Exactly, and with Bovmall needing to sleep, he¡¯ll have to seal up the cave to keep the Morna brothers out.¡±


    ¡°How many of them are there?¡±


    ¡°Four. There¡¯s Goll, the humorous, Con¡¯an, the foul mouthed, Garra, the rough, and Art, the savage.¡±


    ¡°What are you? I mean these guys seem to have cool attributes. Do you have one, like H, the disemboweller or something?¡±


    She gave me a steady stare. ¡°No, just H.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I could have one? I mean a cool attribute?¡±


    H started to laugh.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be given one; you already have one.¡±


    ¡°I do, what is it?¡±


    ¡°You have to find that out yourself.¡±


    We were standing in the middle of a field when H looked around and gave a satisfactory nod. ¡°Good, we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°A middle of a field?¡±


    H knelt down on the ground and using the long staff she had cut from the woods drew on the ground, then she gave the dirt a smart wrap. A heat mirage rose from the ground, and within it solidified a three story Inn.


    ¡°Where did that come from?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It was always there, you just didn¡¯t see it. Maybe your attribution will be Fionn, The blind.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not funny.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Of course it is. Come on. If we¡¯re going to find a way back to the Library, we¡¯re going to find it here.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s here?¡±


    ¡°Not so much what, but whom?¡±


    H gave the iron studded Inn door a rap with her fist. The sign hanging above the entrance was of a caldron. A sudden spectral breeze caused it to swing, creaking on the pole.  A little latch slid open and a pair of bloodshot eyes stared out at them.


    ¡°Who dares disturb the repose of the great Dagda?¡±


    In the background rose the muffled sounds of laughter and music. Someone was having a party.


    ¡°Just tell Birg, it¡¯s me, H.¡±


    The wood latch closed, but it only took a few moments of waiting before the door swung in. A fellow, no taller than three feet, glowered up at us. I recognized the bloodshot eyes. Watching the door close, I looking behind it for some explanation; the wooden slot was at least six feet up.


    Another nock sounded at the door, a midget who had been sitting in the shadows waddled over. The bloodshot fellow jumped up on his shoulders and repeated the phrase: ¡°Who dares disturb the repose of the great Dagda?¡± This time the response wasn¡¯t satisfactory and the midget told the applicant to ¡®bugger off.¡¯


    ¡°Oh,¡± he groaned despairingly, ¡°it¡¯s been like this all night ever since Bono from U2 arrived.¡±


    As the top midget toppled down from the shoulders of the other, he motioned us forward. ¡°Come on, Brighid has been expecting you.¡±


    The melodious, driving sounds of  U2, sliced apart by Bono¡¯s rather whining, sharp edged voice was a bit muffled, but when we stepped past the second door we were drenched in it. The big room was filled with jumping, gyrating and screaming people. Sure enough, black sunglasses on, hair slicked back, center stage, stood Bono holding the mic as though he was drinking from it. He howled and the band tried to keep up.


    H seemed to like the music, I was indifferent. My problem with U2 was that after Joshua Tree all the songs sounded the same, just a variation on tempo, but same sound.


    Only having to kneecap several people, the midget made it to his target out on the dance floor: a willowy blond girl that was dancing out of time with the music. She was swaying to her own internal music that obviously nobody else could hear. The little fellow tugged on the hem of her sheer, white gown and she came out of the trance, bent down to the midget who yelled something in her ear.


    She looked up and in dawning great delight and clapped her together. Jumping with excitement she skipped across the dance floor to us. The midget scowled and made his way back to the door.


    ¡°H,¡± she giggled wrapping her arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. ¡°Sister, I knew it was you. I could feel you. It¡¯s been so long, come, let us dance.¡±


    I watched in wonder as Birghid pulled a resisting H out onto the dance floor. H shuffled a bit, looking about self-consciously and tried to tactically retreat from her willowy sister, who wasn¡¯t having anything of it. Every time she went to move away, Birghid pulled her back. Two sisters: one who couldn¡¯t dance and the other who danced to her own drummer. Then, H caught me laughing at her obvious discomfort, reached out and pulled me into the melee.


    ¡°Enjoy the pain,¡± she snapped.


    Dancing was never my thing, not because I wasn¡¯t co-ordinated or anything, but just because I never saw myself dancing with anyone ¨C until I met H.


    The music changed and Bono whipped out his harmonica and was mournfully wailing out a ballad. H and Birghid joined arms and both began to slow dance with me. I was rather shocked, but in Faerie...Then, I noticed, swaying crowd dancing with a girl that looked rather Elvin was one of the poets.


    ¡°Hey, I said,¡± trying to avoid the discomfort that was coming from slow dancing with two women, ¡°isn¡¯t that one of the poets Fiacuil...¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said H sharply. ¡°My sister loves poets.¡±


    Birghid was staring up at him adoringly. ¡°I understand you bested them in the forest?¡±


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    ¡°Ah, well, that was luck. Listen, I don¡¯t mean to be rude or anything, but do you two always dance like this?¡±


    H laughed relaxing a bit. ¡°You¡¯re lucky our other sister isn¡¯t here.¡±


    Birghid giggled and the sound of her voice was music. ¡°What a wonderful idea. She should be here, but she¡¯s away delivering one of father¡¯s new children.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be an aunt?¡± I asked H.


    She blushed. ¡°It gets a bit old after the thousandth time.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re dad really ¨C gets around.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the beginning of it.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± said Birghid continuing to eye me, ¡°is he a Smith?¡±


    ¡°A Smith?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said with some difficulty, ¡°I have an affinity for Smiths.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m...¡± Suddenly possessed with a desire to impress Brighid I was about to embellish my experience with the poets and tell her that I was Fionn, but H elbowed me sharply in the ribs.


    Bono must have finished his last set because when I looked up onto the stage he was gone, which was encouraging because if Bono could be whisked in and out of Faerie for a gig, I might be able to make it back to the Library. This must have been why H had brought me here.


    On centre stage there was an enormous man holding, what looked like a child¡¯s mic. Flaming about his head was a wild mass of red hair. His trunk like arms and legs gave him the impression that nothing could move him. He also had an enormous belly. In a way he looked like Santa gone Celtic.


    ¡°Give a hand for our mortal friend and advocate for the reintroduction of many Faerie species that are on the border of extinction.¡±


    Birghid was clapping fervently. ¡°Extinction: a very nasty place.¡±


    The applause nearly raised the roof.


    ¡°Now, as a special treat, in from the tempestuous coast and the blood soaked battle fields of the brave and the free...the Morrigan Three!¡±


    I don¡¯t know why the blood seems to drain out of a person¡¯s face when they are shocked or why they seem frozen in time. Once, I heard it described, about the great earth quake that destroyed a large part of Lisbon, how people just stood there. After a few moments survival instincts took over, but at first, they just stood there in shock. That¡¯s how H was, as she stared at the three beautiful identical women who strode out onto the stage.


    Everything was indistinguishable about the three women, from their dresses to their hair fashion, long and flowing, to the harps they carried. And all three, turning in synchronicity, seemed to see us all at once. They smiled.


    Brighid grabbed her sister and tugged on her, but she remained rooted to the spot.


    ¡°Give me a hand,¡± said Brighid through her teeth as she tugged forcibly again.


    I tore my eyes from the Morrigan Three, which was really difficult, and grabbed H. Pressing her on the shoulder must have brought her out of her trance because she aimed a wild swing a my head. I ducked it.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she said coming back to herself.


    ¡°Come on H, let¡¯s get you out of here.¡±


    I touched her by the shoulder again, but this time I was careful. I felt the connection between the Morrigan Three and H, but I didn¡¯t know the reason.


    Harp music filled the room and one of the poets cried out in ecstasy and fainted. The further we got away from the music the more animate H became, the less enslaved she looked.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe she has the nerve to show up,¡± agonized H.


    ¡°Well,¡± said the willowy Brighid, ¡°you have been gone awhile.¡±


    ¡°I bet as soon as she heard I left, she was all over the place,¡± accused H.


    I was about to open my mouth and say something stupidly profound, but a door crashed open and the hall filled up with the enormous presence of the fellow who had announced The Morrigan Three.


    ¡°Where is she, where is she,¡± bellowed the flame haired Santa who after targeting us charged. Either he was going to kill us or...


    He scooped up both the girls in his massive arms and was swirling them about laughing with great abandoned joy. So infectious was his laugh that we all began to laugh. I laughed until my eyes ran with water and my sides began to hurt. Then I realized that I was the only one still laughing.


    He looked at me in cursory examination and then at H. ¡°Boy friend?¡±


    H blushed, but gave an almost embarrassed nod.


    ¡°About time,¡± he clapped me on my back sending me into the wall. ¡°Listen, I¡¯ve got to get back to the party. You know how you¡¯re mother gets when I¡¯m not around.¡±


    H gave a bit of a frantic nod. ¡°You better go, dad.¡±


    He laughed again. ¡°So good to see you; you know you¡¯re going to have to talk to her.¡±


    Groaning H nodded. ¡°I know.¡±


    Then he was gone rumbling down the hall and leaping back into the swell of the music and the heat of the dance.


    ¡°He¡¯s your dad?¡± I asked.


    ¡°His name is Dagda,¡± she said examining my face looking for a response. ¡°The All Father.¡±


    Birghid put a hand over her mouth and giggled.


    ¡°When you say All Father, you mean...¡± I said. I tended to be slow with things of an interpersonal nature.


    ¡°He¡¯s the father of a lot of the Tuatha de Dennan,¡± Birghid said delighted.


    ¡°Which one of The Morrigan Three is your mom?¡± I said trying to pick up on the awkward relationship dialogue.


    H blushed again.


    ¡°All three of them,¡± said Birghid with delight.


    Obviously, things worked a bit differently in Faerie.

 Dinner Time

    Dinner time at Dagda¡¯s was a homicidal affair.


    The seating arraignment was peculiar to say the least. Dagda was, of course, seated at the head of the table while the Morrigan triplets formed a semi circle at the foot. Immediately to the right and left of Dagda was H and Birghid. I sat beside H, which made me nervous because I was closest to the Morrigan Three. There were a number of vacant seats between us, but still, I was closest to them.


    Dagda was holding onto the drumstick of what must have been an enormous bird with one hand, and with the other was waving around a big drinking stein with the other. He was chewing and talking away with gusto. I noticed H was poking at her food, casting furtive glances at her moms. Birghid was eating only vegetables, picking at them like a bird.


    ¡°Now, I said to him, now what¡¯s that you¡¯ve got there?¡± blustered Dagda. ¡°And do you know what the fellow said? He said it was a crutch. I said to him, do you take me for a fool? That¡¯s a spear you¡¯ve got there buck-o, and you¡¯ll not be bringing that in to my party.¡± He took a great pull from the ale from his stein. ¡°Do you know what I did then?¡±


    This must have been Morrigan¡¯s cue. All three were cutting away daintily at what looked like raw and bloody meat on their plate. Three forks lifted from the plates and three mouths chewed at the same time making three lips even redder than they naturally were. No wonder H was behaving oddly. I would have been terrified is Morrigan had been my mom.


    ¡°What¡¯s that, dear?¡±


    I was so glad that all three weren¡¯t talking at the same time.


    ¡°Hah! I took my club, wound up and pow...¡± he looked expectantly at Birghid and H.


    They rolled their eyes, and together said: ¡°right to the moon.¡± They gave a forced laugh that momentarily thawed the frost.


    ¡°And that¡¯s why there¡¯s a man in the moon, cause I put him there.¡±


    Trying to ignore the tension between Morrigan and H, Dagda threw back his head and laughed to his contentment. I laughed and he pointed at me.


    ¡°You know it. You know what I¡¯m talking about. H, I like him, about time you brought someone home, not like those moon eyed poets going on about love and plucking daisies, eh?¡±


    Birghid seemed to shrink a bit in her seat. ¡°They like your parties, daddy.¡±


    He nodded emphatically. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, dear. I love poets, but only for breakfast.¡± Dagda threw back his head and howled at his own joke before settling back into his food with a half-dozen agressive bites.  ¡°So,¡± he said his mouth full, ¡°young man, tell me something about yourself.¡±


    "Yes, do," said Morrigan staring at me almost furosciously. Did I do something wrong?


    I felt H go tense. Reaching out I ripped a chunk of meat off the same creature Dagda was eating and took a bite. ¡°Well...¡± I made a face. The creature, whatever it was, tasted like burritos. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Everything beast, whatever you want it to be, that¡¯s what it tastes like. It¡¯s my favourite. I¡¯ve got another one growing in the back. Once we¡¯ve finished eating this one, the other one will be ready for slaughter.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s great.¡±


    ¡°It is, indeed, it is. But not as great as when I fought Sreng, the champion of the Fir Bolg.¡±


    ¡°Daddy, you¡¯ve told that story a thousand times,¡± groaned Birghid.


    Dagda, with a hurt expression on his face, gave a stiff nod. ¡°Very well...but, he held up a very thick finger, I¡¯m sure...¡± and he was looking at me trying to figure something out. ¡°What is your name? Your genealogy?¡±


    Telling him my name was William Suntag wasn¡¯t going to do it, nor was telling him I was Fionn, the son of Uail of the Clan Baiscne, because I really still didn¡¯t have any memory of that. I was stuck.


    Aid came from the strangest place. It came from Morrigan. She had just finished taking another dainty bite from her raw meat. ¡°He has the scent of Nuada on him ¨C on his mother¡¯s side.¡±


    Dagda¡¯s face illuminated as though he had been just given a great prize. ¡°You don¡¯t know this?¡± he asked me.


    ¡°No, Wednesday is my birthday. I¡¯m supposed to remember...¡±


    ¡°Semias,¡± shouted Dagda. ¡°Semias we¡¯ve got a tale to tell.¡±


    Waddling into the room was the midget with the blood shot eyes. This time he was carrying a staff. He made a direct line to us, stepped onto one of the empty seats and jumped up onto the table. He kicked a few of the dinner items off, twirled the staff about his head and took up a defensive stance like a martial artist.


    Birghid, who was trying to cover her head in embarrassment, groaned. ¡°Now you¡¯ve done it.¡±


    With a great leap Dagda sprung onto the table kicking the cutlery and the mugs out of his way. The entire structure groaned with his great weight. He was holding a massive club, which he flourished about his head.


    ¡°Semias, you be Sreng at the battle of Mag Tuired...¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I be you this time?¡± asked Semias. ¡°You always get to be you.¡±


    Dagda growled. ¡°Of course I always get to be me...I¡¯m me. Just play along. H¡¯s boy friend has never seen it...he doesn¡¯t even remember who he is.¡±


    Semias rolled his eyes, then he fixed me with a malevolent gaze. ¡°Why not include him.¡±


    H reached over and grabbed my hand. "Say, no," she said intensly, beneath her breath so that nobody other than me could hear.


    Dagda latched onto it. ¡°Absolutely, but what role?¡±


    The midget¡¯s mean face twisted with some perverse delight. ¡°He¡¯s related to Nuada, so, why not Nuada.¡±


    ¡°The High King of the Tuatha de Danann. I was High King once and would never do it again not for all the songs in the world.¡±


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    ¡°Would you do it for me?¡± asked the voice of The Morrigan.


    Dagda¡¯s bluster seemed to stumble. ¡°Well, ah...¡±


    ¡°Nuada?¡± prompted Semias.


    ¡°Done,¡± bellowed Dagda who waved me up onto the table.


    H stared on mortified. I glanced at her as if to say, ''they didn''t really give me an opportunity to say no.'' She glared at me. Obviously, I was on my own.


    Semias reached down, grabbed by arm, and with surprising strength, pulled me up onto the table. He gave me a twisted grin. ¡°I get to chop off your arm.¡±


    ¡°Hey, wait a second...¡± were all the words I could squeeze out of my mouth before we were whisked away. No longer did we stand, ankle deep in mashed potatoes and roast beast. We were on a field that was populated by a hundred black towers.


    On one arm, I held a shield while on the other, I wielded a spear.


    Dagda was there, much the same as he always looked, massive, corpulent and cheerful. His club was so immense and I wondered how anyone could lift it let alone fight with it.


    ¡°Oh, I love this part. Here comes Sreng, the champion of the Fir Bolg.¡±


    ¡°The what?


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s not really Sreng, that fellow is pushing up daisies a long time ago. It¡¯s Semias pretending to be Sreng.¡±


    Behind one of the towers came the biggest mountain of human flesh I had ever seen. An offensive lineman had been so big that they had to call him The Refrigerator. Sreng was like a walk in freezer. He was immense, and he was naked.


    ¡°You fought that?¡±


    Dagda grunted. ¡°We tried, and an amazing fight it was.¡± Sreng had stopped no more than a hundred yards away. He had turned around and was waving his butt at me.


    ¡°That¡¯s supposed to make me mad?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a grave insult," said Dagda nodding, "for one man to show another man his butt. Go on.¡±


    ¡°You want me to show him my butt?¡±


    Dagda rolled his eyes. ¡°No, lad, go tell him that his king has to give us half of Ireland.¡±


    ¡°Seems fair,¡± I said doubting Sreng or Semias would see it that way.


    Much as I expected, ¡°Sreng laughed and promptly attacked.¡±


    Sreng¡¯s great sword whistled towards my head. This isn¡¯t real, this isn¡¯t real, I kept saying to myself, just play along until we get back to the dinner table. I threw up my shield and the raw iron impact of the sword sent be flying through the air to land painfully on the ground.


    ¡°Nice plowing, lad,¡± laughed Dagda.


    I noticed I had slid several yards, digging a furrow into the ground.


    ¡°That hurt.¡±


    ¡°Get on up and at ¡®im, lad.¡±


    Why did I listen to him? Was it because he was the All Father, not really. I listened to him because he was H¡¯s father and I supposed I wanted to impress both of them. So I went at ¡®im.


    A man with a spear and shield has it over a swordsman every time. It¡¯s more an issue of logic and common sense than anything. A spearman has a longer reach. The only way is for him to get close and I was determined not to let that happen.


    Sreng or Semias let my spear jab slip by him. As I missed he closed his arm down on the spear shaft, trapping it like a vice, against his body. Laughing he tossed his sword to his left hand and with his right pulled the spear towards him. Inch by inch he pulled me in close where he could use that wickedly sharp sword.


    Then with incredible speed the sword was flashing through the air, from left side back to right. It descended on my shield and all I could do was brace for the impact. The sword sliced through my shield and cut deep into my arm just below the shoulder. One moment I had a shield, the next moment the shield, along with my arm and copious amounts of blood were on the ground.


    It was then that Dagda sounded his war chant. It was like nothing I had ever heard. It sounded like a cheerios jingle that I had heard as a kid...If I hadn¡¯t been in so much pain I would have express my abhorrence.


    Then the real battle began. I had been caught off guard, as probably had the real Nuada, but Dagda was rooted in the ground. No matter how hard Sreng bashed him he was able to absorb the punishment. As long as he had his feet pressed firmly into the soil he could absorbed the damage...he was like Antaeus, but Hercules killed him by lifting him off the ground and giving him a bear hug.


    Back and forth the bashed and smashed each other until the image of Sreng began to fade leaving the heaving, exerted form of the midget, Semias panting on the table. I was still holding my armless shoulder, trying to stifle the pulsing blood when I felt the squishy potato salad between my toes.


    ¡°My arm,¡± I said in real relief. ¡°I still have my arm.¡±


    Semias was glaring at me with intense disappointment. ¡°Unfortunately,¡± he drawled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind him,¡± said The Morrigan, all three standing with their hands clasped together. She was imbued with a delight that made her eyes sparkle...but it was the coldness behind the sparkle that disturbed me. It was an empty darkness, very similar to the darkness I had seen in Cliodhna¡¯s eyes. ¡°I forgot how much Nuada bled. He was famous for being a bleeder.¡± Obviously, that pleased her.


    ¡°Who won?¡±


    Dagda threw his arm around me and we jumped down off the table together. I caught a glimmer of a smile on H¡¯s face, while Birghid was overwhelmed with pleasure.


    ¡°We did, of course,¡± bellowed Dagda. ¡°Although Sreng swore he would take as many with him before he went. Amazing fighter, Sreng.¡±


    ¡°There was something about him,¡± I said, ¡°something familiar.¡±


    ¡°There should be. The Morna lads descend from the Fir Bolg. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they¡¯re Sreng¡¯s off spring.¡±


    ¡°Mom,¡± it was H speaking. Everyone went silent. ¡°Will needs to get back to his world. Do you think we can use the Jacuzzi?¡±


    ¡°Caldron!¡± spat out an incensed Semias. ¡°For the last time it¡¯s a (deleted obscenities) a caldron!¡±


    The Morrigan smiled, "Of course, dear, if he''s willing to pay the price."

 The Trowthe

    H, after making up some strange excuse, was able to get me away from everyone so we could have a moment of privacy.


    She was shaking her head emphatically. ¡°You can¡¯t do it. You can¡¯t make a deal with my mom and come out the other side smelling like a rose. Nobody can.¡±


    ¡°Well, do you have any other suggestions?¡±


    She was looking worriedlyat me. ¡°No, but...¡±


    ¡°And this is the only way I¡¯m going to get back to the Library?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but...¡±


    ¡°Listen, ever since I got sucked into this place, I¡¯ve had to recite bad poetry, fight and kill my plastic step dad, who I can safely say, I didn¡¯t know. I don¡¯t see how agreeing to pay your mom¡¯s price is going to be any weirder.¡±


    ¡°Do you know how my dad and The Morrigan hooked up?¡±


    ¡°No...¡± I was going to say I wasn¡¯t really that interested, but when if there is one thing I¡¯ve been learning about H is that when she¡¯s forceful you better listen. Right now she was looking a little bit predatory...something like her mom.


    ¡°It was before a big battle. Dad was out of his water. Sure, give him something to hit and he¡¯ll wade in swinging that club of his. He enjoys that. But this was different. The Fir Bolg were expecting that and they were ready. They would have annihilated the entire Tuatha de Danann. You listening?¡±


    She poked me in the chest. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°Good, maybe you¡¯ll get it then. He went to The Morrigan. He said he needed a plan, a strategy. Mom, is really, really good at stuff like that. She said she would do it...for a price.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how they got together?¡± Even though I was slow about ointerpersonal stuff like that I was beginning to put things together. ¡°Is that how you...¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she responded tersely, ¡°but I¡¯m not in the mood for sharing.¡±


    I put my hands up in defence. ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯m all for not sharing.¡±


    ¡°Stop being such a jade fool. This is serious.¡±


    The hurt look on her face subdued me. ¡°Sorry, I just get kind of stupid when I¡¯m stressed.¡±


    ¡°Good, you should be stressed. Not only did they sleep together, but she made Dagda give her his trowthe that he would let her, at some time in the future, select the High King of the Tuatha de Danann.¡±


    ¡°He could always just go back on his word.¡±


    ¡°You really don¡¯t know anything do you?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s harsh, keep going like this and you¡¯re going to hurt my feelings.¡±


    She looked a bit stunned, as though hurting my feelings just hadn¡¯t entered into her mind. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said quickly. ¡°But when you give a trowthe in Faerie, you keep your trowthe, or you die.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a trowthe?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Old English for truth or promise. It has to be given verbally, but once it¡¯s done, an inseparable bond is formed, until the trowthe is fulfilled.¡±


    ¡°So, Dagda is stuck with The Morrigan until he lets her pick the High King? So, who is the High King?¡±


    ¡°Nobody. That¡¯s why things have gone a bit insane in Faerie. The High King and Queen are sort of the glue that holds the Tuatha de Danann¡¯s sanity together. It¡¯s a collective.¡±


    My mind was spinning. No wonder H was wary of her mother. She was an immensely powerful woman. ¡°So, if it¡¯s so important to have a High King, why hasn¡¯t she selected one?¡±


    ¡°You could always ask me.¡± It was the voice of The Morrigan.


    The air around us seemed to freeze. I noticed that H had stopped breathing and her eyes had become as large as dinner plates.  Mom used to say in for a penny, in for a pound, which I never understood because she wasn¡¯t talking dollars. I turned to confront The Morrigan.


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you?¡± I tried to keep my voice strong and determined, but was irritated when a quaver entered into it.


    All three gave me a knowing smile, which was fine. What shook me was the flat calculating depth in her black eyes. ¡°Good, you are strong. Strong enough to stand up to Cliodhna. Not too many people could have done that. She has a very ¨C compelling song.¡±


    ¡°You mean that screech? I wouldn¡¯t call that singing.¡±


    ¡°Better than Bono,¡± said The Morrigan. ¡°To answer your question, about why I haven¡¯t selected a High King, it is important to understand our history.¡±


    ¡°You defeated the Fir Bolg and took their lands.¡±


    ¡°True, and the Milesians took ours through treachery.¡±


    ¡°The Milesians?¡± I hadn¡¯t a clue what she was talking about.


    ¡°To put it plainly,¡± said H, ¡°the world you¡¯ve been living in.¡±


    I scratched my head. ¡°There¡¯s something I don¡¯t understand here. The Tuatha De Danann are magical folk, right?¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± said The Morrigan like a teacher.


    ¡°Then why couldn¡¯t you just march back into my world and kick the Milesian¡¯s collective butts?¡±


    ¡°As my daughter was trying to patiently explain to you, a trowthe is a powerful thing.¡±


    ¡°You gave the Milesian¡¯s your trowthe?¡±


    ¡°We promised them that we would never use magic to destroy them. If we tried, we would be ourselves, destroyed.¡±


    ¡°Still, how did the Tuatha get stuck with the land of Crazy?¡±


    ¡°We were given the world below while the Milesian¡¯s took the world above. At first we thought it was ill fortune, the madness ¨C but then we found out that the Milesian Druids knew of the insanity impregnated in the land.¡±


    ¡°Still why aren¡¯t you and Dagda and Birghid crazy...well, you¡¯re all a bit nutty, but why aren¡¯t you certifiable, like...¡±


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    ¡°Like Cliodhna?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Well, we take holidays in your world, but we have to return to ours after our visas expire...about eighteen of your years.¡±


    ¡°My mother is from here, right, and I¡¯m almost eighteen, right. Does that mean I have to live here?¡±


    The Morrigan smiled, all three of them. ¡°Welcome home.¡±


    ¡°And it takes awhile to renew the visas?¡± Thinking about having to live in this crazy place was something I didn¡¯t really want to consider.


    ¡°Oh, it depends...¡±


    There it was again, that knowing smile and the dead eyes. ¡°Depends on what?¡±


    ¡°Because there is no High King,¡± said H in a self-defeated tone, ¡°all visas have to go through...¡±


    ¡°Me,¡± finished The Morrigan. She stroked her chin. ¡°That reminds me. Isn¡¯t your visa almost up, dear?¡±


    H examined her feet but said nothing.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said as bracingly as I could, ¡°that clears up a few things. Cliodhna is spiraling out of control because she¡¯s trying to kill my mom, right?¡±


    ¡°Sort of,¡± mumbled H.


    I wasn¡¯t used to seeing her like this, almost defeated. ¡°What do you mean sort of?¡±


    ¡°Muirne,¡± said The Morrigan, ¡°is Tuatha, so the trowthe doesn¡¯t really apply to her.¡±


    ¡°Right, so I sign your contract, do the cauldron thing, get back to the Library, defeat Cliodhna save my mom and turn eighteen.¡±


    The Morrigan nodded. ¡°That¡¯s about it.¡±


    ¡°So, where do I sign?¡±


    H grabbed me and pulled me away from her mother. ¡°Are you absolutely insane?¡± she hissed into my ear.


    I shrugged. ¡°Everybody else seems that way, so why not join the family.¡±


    Semias had just waddled into the room. He was sharpening a dagger on a wet stone. I waved at him and he waved the dagger at me, as though promising me the pointed end.


    ¡°Have you thought what she might want you to swear your trowthe to?¡±


    ¡°Probably wants to force me to be king.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t laugh. That¡¯s not so far fetched.¡± She rapped me on the head. ¡°She needs somebody she can easily control.¡±


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯ve got to stop beating up on me.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she said with only a little bit of sincerity this time. ¡°Have you thought how you can defeat Cliodhna?¡±


    ¡°I was hoping you might come up with something...¡±


    ¡°Then there is Goll, Conan, Art and Garra. They know you¡¯re alive. They¡¯ll want to kill you.¡±


    ¡°Why? I know that¡¯s what people do in Faerie, but why? I mean, I just met Goll...he¡¯s the guy with the man-bun right?¡±


    ¡°Your existence challenges him. Your father was the Chief, that means you, should be the next Chief.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be Chief. I don¡¯t want to be King. I just want people to stop trying to kill me and my family. That¡¯s all I want...¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t run from who you are,¡± stated H.


    ¡°And who is that? I know what people keep telling me, but right now, I¡¯m just Will.¡± I turned to The Morrigan. ¡°Where do I sign?¡±


    She pursed her red lips together. ¡°You don¡¯t sign, dear. You just say: I give Morrigan my trowthe to be used at her discretion, when she desires, how she desires, where she desires.¡±


    I felt H stiffen. Leaning in close to her, I whispered in her ear. ¡°I want you to tell me that all Tuatha De Danann are liars.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Just do it and pray your mom doesn¡¯t catch on.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°All Tuatha De Danann are liars.¡±


    This outburst caught The Morgan off balance and before she could say anything I rushed on.


    ¡°I Fionn of the Tuata De Danann give you my trowthe to be used at her discretion, when she desires, how she desires, where she desires.¡±


    The Morrigan clapped her multiple hands together. Apparently she had been so focused on me that her daughter¡¯s outburst about liars had gone nearly entirely unnoticed.


    Semias¡¯ ugly forehead was twisted up in malevolent thought as he was trying to figure things out.


    ¡°Semias, warm up the Jacuzzi, we¡¯re going for a dip.¡± She turned and left the room calling for her husband. ¡°Dagda, get your swimming trunks, you know, the ones I love, the little fish net affair.¡± And with that she left the room, followed by a scowling Semias cursing the use of the word Jacuzzi.


    ¡°What was that bit about the Tuatha being liars?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true right?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope we never have to use it.¡±


    When I saw the Jacuzzi I knew I was cooked.


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± I said staring at the great caldron with the fire blazing beneath it. ¡°You want me to get into that?¡±


    ¡°If you want to get back to the Library and to your mommy you will have to,¡± said all three Morrigans at once. I was still finding it difficult talking to a chorus. Did I detect a tone of ridicule when The Morrigan had said ¡®mommy?¡¯ Did everyone in Faerie have mother issues. Freud would have loved this place, and it was looking like I would also have to learn to love it when I turned eighteen.


    H inserted herself between her mothers and me. I could understand why, because I was starting to burn about the ears, a sure sign I was beginning to get upset.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like me,¡± said The Morrigan lips pouting.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that,¡± I responded. ¡°It¡¯s just you remind me of a praying mantis.¡±


    She looked amused, all three of them did. ¡°A praying mantis?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you know the one that eats her mate after...¡± that¡¯s where I ran out of courage and started to blush.

 Wow

    Dagda slapped his big belly with delight and shouted, ¡°Last one in is a dirty leprechaun.¡±  With that he ran up the steps and jumped into the boiling cauldron. H pulled me back just in time as the tidal wave spouted up over the rim and came down on The Morrigan, drenching all three of them.


    They gave a tight, painful smile and glared at me. ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t tell you how many times I¡¯ve thought about eating him. But he has his purpose, just as you do, now.¡±


    Walking stately, The Morrigan proceeded up the steps, placed their toes into the water, to test the temperature, and then like a water snake slid down into it and out of sight.


    Semias, working like a devil, had the black metal hatch open in the side of the cauldron, and was feeding shovels of coal into the raging fire. He was taking great delight in the work and a mephistophelian glow was emanating from his mean little face. He happily snarled up at us.


    A great mist was boiling out from the top of the cauldron and spilling down onto the floor. In moments everything would be so obscured we wouldn¡¯t be able to see.


    ¡°What¡¯s his problem?¡± I asked H.


    She shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d be nasty to, if you were a slave.¡±


    ¡°A slave?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not really a midget. He¡¯s a Formorian, a harmful, destructive power from nature.¡±


    ¡°Oh, nature,¡± I said trying to understand, ¡°like the wind, or rain...¡±


    She was staring at me again like I was insane. ¡°No, nothing like that, more like chaos, tornadoes, earthquakes.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that side of nature. Don¡¯t tell me, he gave The Morrigan his trowthe?¡±


    ¡°No, dad kicked his but in a duel, and since you can¡¯t really kill a Formorian, this was the cost of his defeat.¡± She nodded. The mist was now up to our chins. ¡°You¡¯re next.¡±


    ¡°Is it true, what you¡¯re mom said about your visa?¡±


    She nodded gloomily.


    ¡°How long before you get another one?¡±


    Her mouth went tight. ¡°That depends on mom.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me, but your mom doesn¡¯t seem all that dependable.¡±


    ¡°Oh, she is. You can depend on her collecting on a promise. You see, The Morrigan has a way of getting everything she wants.¡± She glared at me meaningfully, ¡°and I mean everything.¡±


    ¡°That must include you,¡± I said trying to cheer her up.


    ¡°No, no, you don¡¯t understand. I¡¯m just another tool in her little box. She lets me do what I want to do, until she needs me, then...¡±


    What could she force H to do? Then I remembered her shape shifting ability and the big, black cat. I also remembered her taking on the enormous troll at the Kerry Centre.


    ¡°What does she want to use you for?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it will probably involve killing something or someone, it usually does.¡± She gave a sad exasperated sigh. ¡°You don¡¯t know how refreshing it has been studying in your world.¡±


    Feeling her anxiousness, I reached out and put a hand on her arm. She flinched but didn¡¯t totally draw away. ¡°Listen, we¡¯ll find a way, together. I have no plan on being controlled by your mom.¡±


    She looked at me with those enormous eyes. ¡°I almost believe you, but right now...¡± she tugged on my arm and took a step and I followed.


    We stood on the lip of eternity and stared down at the swirling mist beneath our feet. One step and we would slide down into the cauldron. Off in the mist I heard the good humoured roar of Dagda and the throaty chorus of a mischievous Morrigan.


    ¡°Sounds like they¡¯re having a great time.¡±


    ¡°My dad could have a good time going to the washroom.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my kind of guy.¡±


    She almost smiled. ¡°The Morrigan almost never loses but when she does...let¡¯s just put it this way, you don¡¯t want to be around.¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe when I get to be King, I can change things.¡± It was a joke, but she didn¡¯t seem to think so.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even jest about things like that. If you become King then you can be sure she¡¯ll have you so trussed up that you can¡¯t move without her knowing.¡±


    I stared out into the mist. ¡°So, we go down into this and I get whisked back to the Library?¡±


    H took my hand and we walked down into the mist together and into the water.


    ¡°Umm, remember the last time I tried to swim?¡±


    She gave a strained laugh. ¡°It¡¯s all right; Semias keeps the salt content in the cauldron so high that you would have to hold onto a rock to sink.¡±


    ¡°So, a little dip, a few strokes and back to the Library?¡± I repeated trying to calm my fears.


    It was the perfect temperature. I would have to thank Semias the next time I saw him, which, I was hoping would be a very, very long time. Although she was right by my side, H¡¯s voice seemed to come from a long ways away, as though from across some great divide. I could no longer feel her hand. ¡°It¡¯s never that simple in Faerie.¡±


    ¡°H,¡± I shouted starting to tread water looking about in the mist. It would be a simple thing, to swim to the side and get out. I mean, how big could the cauldron be? I flailed about and took a great gasp of air in case I sank, which I didn¡¯t. H had been right, the salt content was so dense that I could, without any fear, float comfortably on my back.


    I looked over and out of the mist, and Dagda floated by, his prominent belly, rising out of the water like some great Polynesian island. His arms were sculling away.


    ¡°That¡¯s my boy,¡± shouted Dagda, ¡°Just go with it.¡± I wondered if this was his intimate voice. ¡°Water is invigorating today, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s H? She came into the water with me, but I can¡¯t find her.¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about her, darling,¡± said The Morrigan, her voice coming at me from the mist from three different directions. ¡°You need to start worrying about yourself.¡±


    If there was one thing that my mom had taught me, that I actually retained, was a dislike for people who tried to stir the pot, or in this case, the cauldron.


    I took a mouthful of salt water and blew a fountain up into the air. ¡°If I worried about myself, would that help?¡±


    ¡°Not in the least,¡± barked Dagda. ¡°I can see why H likes you, and if it¡¯s any consolation, I also like you which saves me from the messy business of having to kill you.¡±


    ¡°H has brought boyfriends home before?¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Dagda¡¯s brow crinkled with thought. ¡°No, but still, on principle, if she had, I would have had to have killed them.¡±


    ¡°But not me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said, his voice sounding more like a fog horn, ¡°you are a keeper.¡± He sculled back and forth. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, dear, a keeper.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± said The Morrigan her voice echoing from three directions, ¡°a keeper.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s H?¡± I demand.


    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s around here somewhere,¡± says Dagda lazily.


    ¡°So, how do I get back to the Library?¡± I ask.


    Dagda rolls over and places a huge rock into my hands. ¡°Just hold onto this.¡±


    Finally I was getting comfortable with being in water and not drowning, and the next moment I¡¯m hurtling down into the depths attached to a rock. There had been no way to take in air, so I breathed in the salt water, and surprisingly, I didn¡¯t drown.


    The rock pulled me deeper and deeper into the bottomless cauldron. When I finally hit bottom, the rock released me and shot back up toward the surface, leaving me their. It was a strange place, the  cauldron. My surroundings entirely black I shouldn¡¯t have been able to even see myself, but I could. I could see my arm, my legs.


    Kneeling on the floor I looked down. It must have been transparent because I could see beyond the floor. In the distance there were these loops and hoops of lines dancing about. Some would, at times suddenly detatch themselves to whatever they were holding on to and float off like smoke rings.


    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I spun about. In front of me, floating in the darkness was a white girl. Not only was her skin white, but also her hair, her diaphanous dress and her eyes. The eyes made me uncomfortable because I couldn¡¯t really tell if she was looking at me. It is strange, that we place so much emphasis on the direction someone¡¯s pupils and iris are oriented. Without them to refer to I was rather lost.


    ¡°You talking to me?¡±


    She smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t see anyone else.¡±


    I realized how stupid my question was. Of course there was nobody else around, just me and the floating white girl. ¡°Didn¡¯t Bono come this way?¡±


    The white girl twisted up her face. ¡°Oh, him, I sent him off that way...screeching one of his terrible songs.¡±


    She waved a star-less wand in a particular direction.


    ¡°So, who are you?¡± I asked.


    She looked rather surprised. ¡°Who am I?¡± she repeated. ¡°I am who I am. You are a strange fellow. Nobody has ever bothered to ask my name before.¡±


    ¡°You must have a name. Everybody has a name, sometimes two, sometimes several.¡±


    Her brow crinkled in thought. ¡°I don¡¯t think I have a name.¡±


    My nerves were kicking in. ¡°Would you like one. I could call you The Lady in White.¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t like that song either.¡±


    ¡°A song?¡±


    She nodded her head. ¡°Everything is a song.¡± She floated down close to me and stuck the wand she was holding down through the floor. It became amazingly long, long enough that it was able to snag one of the string loops of light and pull it up through the floor. With a flourish, she waved the wand around her head and cast the loop off. It shot through the air, expanded, formed a tunnel and then after a few moments vanished. Just before it did so, I was able to see inside the tunnel¡¯s mouth. What I saw was a picture of another place. The tunnel also made music.


    ¡°Wow,¡± I said in amazement.


    ¡°I like that,¡± she said animatedly. ¡°I like Wow, will you call me that?¡±


    ¡°Ah, sure, it¡¯s just an upside down version of Mom, so, why not. So, Wow, how do I get back to the Library?¡±


    Wow, pleased with her name, spun about creating multiple images of herself against the darkness. She stopped in front of me and the images rejoined. ¡°Are you sure you want to go there first?¡±


    There was something about how she asked the question that made me hesitate. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I want to go there ¨C first? Is there some other place I should go ¨C first?¡±


    ¡°Oh, absolutely; you don¡¯t know how your dad died...not really.¡±


    ¡°You know about that?¡±


    ¡°I know about everything, I am, Wow.¡±


    ¡°You can say that again. I could always just wait for my birthday...¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t help. You don¡¯t know this part.¡±


    I was starting to lose my patience with Wow. ¡°He was in Afghanistan and died, what¡¯s there to know about? I can even give you the Faerie version. Goll killed him. Either way, he died.¡±


    She was shaking her head. ¡°Your father was the Captain of the Fianna, he gave his life for his men.¡±


    I stopped and my anger abated. That, at least made some sense. This was the first time that anyone had given me an inner snap shot of who my dad actually was, who I believed he was.


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡±


    ¡°Because, I like you, and if you want to know how to defeat Cliodhna, you have to understand your father¡¯s sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°And you can show me this?¡±


    ¡°No, you can show yourself. Just step into the tunnel.¡±


    With this, she again thrust her wand into the world beneath our feet. She fished around a bit, probing with the tip like a blind man with a walking stick. Touching a number of looping strings, she finally gave a grunt of satisfaction, and drew the looping string up through the transparent floor. Waving the wand above her head, she gave a flick and the snake like tunnel came free. I looked into the circular entrance and saw the beige world of an arid desert where dust seemed to be the predominant element. I looked at Wow.


    ¡°Trust me,¡± she sighed. ¡°Just step through.¡±


    ¡°What will I see?¡±


    ¡°Just step through. Do not worry, while you are there nothing can touch or harm you. You will be an invisible witness to the past, to the real past.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Want?¡±


    ¡°Nothing in Faerie is free,¡± I said.


    She gave me an exasperated look. ¡°We¡¯re not in Faerie. Step in, or I will send you back to the Library and Cliodhna can suck out the brains of your mother through her nasal cavity with a straw.¡±


    I stepped into the worm hole.

 Being Dad

    It was like when I was Nuada, except, this time it was much more personal, because I had become my father. It was like riding inside a vehicle except that all my senses were wired in with those of my father. I was and was not my father. It was an identity crisis that I was hoping not to face for a number of years.


    ¡°So,¡± I said in my father¡¯s voice pointing a finger at a particular spot on a big map stretched out before us.


    ¡°The Dark Wizard, is generally in this part of the compound at twenty five hundred hours.¡±


    ¡°He takes a dump, every night, right after midnight?¡± said Fiacuil. I had seen him in his wild state. Here, he had a neatly trimmed beard, a form fitting barrette and seemed much more respectable however, he still had those hungry, insane eyes.


    ¡°Our intelligence places him on the throne for one half hour, exactly.¡±


    ¡°It takes him half an hour for him to take a dump?¡± asked Fiacuil in sudden admiration. ¡°What does the guy eat?¡±


    ¡°At least we don¡¯t have to worry about him shitting himself, when we show up in the wee hours of the morning, then,¡± said Goll. There was a merry light in his eye, both his eyes.


    I smiled, or rather, my father smiled at Goll. It was odd to be smiling at the man who would kill my father. I noticed he had short cropped hair and was devoid of his man-bun. I suppose the questions about his masculinity came later.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be the least of his worries¡­¡± growled a bald soldier who was burning holes in the map with his eyes. ¡°We can¡¯t kill him, but would it matter if we broke his legs?¡±


    ¡°It would matter to me,¡± said a red haired woman whom I immediately knew as Birghid, at least she looked a lot like her.


    That was strange¡­I wonder. I looked closely at her features. She had the same sculpted nose and chin as H. I wanted to ask her if she had a sister, two sisters, but was unable to make my father¡¯s vocal cords work for me.


    ¡°Red has a point,¡± I said. ¡°No breaking legs. He¡¯ll be harder to transport, however, I don¡¯t think it would matter much if he couldn¡¯t hold a pen.¡±


    The big bald headed soldier gave a twisted, misshapen grin that made my skin crawl. This fellow must have been used to hurting people and I didn¡¯t trust him, and strangely enough neither did my dad.


    There were two other soldiers in the room, but they were back in the shadows so I couldn¡¯t see them clearly. I noticed that no one had any insignias on their black uniforms. Even so I knew my dad was their Captain. He had the easy way of someone who was confident in command, that whatever his orders were they would be followed. You would expect them to be loyal, but they weren¡¯t. I could feel the emotional misgivings of my father towards Goll, the bald fellow and the shadowy two.


    ¡°So, we go in tactical,¡± I continued to explain, ¡°drop from the helicopters here¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll be any resistance? Any traps?¡± asked Fiacuil.


    ¡°If things go the way they should,¡± I said, ¡°this should be text book.¡±


    ¡°Which means, expect traps,¡± said Goll.


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I responded. ¡°The problem is we don¡¯t know what type of traps to expect.¡±


    ¡°The Dark Wizard¡¯s dossier says he specializes in deception and illusion. He likes to play with his targets before killing them. His kill rate is exceptional,¡± said Goll with a little too much admiration I thought, as did my dad.


    ¡°So, let¡¯s hope our intelligence is secure,¡± I growled looking at Goll. ¡°Operation Dark Wizard is an in and out affair, no tourism.¡± The two soldiers in the shadows shifted.


    ¡°Yes, Captain,¡± came the gruff course of support, although I didn¡¯t believe them. My dad believed Red and Fiacuil, but not the others, not in the least.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got exactly thirty minutes before we go. So, if you have some last minute rituals you want to engage in, best do it now. Goll, I couldn¡¯t get you a goat to sacrifice, but I did get a chicken.¡±


    Goll frowned. ¡°I was hoping for a bull, Captain, but a chicken will do.¡±


    It was a joke, right. It must have been.


    I found myself alone in the dark. In my hands was a locket. I opened it and looked down. Inside were two pictures, one of my mom and one of a young boy. It felt so bizarre, to be looking at myself through my dad¡¯s eyes. There was a rustling sound of someone coming into the room, so I closed the locket and turned around.


    It was Birghid, and she did not look happy.


    ¡°Captain,¡± she said after some a halting moment.


    ¡°Spit it out, Red,¡± I said, ¡°if it were best said, it¡¯s best said now.¡±


    She grinned at that, and then the smile faded replaced by some colder purpose. ¡°They¡¯re going to try to kill you tonight.¡±


    ¡°The Dark Wizard doesn¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I mean, your men. Goll wants to be Captain, and the only way for that to happen is if you are out of the way. He¡¯s going to try to kill you, tonight.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I expected it. He always wanted to be Captain. When I was given the commission he resented it. It¡¯s an old clan feud between Baiscne and Morna. I suppose tonight is as good a time for him to try.¡±


    ¡°You knew?¡± said Birghid in surprise.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    Both of us said the next thing simultaneously: ¡°Then have him charged, arrested, thrown in jail.¡±


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    I felt my father¡¯s shoulders rise and fall, and I knew he wasn¡¯t going to listen. He draped an arm around Birghid¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Listen, my pulse, when you¡¯ve eaten of the salmon of knowledge you know a lot of things, many of which you have no idea how to prove, or to explain.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re not going to do something about it,¡± she said defiantly. ¡°I am.¡±


    I held up my hand. ¡°As Captain of the Finnan Finn, I command you to do nothing.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s going to kill you,¡± she said almost desperately now, ¡°and you¡¯re going to let him?¡±


    I had to agree with her, letting Goll kill me ¨C my dad was insane. Then I was shaking my head with silent knowledge. ¡°He will try, but he will not succeed.¡±


    ¡°The salmon told you this?¡±


    ¡°I just know it.¡± I looked down at my watch. ¡°It¡¯s time to go.¡±


    Even though Red seemed somewhat comforted, I wasn¡¯t, because somewhere deep down in my thoughts there lurk a shadowy spectre of pure malevolence and he was dragging around a big scythe.


    The flight was exhilarating. I had constantly seen the helicopters around base hovering and darting about like wasps, and the one we were in was really fast. The Black Hawk flew just above the dry earth of the wadi and then shot up over the bank into the open. We were there, hovering over the compound of the Dark Wizard. Our response was lightening. I nodded to Fiacuil and he was out and rappelling down a line. I followed, while from the other side of the helicopter dropped Goll and the other men, like spiders on a thread.


    Our night vision goggles turned everything into monochromatic shades of green. Goll and the others hit the ground and scattered, disappearing into the buildings. Their objective was to enter the compound proper and neutralize any threats.


    The comm was open and I waited for a report or the sound of gun fire. When I didn¡¯t hear either the sensation of dread flooded through my ¨C dad¡¯s body.


    ¡°Goll, come in. Can you hear me? Are you compromised?¡±


    There was nothing but the preternatural silence of white snow static.


    ¡°Something is wrong. Red, with me, Fiacuil, cover us.¡±


    ¡°Roger that,¡± growled Fiacuil. ¡°Just so that you know, I smell a trap and it stinks of  Morna not Dark Wizard.¡±


    I knew my dad agreed with his friend as we moved into the main building of the dark compound. Where were the fighters? The only reason for their absence was that we were expected. The Dark Wizard was a terrorist that most countries had been hunting for close to a decade. It was a great surprise when he was located, using spy drones, holed up in a country that was supposed to be one of our allies. My dad thought it too easy.


    According to the schematics, we would have to go up a steep stairwell to get the Dark Wizard¡¯s throne room. Outside, the helicopter circled looking for something or someone to shoot.


    Then the comm abruptly came to life with the strangely muffled sound of rifle fire. Given our proximity the shots should have sounded louder, much louder.


    ¡°They¡¯ve got us pinned down outside the throne room,¡± panted Goll. ¡°You were right. It was a trap. Soldier down, he¡¯s bleeding badly. We need Red.¡±


    I felt my father fighting the rush of adrenaline that was streaming into his veins. It took everything he could to suppress the sudden desire to rush up the stairs and into the fire fight. He knew there was more going on here than what was on the surface. The problem was his options and response was being dictated to. I wanted to scream at him not to go up those stairs, to back away and leave Goll to his fate. ¡®Get out,¡¯ I was screaming in his head, ¡®Get out, now!¡¯


    Fiacuil¡¯s voice broke in through the noise on the comm. ¡°Stay on the stairs,¡± he shouted (At least someone was making sense). ¡°I¡¯ll be there, just hold on.¡±


    Goll¡¯s panicked voice, surrounded by a hail storm of rifle fire, broke in, this time much louder and more insistent. ¡°I¡¯m hit. I¡¯m hit. They¡¯re everywhere¡­¡±


    I felt my dad¡¯s blood surge into his head, a cold fury that sent him rushing up the stairs, and into the fight. When we got into the room where the fire fight was supposed to be happening, we found ¨C nothing, absolutely nothing, except copious amounts of blood on the floor. Red skirted the wall and I walked right into the centre of the room. Fiacuil came thumping up the stairs to find us standing there.


    ¡°What¡­¡±


    Three small steps led up to the closed door of the Dark Wizard¡¯s throne room. A strange light, beams flickering into our room, emanated from beneath the door. Starting with a slight puff and then growing quickly, a rolling mist began seeping into the room, rolling down the steps. It was quickly flooding the room.  I placed my foot on the steps and reached for the door.


    ¡°Goll,¡± I said into the comm. ¡°Goll¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a trap,¡± said Fiacuil.


    I turned to him and rolled my eyes. ¡°Of course it¡¯s a trap. This entire thing is a trap, a trap within a trap within a trap.¡±


    ¡°Come again?¡± said Fiacuil.


    ¡°We should go,¡± said Red. ¡°We are way in over our heads.¡± She looked frightened.


    ¡°That may be so,¡± I said, ¡°but I never leave anyone behind, dead or alive.¡±

 Betrayal

    When I opened the door we were immediately engulfed by mist. We were swimming in it, arms reaching to pull us forward.


    ¡°This is a lot bigger than a throne room,¡± I said as we progressed.


    ¡°It¡¯s because we¡¯re no longer in Afghanistan,¡± whispered Red.


    Since they weren¡¯t helping, I lifted the night goggles from off my head. ¡°We¡¯re in Shi?¡±


    Fiacuil took a step to the side and waved his hand through the air, trying to dissipate the mist. He rubbed his foot on the ground, turning up some of the green vegetation. It was the first time we had seen green in months. ¡°I¡¯ve got to remember to put grass in my toilet back home ¨C if we get back home.¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± repeated Red irritably.


    ¡°I know, I know,¡± growled Fiacuil, ¡°we¡¯re in Shi¡¯¡­deep Shi¡¯.¡±


    Then a blue flame engulfed us, burning away almost all of the mist. We were in the middle of a meadow and a dark figure was standing in front of four men who were staked to the ground. He thrust a leg forward, gave a flourish of his hand and bowed. He was dressed in traditional afghan robes, except they were black. His face was also entirely veiled, but his hands caught my attention; they were blue, the colour of a corpse.


    ¡°Welcome, to my Throne Room,¡± said the Dark Wizard. ¡°You have come to witness the executions of the traitors?¡±


    ¡°Personally, I don¡¯t see any traitors, only terrorists.¡±


    The Dark Wizard chuckled. ¡°Your man here,¡± he motioned to Goll, ¡°has given you to me.¡±


    Goll and the big bald fellow were the only ones that seemed to be alive. The other two looked like pieces of meat burned to a crisp.


    Then I noticed we didn¡¯t have any rifles. Somehow, after entering the throne room, we had been stripped of all our equipment. ¡°Listen, why don¡¯t you give yourself up,¡± I said.


    The figure hissed spasmodically and I realized he was laughing. ¡°I knew the humour of the Great Captain of the Finnan Finn was legendary. Well met.¡±


    ¡°So, I take that as a no?¡±


    ¡°Witness the power of Aillen mac Midan a great man of Shi!¡± The creature, whatever it was, took the veil from its face and blew. Blue flames shot out of the creature¡¯s mouth, consuming the bald soldier. He screamed. The screaming seemed to go on forever and only stopped when the soldier¡¯s head flopped forward and hung chin on chest. Still, the flames licked up and around the man until he was like the other two, just a hanging piece of crisp.


    ¡°You like a show, don¡¯t you?¡± I said.


    Aillen nodded. ¡°I do. I really do. Listen, before I kill all of you, I will give you one last request.¡±


    ¡°Sounds fair, me for the lives of my remaining men, please.¡±


    Aillen scratched his head. ¡°Your audacity amazes me. We are in Shi¡¯, here, I am all powerful, while you have nothing to bargain with. Why should I let any of you go?¡±


    ¡°Because I said, please?¡±


    There was nothing we could do. Goll was going to be next, and then we would join them. One by one we would die. I could see it right before my eyes all variations of death, except one. While all of the possible outcomes involved dying, there was one that limited it.


    Then I understood. I understood how my dad had died, and I understood how Goll had gotten the rap for killing him. I knew what dad was going to do, because it was probably something I would do myself.


    Aillen took another deep breath, intent on spewing his fire over all of us, but Goll stopped him.


    ¡°My eye,¡± he shouted. ¡°Take my eye.¡±


    Aillen stopped. He leaned in curiously examining Goll¡¯s eye. ¡°Why should I want your eye?¡± He touched it with a claw like finger. ¡°If I wanted it, I could take it.¡±


    ¡°It would be no good to you. It¡¯s magic, it has to be freely given.¡±


    ¡°A magic eye?¡± Aillen pondered. ¡°What does it do?¡±


    ¡°It allows you to see what your enemy is going to do.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very useful...and what do you want in exchange?¡±


    His eyes darted to me and then back to Aillen. He licked his dry lips. ¡°I want to be Captain of the Finnan Finn.¡±


    ¡°You traitor,¡± bellowed Fiacuil who made to charge the staked man, but Aillen stopped him with a flick of his hand.


    ¡°Considering I was going to kill you all, it seems you just may come out of this. How do you give this to me?¡±


    ¡°You have to pry it out, with my permission.¡±


    ¡°And do I have your permission?¡±


    ¡°You do.¡±


    I was watching the dialogue between Goll and Aillen carefully. There was something that my dad didn¡¯t believe. Then I knew what my dad was thinking. Goll had honour. He would never have someone do his work for him.


    ¡°Take your fingers...¡±


    Goll had intended to kicked the Dark Wizard between the legs, but Aillen moved too fast, his dirty blue hand and claw like nails struck, digging out Goll¡¯s eye. He screamed in pain and kicked. The Dark Wizard folded forward and Goll head butted him.


    I was on Aillen, pounding him with all the energy I could muster. Red and Fiacuil cut Goll free and were now in the process of helping him into the mist that was, blessedly, returning.


    I knew it was coming, I could feel the heat building, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. Red had managed to take Goll back into the mist, but Fiacuil hesitated and turned back.


    ¡°Go,¡± I shouted. ¡°You are bound to obey me, go, now.¡±


    And with that the blue flames from the Dark Wizard engulfed me, and I died...well, my dad did. The pain was beyond words.


    I stood on the clear black floor at the bottom of the cauldron and stared beyond my feet at the glowing loops of light.


    ¡°You should have left me there,¡± I said feeling the tears wet against my face.


    Wow touched me tentatively on my shoulder. ¡°What purpose would that have served?¡±


    ¡°It would have felt real.¡±


    ¡°Real?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°It¡¯s all right. I don¡¯t expect you to understand.¡± I took a big cleansing breath and tried to rid myself of the shakes. I hardened my resolve. ¡°So, how is this supposed to help me defeat Cliodhna?¡±


    ¡°Cliodhna is going to use the Dark Wizard against those in the Library. You will face both of them.¡±


    I must have looked stunned.


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    ¡°Are you all right?¡± asked Wow.


    ¡°Oh, yeah, fine. I¡¯m just great. Not only did I witness my dad die, I felt it, so, yeah, I feel great, top of the morning, is that how you say things in Faerie? So, tell me, how am I supposed to defeat an inter-dimensional terrorist and an insane Queen at the same time?¡±


    Wow shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me, I just play with the space-time continuum. You will have to ask someone else.¡±


    ¡°Who,¡± I looked around. ¡°Who¡­¡± and then I saw her off in the distance, walking towards us, H.


    I couldn¡¯t help but think how similar she and Red looked. Stupidly I said, ¡°Hi.¡±


    ¡°Hi,¡± she answered back. She had a big, bulky cape about her shoulders and was carrying a very large spear that stank like something that had been decomposing for about a month.


    ¡°Thought I lost you,¡± I said with a dry, cracking voice.


    ¡°You did,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to be here, you know, visa restrictions.¡±


    ¡°I thought so. So this is it, right, where we say goodbye. I¡¯m surprised your mom let you...¡±


    ¡°She didn¡¯t, neither my mom nor dad know. Semias let me in.¡±


    I was shocked that the twisted little Formorian would do anything that resembled kindness. ¡°I thought he hated me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he hates everyone.¡±


    ¡°Then how?¡±


    ¡°I snuck him a piece of cheesecake out of the kitchen,¡± she explained, ¡°something that is strictly forbidden by my mom.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t like people eating dessert?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s lactose intolerant.¡± She gave me a mischievous smile. ¡°The place will stink for a month.¡±


    ¡°What are you going to do, for a month?¡± I was avoiding the parting, saying anything I was tossed.


    ¡°Birghid and I are going to visit our sister. She¡¯s on some humanitarian effort on the far side of Shi¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Red?¡±


    H looked as though she had been hit over the head with a pole. ¡°Nobody uses her nickname, not since¡­¡±


    ¡°My dad died. I know, Wow made me live through the entire thing.¡±


    ¡°Wow?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I felt distinctly uncomfortable beneath H¡¯s gaze, as though I had to explain myself. ¡°She didn¡¯t have a name, so I thought I¡¯d give her one.¡±


    ¡°Wow?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me. She picked it.¡±


    The white girl was dancing about the darkness waving her wand and singing, ¡°I am Wow, Wow am I. I am totally, Wow.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± I said slightly embarrassed. ¡°You¡¯re wearing an oversized cape and carrying a spear that smells like a latrine because¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± said H handing me the spear so that she could unclasp the cape from her shoulders. ¡°They¡¯re gifts.¡±


    I looked at the stinking spear and hefted it. It felt familiar. ¡°I know this spear, although it didn¡¯t stink at the time.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the spear you killed Kerry with. It only started to stink because it has reverted to its true nature before Fiacuil¡¯s leprechaun enchanted it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true nature?¡±


    ¡°It stinks.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°And here is the cape.¡±


    I took it tentatively in one hand. H made sure it went around my shoulders and fastened it with a circular silver broach whose tongue was shaped in the form of a flame. It felt nice having her so close.


    ¡°I never told you this, but I¡¯m really not the super hero type.¡±


    Wow was now entering into the hundredth chorus about being so wonderful.


    H gave me a playful slap. ¡°It¡¯s designed to absorb fire. You¡¯ll need it when you face Aillen mac Midna.¡±


    I was a bit stunned. ¡°You know about him?¡±


    ¡°Red told me.¡±


    Suddenly the stench of the spear didn¡¯t bother me anymore. ¡°You knew how my dad died?¡±


    H sensed the change in my mood and stepped back. ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°And you thought it was something that I was totally uninterested in?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my story to tell.¡±


    I felt myself go cold. Suddenly I was unsure of my feelings for H. She was The Morrigan¡¯s daughter, and in crept the suspicion that maybe I shouldn¡¯t trust her. If she had kept this from me what else was there? When The Morrigan called in her IOU with H, would she be asked to kill someone I cared about?


    Wow skipped by singing: ¡°Die Tochter felt nicht vom dem baum, Die Tochter, Die Tochter¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s speaking German now?¡± I said. I threw my hands up in the air. ¡°Thanks, I mean, thanks a lot for the gifts, but I better get going now¡­¡±


    H stared at me defiantly. ¡°Listen, I¡¯m not going to apologize for who I am, or what I have to do to survive. I didn¡¯t tell you because you weren¡¯t ready.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, really. I don¡¯t mean to fault you. I wish you could renew your visa. But, hey, look at it this way, it¡¯s almost my birthday, so I might be coming to visit.¡±


    She gave me a kiss on the cheek. ¡°Listen, don¡¯t take this personally, but I hope you decide not to.¡±


    ¡°I have a choice in it?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°You have the blood of Shi¡¯ in your veins, but you also have mortal blood.¡±


    ¡°Listen, if I can, I¡¯ll come back and force The Morrigan to renew your visa.¡±


    She just stared at me and shook her head in awe. ¡°I am so glad you don¡¯t really know how things work. It¡¯s kind of ...refreshing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nice. I thought you were going to say, endearingly stupid.¡±


    ¡°I was.¡±


    I turned my back on H and regarded the white girl. ¡°Wow, I¡¯ve decided I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°Ready, steady, freddy¡­¡± she reached down through the floor hooked a loop and pulled it up. Waving it above her head she created an undulating tunnel. In the mouth of it I saw the Library. I couldn¡¯t leave without looking back, but when I did H was no longer there.


    I hefted the spear feeling murderous. It was time for The Dark Wizard to take his spear back¡­How did I know that? Someone must have told me that it was Aillen mac Midna, The Dark Wizard¡¯s spear.  Even though I, as my dad, had commanded Fiacuil to leave, something told me he hadn¡¯t. I would have to ask him when I saw him again...if I saw him again.

 Blobby

    After the motion sickness of hurtling through space and time subsided, I arrived, cape around my shoulders and stinking spear in hand, into a place that was entirely dark. I hoped it was the library. Wow said I was being sent to the Library, but really I could have been anywhere, perhaps in someone¡¯s musty old closet. The problem was in the dark there was no reference point to make up my mind about anything.


    Then my mind froze. Either I was in a room that was entirely devoid of light or I was blind. I heard something rustling over in the corner and leveled the spear in that direction. Whatever it was it moved from one side of the room to the other and I tried to follow it with my spear. The rustling sound was more like a blubbering, the sound that jello might make if it were able to move.


    ¡°It would help,¡± said a thick blubbering voice, ¡°if you stopped pointing your spear at me.¡±


    ¡°It would help if I could see,¡± I returned.


    ¡°The spear scares me,¡± whined the voice pathetically.


    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll stop pointing it if you just give me some light.¡±


    ¡°It stinks.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do anything about its smell.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± said the full voice testily.


    In the center of the room a luminescent blue glow began to pulse, becoming brighter and brighter.. Although I was relieved to know I wasn¡¯t blind, it was what I was seeing that made me gape. The light was coming from a transparent, gelatinous mass that vaguely looked humanoid. It looked like one of those fruit-jello salads that only people beyond the age of sixty still make. But what truly caught my attention was my mother stretched out like Snow White in a glass coffin on a table. The blob held out a bucket of goo.


    ¡°Could you put the head of the spear in this,¡± said Blue Blobby.


    I figured if the creature was going to attack me, it would have done so by now, then I recognized it, or at least I recognized the iridescent slime that was dripping from its hand onto the floor.


    ¡°You grabbed me; put that slime all over me.¡±


    Blobby looked a little embarrassed, if that was possible for a blob. Its orifice I took for a mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Its eyes, which didn¡¯t have any lids, just stared at me in a white, unblinking gaze.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he blubbered.


    I slid the spear head into the pail of goo it had set on the floor, assured by the fact that people who say sorry rarely attacked, except  instances in eastern literature...  Immediately the stench left the room.


    Blobby smiled. ¡°Ahh, that¡¯s better.¡±


    I glanced at my mom. Sherlock had said he was going to place her into the vault in the basement of the library. This must be where we were.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, she is alive.¡±


    This made me relax a bit. ¡°Listen, no offence, but what are you?¡±


    ¡°What am I?¡± said Blobby a little offended. ¡°I am The Archivist.¡± He waited as though such an announcement should have triggered some type of recognition.


    ¡°Sorry¡­I thought Sherlock was The Archivist¡­¡±


    ¡°Ciabhan,¡± scoffed Blobby, the only thing he cares about is Cliodhna, and clothes. He really likes his clothes, and your red surge jacket. He hasn¡¯t taken it off.¡±


    ¡°What do you know about my jacket?¡±


    Blobby gave me a toothless grin and waved a blobby arm that suddenly extended from the gelatinous mass. ¡°It is, after all, my job.¡±


    The luminescent glow spread throughout the room making it brighter. The walls were honeycombed with little shelves, each containing a small sphere the size of a jaw breaker. I looked up. The vault didn¡¯t seem to have any ceiling.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of marbles.¡±


    Blobby screwed up his face in distaste, which made him look rather funny. ¡°They are the Archives, and like I said,¡± he puffed out his chest, ¡°I am The Archivist.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, all I see are marbles.¡±


    Blobby gave an exasperated groan and rolled over to the wall and absorbed one of the marbles through his hand and into his body. Suddenly, his eyes started to glow, projecting onto the wall a moving picture in full Technicolor. He opened his mouth and out issued a sound track. It was of me, Sherlock and Cliodhna, our limbs all tangled up. It was just before Sherlock broke away and H, in her panther form, knocked us, comically, into the worm hole.


    ¡°The sounds don¡¯t match our mouths,¡± I pointed out.


    Blobby gave his head a whack and the sounds synchronized with our mouths. He was silently giggling away, the jiggles of his laughter shaking his entire body. The projector lights went out and Blobby spit out the marble and put it back into the honey comb.


    ¡°You¡¯re very funny to watch.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not keeping that, are you?¡±


    ¡°It has value. I don¡¯t keep random memory images, only the ones that have value¡­¡±


    Then a thought occurred to me. Maybe Blobby had something that would help in my fight against Cliohdna and the terrorist Aillen.


    ¡°I thought the vault was just a portal into Faerie.¡±


    Blobby seemed to think about this for a moment. ¡°Places of great power are often places where the space time continuum tare, so yes, I suppose the vault could be used as a portal, but that¡¯s not the prime purpose.¡±


    ¡°Which is to save videos of me making a fool of myself?¡±


    Blobby seemed to blush purple.  ¡°You underestimate your importance...¡± he said defensively.


    Beside my mom¡¯s glass coffin, I could just barely make out the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest.


    ¡°So, why the glass case?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that. I don¡¯t know it¡¯s something that the druid Lia Luachra insisted on. She said it would extend her life until you got back.¡±


    The rotund image of my aunt leapt into my mind: chasing me about an old oak tree whip in hand. At least she allowed me to return the favour.


    ¡°You look concerned,¡± said Blobby.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Unless you have something that can help me against Cliohdna and Aillen, I¡¯m afraid things look rather bleak.¡±


    ¡°Should that matter to me?¡± said the Blob.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. You tell me. What do you think will happen if Cliodhna takes possession of the vault?¡±


    Blobby jiggled there in silence, and then the jiggling intensified until its flesh, or jello was rippling back and forth like a tsunami.


    ¡°Whoa, big fellow,¡± I said in a forceful but hopefully calming tone.


    Eventually Blobby did calm down. ¡°Sorry, the permutations of what you suggest are horrendous.¡± He slimed his way over to the wall. Stretching out until he was twice his normal height, he reached up and to the left where he absorbed a particularly bright blue marble. His eyes flicked on beaming brilliant images and I watched the wall.


    It was Cliodhna as I had never seen her. She was happy, radiantly happy. If something could ever embody the word love, it would have been her image. She was radiating it, and the one basking in it was Ciabhan. He was youthful, strong and like her...happy. They were standing on the shore of some river, or lake somewhere. It looked like they needed to get across the water to an island.


    Ciabhan, laughing, lifted Cliodhna up into his arms and began to wade into the water. I suppose they were going to swim to the island. When they were chest deep and beginning to swim the lake became rough. A slight breeze turned into a stiff wind, which became a raging torrent. The water became a field of white capped waves. I had the suspicion that the increase of the wind was no natural event. It felt supernatural.


    The waves pounded onto the two diminutive forms in an attempt to drown them, but even so they would have made it to the island, except for the supernatural. Curling and running fast over the surface of the water an enormous wave caught them, rose up and crashed down on them. When the wind suddenly died and the waves abated Cliodhna was gone and Ciabhan was alone.


    I was just about to ask what happened, when Blobby grabbed another marble and popped it into his mouth. His eyes blazed up again.


    Cliodhna was searching, searching. She searched on land, on the seas, on mountain tops. Always the object of her search was the same: Ciabhan. It was pathetic and sad. She would catch glimpses of him in the distance, but when she got there he would be gone. This happened again and again and all the while like some sinister background music playing, a man was laughing. Slowly, Cliodhna went mad.


    I had suspected that Cliodhna was the villan, but all along she had been manipulated. By who, I didn''t know.


    The wall went blank.


    ¡°How do you defeat someone who is a goddess and is mad?¡± I whispered into the dark.


    ¡°Remove their madness,¡± said a voice from the glass coffin. I tmade my skin crawl.


    ¡°Blobby,¡± I said urgently, ¡°could you get some light on over here.¡±


    A blue luminescence sprung up out of the dark to shine around my mom. Blobby was blowing his nose into a stained hanky. He looked at me all bleary eyed. ¡°I hate sad endings.¡±


    The glass coffin had vanished and I slipped my arm under my mother¡¯s head, propping it up. She opened her eyes and smiled. ¡°You can¡¯t defeat a goddess. Even if you manage to kill them, they come back in another form.¡±


    ¡°Like Cliodhna?¡±


    She gave a weak nod. ¡°Yes. You have to remove her madness, then you have an ally, like Dagda.¡±


    ¡°How do you know about Dagda?¡± I asked her and then looked at Blobby who was staring at his nobby blue feet.


    ¡°He¡¯s one of your biggest fans,¡± whispered my mom.


    ¡°Blobby, how long have you been spying on me?¡± I demanded forcefully.


    ¡°I¡­I¡­am The Archivist.¡±


    ¡°More a voyeur,¡± I mumbled to my mom who smiled. ¡°Any ideas on how to deal with Aillen?¡±


    The door to the vault opened then. We squinted. Back lit by bright light stood the tall, thin silhouette of Sherlock, and the short round one of Aunt Lia. They stood back to back...more waste to back. I expected the theme song to ¡®The good, the bad and the ugly,¡¯ to start playing. If Sherlock was good and Aunt Lia was bad, I suppose that left me, ugly. I felt ugly, deathly ugly. Someone was going to pay for all this.


    ¡°Why, Fionn,¡± said aunt Lia, ¡°you just stick the pointy end of that foul spear in his black heart.¡±


    Blobby was blowing bubbles and throwing confetti up into the air. He was blubbering around uncontrollably, blowing a party horn that he had made out of his gelatinous lips.


    ¡°What¡¯s up with him?¡±


    Sherlock smiled. ¡°Why, he¡¯s happy. Besides, it¡¯s your birthday, the vault is open and your mother is recovering.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my birthday?¡± I said rather stunned.


    Even though my mom had swung her legs over the side of the platform that had supported her coffin, she still looked rather tired. She placed an arm around my shoulder for support as aunt Lia joined us. She was staring at me rather expectantly.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°Am I supposed to feel different?¡±


    She pulled out an ogham wand and rapped me over the head, rather sharply. ¡°Well?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Sorry. Is it supposed to come all rushing back?¡±


    ¡°You are supposed to remember something, at least...¡± said aunt Lia in a rather frustrated voice.


    Sherlock stepped up to me. He was still wearing my red surge jacket, with a few added stains. His braided beard and been thrown back over his shoulder to keep it out of the way. Setting his half moon spectacles on the end of his nose, he pealed back my eye lid and waved a pen light, its beam nearly blinding me. He gave a few observational grunts.


    ¡°What?¡± I said.


    He flicked off the pen light. ¡°Well, you don¡¯t have a concussion.¡±


    I grabbed the haft of the spear and went to pull it out of the bucket of goo. ¡°So, how to¡­¡± Then an image flashed into my mind of an island in a lake. I was going to say ¡®heal Cliodhna.¡¯


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Will?¡± asked my mom.


    ¡°I was just thinking about how to heal Cliodhna and I got this image of a lake and an island.¡±


    Sherlock¡¯s face went white. ¡°That¡¯s Loch Maree. It¡¯s where we were separated. We were trying to get to the island and drink from the spring there. It¡¯s the only protection against madness.¡±

 Captain of The Finnan Finn

    It was impossible to tell that we were under siege, but we were. James and Sasarana kept glancing apprehensively out the windows. Sherlock was standing nonchalantly running a lint roller over my red surge jacket.


    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t mind me wearing your jacket?¡±


    I shook my head. There were other things to be concerned with, like Cliodhna and Aillen. ¡°So, you¡¯re sure she¡¯ll come?¡±


    He nodded and glanced up at the long, angular open window. ¡°You hear that?¡±


    I tilted my head toward the window. ¡°What? I don¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    ¡°Exactly, it is the calm before the storm, the great breath before the dive. She will come for us. It is what she does.¡± The roller picked up a long strand of black hair off his arm sleeve. He held it up to the light. ¡°Strange, for two people destined to be together, we have never been permitted to be together. As soon as we try,¡± he made an expressive movement with his hand, ¡°poof, something happens.¡±


    ¡°What I can¡¯t figure out, is why she wants to kill my mom so badly.¡±


    Sherlock shrugged. ¡°She¡¯s insane. Don¡¯t expect to apply logic to someone who is mad. I suppose she has to kill someone.¡±


    ¡°Yet, you still love her?¡±


    Placing the roller down, he moved to his books shelves looking decidedly uncomfortable. He pulled down a book, licked his finger and began thumbing through it. Closing it he stared at me.


    ¡°What is worse than pursuing a love that you have been denied?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Having it finally given to you. That is the great terror, because, in that moment, what if, what if you look into her eyes, or she looks into yours and you both realize love is dead.¡±


    ¡°It beats having her kill my mom.¡±


    ¡°Touch¨¦, young man, touch¨¦. I should have found a way to resolve this sooner than now. The problem is I am simply a coward.¡±


    ¡°So, every time you two try to get together this Manannan stops you?¡±


    Sherlock looked tragically sad. ¡°Yes, although, part of me doubts that it is Manannan at all. There¡¯s a darker feel to him. Usually Manannan is generally a sunny fellow, but really self absorbed. Likes to look at himself a lot, if you know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he got against you two?


    ¡°I really don¡¯t know. Everything in this world is, generally, of normal proportions: anger, jealousy, love, friendship. For some reason in Faerie, or Shi¡¯ the portions become enormous.  Anger becomes murderous, love becomes fanatical. It infects the soul, that¡¯s why the system of visas was created, to counteract the madness.¡±


    Sherlock stopped and looked wistfully out the window. ¡°But I did love her, and I still do. It¡¯s not her fault that Manannan has driven her mad.¡±


    ¡°Then just go to her,¡± I proposed.


    ¡°If I did,¡± Sherlock explained, ¡°something would happen to separate us. It always does.¡± He sniffed the air. ¡°Do you smell something burning?¡±


    ¡°Aillen,¡± I said jumping out of my chair and reaching for the spear I had left propped up against the bookshelf. The Dark Wizard had arrived.


    Outside a voice yelled. ¡°I know you¡¯re in there, Fionn, son of Uail. Come out and meet your destiny.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s one terrorist too many,¡± I said bracingly. My father¡¯s memory and death were still fresh in my mind. Ii made me angry, so angry that I had to restrain myself from grabbing the spear and running out to confront Aillen. ¡°So it¡¯s going to be a tag team match. Where do you think Cliodhna might be?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll be watching. Looking for her opportunity to breach Lia¡¯s defences, then she¡¯ll make for your mom. She will use Ailen to distract us.¡± Sherlock was settling a white pith helmet on his head. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    ¡°You look like Sergeant Pepper. Any words of advice before we face the great man of Shi¡¯?¡±


    Sherlock was examining me with a curious expression on his face. ¡°You know, you¡¯re father was the same way.¡±


    ¡°Same way?¡±


    ¡°When faced with inevitable death, he could always laugh.¡± He reached out and picked up an umbrella that had been leaning up against his desk.


    ¡°You worried it¡¯s going to rain?¡±


    He snapped it open and peaked out from behind it. ¡°It¡¯s fire proof, sword proof, spear proof and insane proof.¡±


    I was about to say he didn¡¯t have to come with me, but truth be told, I was rather grateful he was coming along.  I should have been terrified, but I was clam and determined. Ailen had killed me (my dad) once, I wasn¡¯t about to let it happen again. I just had to figure out how. Hopefully something would come to me.


    We left the office. Sasarana and James had barricaded the front doors with stacks of  books. They crouched behind them, holding brooms as they would rifles. James had a colander on his head. Aunt Lia and my mom were standing behind them. They all turned when they saw us come out of Sherlock¡¯s office.


    My mom gave me a worried gasp and she whispered, ¡°He¡¯s here.¡± But there was a flinty harshness to her eyes, a cry for vengeance and expectation. She was counting on me, and I suppose that made me feel brave.


    ¡°James, what are you going to do with that broom?¡± I quipped.


    He turned around, the broom pointed at me. Aunt Lia swatted him on the head. ¡°Point it out wards you silly boy. You could hurt someone with it.¡±


    ¡°With a broom?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I think I hear someone at the back door,¡± said Sasarana so mildly that nobody heard her. Nor did they notice her leave.


    ¡°Yes, a broom. I¡¯ve enchanted them so that they shoot slivers.¡±


    James flinched. He must have accidentally pressed a hidden trigger because the broom went off. A book in its path caught the wooden projectile that was traveling at such a speed that the book exploded into shards of paper.


    ¡°So,¡± snapped aunt Lia giving James a dirty look and turning to me. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°I walk out there and plant this into Aillen¡¯s chest,¡± I explained.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been talking to Dagda, haven¡¯t you?¡± snapped aunt Lia. ¡°Of all the bone headed¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going with him,¡± said Sherlock. ¡°He won¡¯t try to kill us right away. Cliodhna, who is most surely watching, will want to know why we are both putting ourselves at risk.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come...¡± said my mom.


    Aunt Lia slapped herself against the head. ¡°Is the world going mad or are you all just daft? That¡¯s exactly what she wants you to do. She¡¯s shaking this placed so that we go scurrying out. Then they can pick us off one person at a time.¡±


    ¡°I think that is very apparent to all of us,¡± said Sherlock down his nose, ¡°but, do you have a better idea?¡±


    Aunt Lia took a huffy breath and then as though she was getting ready for a good blow, just let the air out in a sighing breath of defeat. ¡°No, I don¡¯t, but there has to be another way.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°There is,¡± said a familiar voice behind us. We all turned, and standing there, dressed in black leather, holding a helmet in the crook of his arm, man-bun poised on top of his head was Goll Mor mac Morna, and he wasn¡¯t alone.


    In front of Goll and his brothers stood the diminutive figure of Sasarana. With her neat dress and neatly folded flower pattern hijab she looked distinctly out of place. ¡°So,¡± she said in her gentle voice and mild accent, ¡°nobody heard the back door, so, I just let them in¡­¡±


    Aunt Lia raged. ¡°You let them in,¡± she howled. ¡°You let the wolf pack into the den of rabbits.¡± She thrust herself  in front of Goll, stretching up on her toe tips so that her wand could reach his chin. ¡°Just give me a reason not too¡­you murderous traitor¡­¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t kill dad,¡± I said placing a hand on her arm, which was trembling. She lowered it slightly.


    ¡°What are you talking about, he¡¯s a traitor,¡± she spat out.


    ¡°I¡¯m not even sure of that,¡± I said remembering the entire ambush. ¡°He wanted to be Captain of the Finnan Finn, but it was Aillen who killed dad.¡± I turned my full focus on Goll. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Goll was wearing an eye patch and behind him were four extremely large bikers. I recognized Kelly from Cliodhna¡¯s bar, flexing his big arms with his MOM tattoo imprinted on it. I didn¡¯t need any introductions to the others. Somehow, I knew them. The big bald fellow was Cona¡¯n the profane, and then there was Garra Duv, the rough, and Art Og, the savage. They were the type to encourage anyone to cross the street to avoid them.


    I mentioned them by name and they begrudgingly nodded their heads. I noticed they were taking their cue from Goll. He was searching my face almost as though he was looking for my father there.


    ¡°You know, don¡¯t you,¡± his voice was dry and cracked.


    The library was so tense that I thought it might go up in flames any second. I had to do something to take things down a notch or two. ¡°What you told Aillen, when you went into the compound with Uail...was your eye magic? Could it see what your enemies were plotting?¡±


    The murderous bunch of bikers just stared and little Sasarana slipped out of their way. I tightened my grip on the spear. Then Goll was on me, pulling me into his grasp and pounding me on the back like some long lost brother. Cona¡¯n was swearing good naturedly and  Garra and Art gave approving grunts. Kelly had picked up a cook book on vegan cooking and was leafing through it. The tension was gone. Somehow my comment had defused the potential bomb.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you know, my pulse, but you know and that¡¯s all that matters.¡±


    ¡°So, was it magic?¡±


    ¡°No, what was magic though, is that any of us got out of there alive. Your da saved us.¡±


    Aillen screeched again from outside threatening to burn us to cinders if we didn¡¯t submit. Goll gave Cona¡¯n a glance. ¡°I¡¯m thinking that if that brave man of Shi¡¯ wants to be tossing us threats, we should toss a few curses back at him, eh, Cona¡¯n?¡±


    Goll¡¯s brother grinned and waded through the barricade of books, opened the front doors and started cursing at Aillen. The town once had a contest for Town Criers, and I thought they were loud. Cona¡¯n, the profane would have had them weeping on the sides of the road. I was quickly learning that there was a great difference between simple profanity and creatively obscenity. It was easy to tell someone to go ¡®do¡¯ something to himself, but the description of Cona¡¯n¡¯s doing was pure art. Aunt Lia, blushing red, placed her hands over little Sasarana¡¯s ears.


    Garra and Art looked on expressionless. Kelly was sitting in one of the big wing backed chairs thumbing through the cooking magazine.


    ¡°Goll,¡± he called out. ¡°There¡¯s a great recipe in her for barbeque chicken. They say the secret is in the marinade.¡±


    Goll was still staring at me. ¡°Fionn, our great man of Shi¡¯ has marinated long enough don¡¯t you think.¡±


    I tightened my grasp my spear and nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s go have a barbeque.¡±


    ¡°Art, Garra, you stay with Cona¡¯n. I¡¯ll take Fionn and Ciabhan out the back door.¡±


    My mother and aunt Lia moved to follow, but Goll stopped them. ¡°My apologies, my Lady, but this is something Fionn has to do himself.¡±


    My mother was about to say something, but Lia said, ¡°He¡¯s right. This is his.¡±


    ¡°He was my husband,¡± snapped my mother. ¡°I need to see him dealt with.¡±


    Goll gave a terse nod. ¡°Just keep her safe, druid.¡± I got from his tone that he must not like druids.


    We went down the stairs through the children¡¯s department and out the back door.


    ¡°I thought,¡± said Sherlock, ¡°that Cliodhna would have had the back watched.¡±


    Outside, stretched out on the parking lot, were Sammy Davis Junior and Dean Martin. Goll kicked one as he went by. ¡°The back entrance was watched, but Garra treated them to a little play.¡±


    Goll glanced over at Kelly who was still reading the magazine as he followed. ¡°Could you put that thing away; we have business to deal with.¡±


    Kelly gave a sigh and rolled it up stuffing it into his pants. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Goll looked at me and waited.


    ¡°What?¡± It was a little unnerving having him stare at me out of that one eye of his. It was a strange eye, deep and dark, but the light of humour and expectation danced in it. It made me want to say something stupid in the hopes that it would be funny.


    ¡°The Captaincy of the Finnan Finn is yours.¡±


    ¡°You wanted it,¡± I reminded him. ¡°You wanted to take it from my father.¡±


    ¡°I did at that. I wanted to fight him for it. I am a lot of things, but I¡¯m no traitor who stabs a man in the back. After we had taken Aillen, I would have challenged him in front of everyone, so that there would no dispute.¡±


    ¡°And you would have killed him, if you could?¡±


    ¡°As Uail would have done to me. It is the way of the Finnan Finn, always has, always will.¡±


    ¡°Now, you want to give it to me?¡±


    ¡°No, of course not,¡± he said testily, ¡°It¡¯s yours because you won it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± said my mom. ¡°You were there, with Uail when he died. I can see it in your eyes. Somehow you were there.¡±


    ¡°And that makes you¡­¡± continued aunt Lia.


    ¡°The Captain of  The Finnan Finn,¡± I finished, ¡°which you and your brothers are part of?¡±


    ¡°No, there are others, but they have to be summoned by their Captain. So, how are we going to deal with Aillen?¡± demanded Goll impatiently. I realized he wanted the Dark Wizard dead as much as I did.


    I looked down at the spear, and looked up at Goll. A plan suddenly leapt, full formed into my head. ¡°So, how accurate can you throw this thing?¡±


    Goll smiled, which I took for a good sign.

 Show Down...Again

    It was all coming to an end, I could feel it. Behind me, secreted in the trees surrounding the Library was Goll, Sherlock, aunt Lia and my mom, but I had no sense of illusion. I was going to face Aillen alone, and they would make sure Cliodhna didn¡¯t stab me in the back while I did it, which of course, she was planning to do.


    ¡°Aillen,¡± I shouted arms held low and wide to show him I didn¡¯t have any weapons. ¡°We have unfinished business.¡±


    The Dark Wizard was dressed, as usual, entirely in black. He was holding a crooked staff, which he promptly pointed at me.


    ¡°You have offended a Queen,¡± he shouted defiantly.


    I strolled down to road where Aillen stood. His face, like his hands, was a deathly blue in colour. Although his purple lips reminded me of frozen food, his eyes blazed with an electric glow. I noticed that there were wisps of steam coming from his body. Even several feet from him I could feel the heat radiating.


    ¡°So, which Queen have I offended?¡±


    He squinted and his eyes hardened in suspicion. ¡°You know which one.¡±


    ¡°And for that I must die right? Is that all you creatures from Shi¡¯ do, is kill? I mean don¡¯t you guys ever take a holiday or something. Maybe, you say: ¡®Oh, Mable, I think we should take the kiddies to Disney Land, you know, the new one, where they have no killing, only amusement rides and over priced fast food. Maybe, after we¡¯ll take them to Marine World and watch the Killer Whales just swim. Wouldn¡¯t that be novel, whales not killing?¡±


    Aillen seemed a little put off and confused with my references. Obviously terrorists didn¡¯t like to take any time off. I knew he was expecting me to fight, to come storming out and engage him full on. The approach I was taking was confusing him.


    ¡°You hear the one about the Doctor from Faerie. He had one treatment for everything: Broken back, shot it, broken leg, shoot it, split ends, shoot it.¡±


    ¡°Split ends?¡± he asked bewildered. ¡°What are split ends?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair,¡± yelled Cliodhna stepping out from behind the bank, down by the lights. She gave me a crooked smile and forced her face to hold it. ¡°Poor Aillen is out of sorts. You can¡¯t make him think of options.¡± She wagged her finger at me like I was a naughty boy. ¡°You are muddying the water.¡± She stopped and looked around her suddenly realizing her white and black servants were no longer there. ¡°Where are Sammy and Dean?¡± she yelled. ¡°Where is salt and pepper?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I think you¡¯ll find them taking a nap on the pavement behind the Library,¡± said Sherlock stepping in beside me. His timing was impeccable, but it was wrong. He was supposed to wait until we had dealt with Aillen, then he could step in and play hero.


    ¡°What are you doing,¡± I hissed at him. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it will protect both of us.¡±


    He was leaning on his umbrella. ¡°I doubt it would, my dear boy.¡±


    Cliodhna was glaring at Sherlock. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she said suspiciously. ¡°Ciabhan, you come to me of your own free will?¡±


    ¡°It was never my idea to be separated from you, my love. There is a power, greater than both of us that holds us apart. Unrequited love is better than love lost. I keep away from you to spare you your heart.¡±


    ¡°I have no heart,¡± said Cliodhna in a bitter and broken voice. ¡°It was ripped from my chest along with hope. Yet, you come to me now?¡±


    I felt Sherlock¡¯s hand on my shoulder. ¡°Trust in hope, my pulse. It is said that when The Captain of The Finnan Finn returns then shall the spring flowers of Erin show their glorious faces to the sun.¡±


    Aillen snarled, spitting flames. He wasn¡¯t going to have anything to do with the ¡®love in¡¯ Sherlock was trying to create.


    I knocked Sherlock out of the way and pulled my cape in over my head and in front of our bodies. As fast as I was, Sherlock was faster, he had pressed the button on his umbrella and it had opened in a great protective canopy. The blue flames bellowed over us, threatening to curve around our protection but never quite managing it. Apparently, Aillen had improved his fire power. Alone, there would have been no way my cape would have been able to withstand the flames. Sherlock was grimacing as the force of the flames pressed in on us.


    ¡°When the flames let up,¡± I told him. He wasn¡¯t supposed to be here. His part was later. I couldn¡¯t let the old fellow go up in flames. ¡°Run for Cliodhna.¡±


    It was strange, because as the flames pushed in on us and curled around, I noticed the traffic lights. Like before they were stuck on red, then they turned amber. Was I doing it again, like H suggested? Was I creating another worm hole? Were we causing another tare in the fabric of space and time?


    I could feel the flames backing off, becoming lighter, the heat becoming less intense.


    ¡°Now,¡± I shouted dropping to the sidewalk.


    Sherlock stumbled away like Mary Poppins, using his umbrella to balance himself with.


    It was close, so close that I had the flashing thought that Goll indeed still wanted to be the Captain of  The Finnan Finn. The spear whistled by my face and buried itself into the chest of The Brave Man of Shi¡¯, into the heart of the interdimensional terrorist Aillen¡­..The Dark Wizard. My dad had been avenged.


    I stood over the creature as he died, and watched as the life left his eyes which became black pools of nothing. But before he passed, I made sure he heard me. I whispered into his ear: ¡°I am Fionn, the son of Uail mac Baiscne, and we have returned your spear.¡±


    Then he died.


    And of course, Cliodhna screamed. It was so full of anger and grief that I had to cover my ears. The lights at the intersection changed from red to green and the vortex in the middle of the street formed, swirling with light and darkness. It continued to whirl but then slowly stabilized. This time there was no show down with Cliodhna, she just turned, defeated, and began walking toward the worm hole.


    Sherlock without saying anything just walked down the street and took her hand. They stood there, hand in hand, waiting.


    What had happened to her wanting the Vault? What had happened to her wanting to kill my mom? In short, what were they waiting for? Just step through and be gone.


    My mom, aunt Lia and Goll were there. He gave Aillen a nudge with his foot. ¡°I do believe the Great Man of Shi¡¯ is dead.¡±


    My mom grasped the haft of the spear, pulled it out of the body and then ceremoniously thrust it back in. She looked a little bit like some warrior Queen from a forgotten time.


    Aillen, in reflex, sat up and screamed and then flopped back down dead.


    ¡°Now, he¡¯s dead. These creatures are hard to kill,¡± said my mother a grim look on her face.


    ¡°They are indeed,¡± said aunt Lia who had pulled out a long, wicked looking knife.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked her. ¡°You¡¯re not going to slice him up for dinner are you?¡±


    ¡°Your mother is right. He will come back to life. We have to make sure he doesn¡¯t,¡± said my aunt who unceremoniously began sawing off his head.


    I turned away from the grizzly scene. Sherlock and Cliodhna were still standing there staring into the swirling abyss.


    ¡°What are they waiting for?¡±


    ¡°Ciabhan told me,¡± said Goll, ¡°that they need you to help heal Cliodhna.¡±


    I turned to my mom. If there was anyone who would know it would be her.


    ¡°Go to them, Will. They¡¯re waiting for you. If there¡¯s anyone that can help them, you can.¡±


    ¡°She almost seems normal,¡± I whispered amazed at how placid Cliodhna seemed


    Indeed, Cliodhna and Ciabhan seemed to be just a couple admiring the swirling vortex of the worm hole. Another time, another place, it might have been two lovers watching the sun set.


    ¡°Ciabhan is soothing the madness,¡± said aunt Lia urgently. She stood up the head of Aillen swinging from her hand like some over ripe fruit. ¡°You better go. It won¡¯t be long until she¡¯s raving and demanding the blood of your mother again.¡±


    ¡°It will take us to the place where the well is?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, it will. It is where it all began and where it should end,¡± explained Aunt Lia.¡±


    ¡°You need to go now,¡± said my mom. ¡°You can do this.¡±


    I took a great breath and walked down to where Sherlock and Cliodhna stood. Up close I could see the visible strain on Sherlock¡¯s face, the sweat that was covering his face in a glossy sheen.


    All together we walked into the wormhole.


    The ride was relatively gentle. I only wanted to throw up once, and when we arrived there was no mist. We were standing on the shores of a lake. It was the same lake that I had seen in Blobby¡¯s video.


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    Sherlock was shaking, the strain too much for him. He collapsed. Cliodhna didn¡¯t seem to notice. She continued staring at the island in the lake.


    I knelt down and lifted Sherlock¡¯s head off the course stone beach. He was coming around. ¡°Are you all right?¡±


    He gave a slight nod. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯ve got to get her to this island. On the island there is a well. You have to get her to drink from it, leave a gift, take her into the water and submerge her.¡±


    ¡°Submerge her?¡± I said my thoughts going cold.


    ¡°Yes, do it three times.¡±


    ¡°Just one question, how do we get to the island?¡±


    ¡°You must swim.¡±


    ¡°You have to be kidding.¡±


    Then, just as I needed him most, he passed out. Great, this was just great. Cliodhna was staring at the island oblivious to the fact that the love of her life had just lost consciousness. Bracing myself to the task, I stood up.


    ¡°Cliodhna,¡± I said clearing my voice. ¡°We need to get to the island.¡±


    She didn¡¯t turn towards me, and from the layer of fog in her eyes she was anywhere but present. ¡°Yes, Ciabhan. Yes, we must swim to the island.¡±


    Like a snake striking she lashed out and fastened a hand around my wrist. Turning on me she gave me the old insane smile I have learned to fear. The light of madness danced in her eyes. The hold Sherlock had over her was now, obviously broken and insanity was flooding  back in.


    ¡°I suppose it wouldn¡¯t help, telling you I swim like a rock.¡±


    With incredible strength she began to drag me from the beach, and into the shallows. I struggled, but there was no way to break her grip. Pretending to fall, I splashed down into the shockingly cold water and searched blindly for a rock. Finding one I was about to brain her with it when I stopped.


    ¡°Cliodhna, I want you to think.¡±


    She stopped and turned to me as though I had said the most interesting thing in the world. ¡°You want me to what?¡±


    ¡°I want you to think. Think about you and Ciabhan. Think about who is trying to stop you from doing this.¡±


    I really didn¡¯t know, but it seemed logical to me, that somebody had gone to incredible lengths to keep them apart.


    ¡°Apart?¡± She looked perplexed and then the flush of darkness infused her face with a dark complexion. ¡°Oh, I know who is keeping us part. It¡¯s Manannan mac Lir and his little jokes.¡± She raised her hand to the skies. ¡°I will get to my island, and then we will see who laughs last. I will...¡± she gave a great tug and I lost the rock I was holding onto and she dragged out over my head. There, I promptly sank, and much to my amazement she let me go.


    I watched as Cliodhna¡¯s legs kicking as they propelled her through the water and away from me.


    Healing Cliodhna had been a good idea, but there was one catch...insane people aren¡¯t really that reliable. Looking wistfully up at the surface, I prepared to die. Then, shooting down through a cascade of bubbles an arm penetrated the water. A large hand clasped my wrist and pulled. I was pulled out of the water with such force that I flew through the air to land, not back into the water, but onto the dray surface of the strangest boat I had ever seen.


    I have seen boats before, and this one, although silver, seemed very boat like. It had bows and a stern. What was strikingly different was it was pulled by a horse, a big white horse that could walk on water.


    A long, leggy fellow in a kilt looked down at me as I coughed the water up out of my lungs. Picking me up like a rag doll, he gave me a couple powerful blows on my back and laughed.


    ¡°Better out than in wee little man.¡±


    I continued to cough but struggled to stand. ¡°I¡¯m not a wee little man.¡±


    ¡°No offence intended.¡±


    ¡°You saved me, why?¡±


    ¡°I figured I was going to be giving you a ride either way, and since the living are a wee bit more entertaining, I decided to save you. Besides, I made your Da a promise.¡±


    ¡°Give me a ride either way...¡± then I realized he must have been talking about death. ¡°You made a promise to my dad?¡±


    Manannan gave me a brilliant, white, full toothed smile. I almost had to squint, his teeth were so white. ¡°Yes, of course. It was a pleasure.¡±


    Just then a scream reached us from the island, a scream of fury and anger.


    Manannan looked at me and said defensively, ¡°I didn¡¯t do that.¡±


    Sherlock had revived and was waving frantically to us. I cupped my hands to my mouth. We had drifted quite a way out onto the water. ¡°What?¡±


    Sherlock shouted back. ¡°Pick me up...¡±


    I turned to Manannan who was busy looking at a shiny, silvery part of his boat and adjusting his blond hair. ¡°I think he wants to be picked up,¡± I said.


    ¡°Picked up,¡± he questioned, ¡°he¡¯s not even dead.¡±


    ¡°He was supposed to be with Cliodhna. He was supposed to get to the island with her.¡±


    He gave a great sigh and pulled a petulant expression on his face. I could see he didn¡¯t want to say anything more. Sherlock was yelling, but Manannan tried to ignore him.


    ¡°So, are you going to pick him up?¡± I asked about the gesticulating Sherlock on the shore.


    ¡°He could swim...¡± Another scream rent the air. ¡°I suppose I could give him a ride, although Enbarr doesn¡¯t like to pull too many people, especially living ones. Once, I had an entire group of partiers that died after the ship they were in sank. I think he still holds it against me.


    The horse looked back at us, gave a derisive snort and rolled his eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s just one mare,¡± quipped Manannan.


    Enbarr blew a raspberry at us.


    Manannan flicked his reigns and the silver boat, amazingly, turned on a dime. We quickly made up the distance between where we had been and where Sherlock stood waving on the shore, but when we got there, he had changed.


    No longer the decrepit but agile old man, he stood straight and youthful. His hair was the colour of gold and his smile had the same gleam that Manannan had, and I knew he wasn¡¯t Sherlock or Ciabhan.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I demanded. ¡°What have you done to Ciabhan?¡±


    Although his face was open and handsome there was a darkness that emanated from him. It gave me a feeling that something bad had either happened or was about to happen.


    ¡°My, oh great Captain of The Finnan Finn, slayer of The Dark Wizard of Shi¡¯, your jocund nature seems mollified somewhat.¡±


    He was mocking me, baiting me, wanting me to get upset.


    I was about to ask him again who he was, but Manannan answered the question for me. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to pick him up because the last time I gave him a ride we had hurricanes for several months.¡± I could feel the air around us crackle with animosity. ¡°Oh, I suppose introductions are in order. Fionn, this is Elatha, Elatha, Fionn, now, what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Just changing the worlds,¡± he said, ¡°just changing the worlds.¡±


    The answer didn¡¯t satisfy Manannan or myself. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Give me a ride to the island, and I¡¯ll reveal all.¡±


    ¡°Who is Elatha?¡± I asked. H had told me that if you can get someone to reveal their genealogy then it was like them giving you power over them. I didn¡¯t really understand, but I figured I needed all the power I could get.


    He gave me a mocking smile. ¡°Elatha,¡± his said bowing, ¡°Prince of the Fomorians, father of Bres, Dagda, Ogma, Delaeth and Eloth.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re Dagda¡¯s father?¡± I spluttered, ¡°but I liked Dagda.¡±


    He arched an eyebrow in an observant way. ¡°I take it you do not like me...¡± Not waiting for Manannan¡¯s permission, he leapt aboard the boat. If it was possible, a more terrifying scream came from the island.


    Manannan covered his ears. ¡°Let¡¯s do get there to put a stop to her yodeling, it irritates me so.¡±

 The Money Tree

    So, this is the last Chapter in this book. If you want to see more, I''ll think about it. Or if you have any ideas on the direction I should take the story, let me know.


    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    When we reached the island, Manannan began to fidget. Elatha was making him distinctly uncomfortable, as though he was waiting to be abused or something. I would catch him giving his grandfather covert little glances. I couldn¡¯t blame him because I didn¡¯t trust him either. The boat glided to a stop in the shallows before the island. A rich, perfumed scent assuaged our senses. It was like the perfume Cliodhna wore: ¡®Ode de Crazy.¡¯ Actually, it smelled of lilacs and wasn¡¯t that bad, I just had developed an association between the smell and crazy people. It was actually rather calming, which was ironic.


    ¡°This is where you get off.¡± He said it to me more than to Elatha, although I¡¯m sure he was hoping he would take the hint. When Elatha didn¡¯t move I could hear Manannan audibly swallow.


    Elatha turned to regard his grandson. He looked at him appraisingly. ¡°You know, you were always a bit of a coward, you would have never made a good Formorian and as it is, a barely passable Tuatha.¡±


    Manannan blustered a bit but hung his head in defeat. ¡°It¡¯s her island,¡± he bleated.


    A fog horn suddenly went off and this made Manannan almost leap with happy excitement. ¡°Oh, got to go. More dead to ferry, you know, got to rush, places to be people to...¡±


    With a look of disgust on Elatha¡¯s face, he hopped over the edge of the boat, and up to his waist, began to wade to the shore. ¡°Fionn,¡± he said over his shoulder, ¡°come, I have much to explain.¡± It was more a command than a request.


    Manannan urged me over the edge of the boat and into the water. As he was doing so, he whispered in my ear. ¡°If you get the chance...if things work out...could you tell Cliodhna I had nothing to do with keeping them apart.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell him,¡± I said as I slid down into the water.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what he¡¯s like.¡± With that he snapped the harness and the horse pulled the boat, almost at once, out of sight.


    I was quickly learning that when gods explained something mortals often suffered. As I followed Elatha, I couldn¡¯t help but feel nervous. Fortunately the water only came up to my waist.


    The beach, where we waded ashore, was covered with small rocks which made it difficult to walk across. After crossing it, we made our way into the forest that provided the island with a protective canopy.


    Usually forests were places of rest, full of soothing woodland sounds, mostly of birds communicating happily, sounds of life. On this island there was nothing. Not a single sound of anything alive. However this was where Cliodhna¡¯s screams had been coming from and this was where we were. It felt that the entire place was coiling, readying itself for another scream, which, if my estimation was right, was due any moment. What did Manannan say? This was her island?


    ¡°What do you want to tell me?¡± I asked.


    He didn¡¯t respond right away. We began to walk casually through the forest. There was little underbrush, just a moss carpeted forest floor interspaced by the trunks of trees and what looked like tombstones.


    ¡°What do you know about my people?¡± asked Elatha.


    I couldn¡¯t help but stare at the five golden torques he wore about his neck. I suppose one wasn¡¯t enough, but why five? His clothing was impeccably clean, and like Manannan were principally white and silver. There was a dark part in me that wanted to break the guy¡¯s cool. ¡°Didn¡¯t you lose the war against the Milesians?¡±


    If the lines in his face stiffened, I didn¡¯t see it.  ¡°No, it was a truce,¡± he corrected me as an indulgent teacher would. ¡°We tried to trick them. We said they had to stay at least nine waves from the land, which they obliged. We were going to conjure up a wind to blow them away, like you would a pesky insect.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess, it didn¡¯t work.¡±


    His face did tighten this time. ¡°No, it didn¡¯t work. They had a powerful druid with them.¡±


    ¡°Can I ask you a question?¡±


    He turned to me his eyes sparkling. ¡°Yes, you may.¡±


    ¡°How did they trick you into taking Faerie?¡±


    His lips tightened more. I had hit a nerve, yet still the eyes sparkled. ¡°We didn¡¯t know that the side effect of living in Faerie was madness. It crept up on us, slowly, like a thief in the night.¡±


    ¡°You trusted them?¡±


    Again the muscles around his mouth tightened. ¡°No, it was the Milesian Druid that showed us the way.¡±


    ¡°And you took it? Sorry, but if someone came to my home an opened up an interdimensional portal and asked me to hop on through, I would have my questions.¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t have many options. There were too many of them to fight.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but you had magic.¡±


    ¡°So, did they, and it was enough to cancel ours out.¡± A sly look came over his face. ¡°That was then. This is now.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I said cautiously.


    Elatha paused and was now nonchalantly leaning up against a broken head stone. He flicked his hand and in his palm he held a glowing ball of light. Throwing it up into the air it vanished. ¡°Their magic has been replaced by this peculiar thing, you call Science. Magic against science...no contest.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re planning to take over my world?¡±


    He gave me a knowing smile, ¡°Something like that.¡±


    What was he holding back? ¡°You were pretending to be Ciabhan, all this time. You helped me out. Why?¡± Actually, I wanted to ask a lot more questions than just that. I wanted to know if, as Sherlock, he had meant any of the things he had said to me, if any of his sage advice was meant or if it was all a con.


    Elatha looked delighted. ¡°Actually, I got the idea when they were trying to swim to the island. I was musing on the power of love, how there is seldom anything less powerful. If I could utilize that power, and turn it into a weapon to use against the Milesians...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one that drove Cliodhna mad...you kept them apart by pretending to be Ciabhan?¡±


    He gave me a blinding smile. ¡°Yes, I know, brilliant isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I tried to control my temper. God or no god, this guy was really rubbing me the wrong way. ¡°More sadistic than anything. Why?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, why? Why pretend to be Ciabhan? The good hearted mortal? I was able to crawl into his mind and get a good imprint of his behaviour so that I could be believable.¡±


    ¡°So, all that, back there was Sherlock?¡±


    ¡°More or less, yes, it is what he would have done, would have said, but back to answering your question about why. Do you know who William Shakespeare was?¡±


    ¡°About the most famous writer to have ever lived? Yes.¡±


    There it was again, that insufferable condescending smile. ¡°Do you, really? Have you ever wondered why the most famous writer of his time had so little written about him?¡±


    ¡°He was Tuatha?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then, he¡¯s still...¡±


    ¡°Alive, no, unfortunately somebody removed his head. It¡¯s the one way you can stop a Formorian from reforming.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said he was Tuath?¡±


    We started walking again, moving deeper and deeper into the heart of the island¡¯s forest.


    ¡°Formorian, Tuath de Danann, we¡¯re so interbred that it doesn¡¯t matter. Even you, a Milesian have the blood of gods in your veins. The only pure ones are like me, and there are precious few of us left.¡±


    My mind was whizzing around conjectures and possibilities. ¡°So, if I found Shakespeare¡¯s head and rejoined it to his body, he would come back to life?¡±


    ¡°Fundamentally, yes, in one form or another, but we digress. The reason I mention Shakespeare is that there is a line about women: ¡®Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.¡¯¡±


    Before I knew what I was doing, I corrected him (the curse of my memory): ¡°Wrong William, it was Congreve. He wrote: ¡°Heav¡¯n has no rage, like love to hatred turn¡¯d/Nor hell a fury, like a woman scorn¡¯d.¡±


    Elatha stopped, turned and stared at me. His face was blank of expression and then he laughed. ¡°Why, so you are right. You will make a wonderful ally.¡±


    I refused to move. After a couple steps, Elatha turned around and fixed me with his disarming gaze. ¡°What? You didn¡¯t think I wanted just your companionship, did you, although I do find your humour rather entertaining.¡±


    ¡°So, what do you want me for?¡±


    ¡°Are you not the Captain of the Finnan Finn? The most ferocious fighters of the Milesians?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I suppose...¡±


    ¡°You suppose? How humble of you. You are the Captain and so you shall remain until you are killed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t understand. Don¡¯t you hate Milesian¡¯s.¡±


    Elatha nodded. ¡°Indeed I do, but those Milesians are long gone and moldering in the ground. The ones with the magic are no more, and you fight for the High King, who is one of the Tuath De Dannan.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t met my Aunts,¡± I blurted out and then immediately regretted it.


    He waved my comment away. ¡°Tuatha, there are no longer any Milesian Druids.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve talked to Morrigan about this, I suppose?¡±


    ¡°At great lengths. When the position of The High King is filled, you will be oath bound to fight for him or her, whoever The Morrigan selects.¡±


    There was something about the story that was bothering me. ¡°If you¡¯re so powerful, with all your magic, then why do you need me?¡± Then it hit me. The simplicity was startling. ¡°How many visas can you issue at a time?¡±


    His face twisted sourly. ¡°I think you have hit the target. Only a hand full can be issued at any one time, and the ones with visas are sprinkled around the world.¡± He looked a little embarrassed. ¡°And of course there are the gate keepers that the Milesian¡¯s left in place to make sure an invasion was impossible.¡±


    I had been wondering how they fit into the picture. ¡°Wow, and Blobby are guardians? You¡¯ve got to be kidding.¡± I had a hard time imagining either of them saying no to anyone.


    ¡°You¡¯re Milesian. They are not so harmless to us.¡±


    I had a visual image of Blobby lifting a massive machine gun and smoking a cigar. ¡°You can¡¯t leave Faerie can you?¡± I said this with a little too much joy for Elatha¡¯s taste.


    ¡°Very observant,¡± he said drolly. ¡°We, as you would say, are caught between a rock and a hard place. If we stay exclusively in Shi, we go insane, and only a few of us at a time can visit the realm of the Milesians. So, we will need someone...like, let¡¯s say, a Captain to do our work for us, a Captain who can make his own way, who can open a breach for us.¡±


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    ¡°No, I understand that, but why would I do that? Why would I let a pack of homicidal gods into my world?¡± Even though I was trying to sound as defiant as possible, it was hard to ignore the fact that Elatha was a god, a very old one, but one who could probably snuff out my life with a puff of breath.


    He gave me a honey smile. ¡°Oh, I have one reason you will find most compelling.¡± Then he walked on and I, foolishly followed. ¡°And I don¡¯t think we will have to wait until a High King is appointed.¡±


    In the centre of the island, before the strangest tree I had ever seen, we found Cliodhna. She was curled up into a ball weeping at its base. The tree looked a bit like a human figure all twisted and knotted, its arms reaching up to branch out to form a canopy above its head, but the disturbing part of it was that the tree was nearly dead, most likely killed by the hundreds of coins that had been thrust into its trunk. As we moved closer one of the coins fell out and hit the ground with a metallic ring. Cliodhna threw back her head and screamed. Then I saw a second tree, much newer and still looking like a person. In fact the bark of the tree resembled human flesh. I recognized the tree, or the person that was slowly being transformed into a person. It was H.


    ¡°Turn her back,¡± I snarled at Elatha.


    ¡°Turn her back,¡± he responded in surprise. ¡°Now, why in the world would I ever do that?¡±


    ¡°Because I told you to,¡± I snapped at him looking about the forest floor for some type of weapon.


    ¡°No, she is my ace, to get to you. Through you and the Finnan Finn we will create a toe hold in your world, you will, for me, create a breech, if you will and we will begin to take back what was once ours. The Milesians will be exterminated.¡± His eyes seemed to glow as the passion infused his voice.


    ¡°And if I refuse,¡± I responded.


    Another coin fell from what I assumed was the wooden Ciabhan and Cliodhna screamed again.


    Elatha bent and picked up one of the coins. He twirled it over his knuckles like a magician making it vanish to appear between his thumb and index finger. Holding it up in the air the tarnish of time faded from it until it shone.


    ¡°The coins are necessary, to keep him alive, but when one falls out he becomes a little more like a tree than a person. It¡¯s also very painful.¡±


    Cliodhna, head to the earth, was panting heavily as though she was going through some great ordeal.


    ¡°They are linked...lovers are always linked,¡± explained Elatha. ¡°They feel each other¡¯s pain.¡± He moved to where H was frozen, her mouth contorted in an open scream, took the coin and shoved it into her flesh.


    I dropped to the ground but refused to scream. I wasn¡¯t about to give Elatha the satisfaction of seeing me in pain. He seemed like the Schadenfruede type.


    It wasn¡¯t until that moment that I knew what pain was really all about. Suddenly Cliodhna¡¯s agonizing screams made sense. It was as though every nerve in my body was being fleshed apart, peeled back right down to the bone. When it subsided it left me panting and exhausted almost entirely unable to move. Now I knew why Cliodhna was screaming.


    I felt Elatha¡¯s breath on my face. The nut job was enjoying this. ¡°You are linked to her, to The Morrigan¡¯s daughter. I knew you were. So, now, do you see why you¡¯re going to help me?


    ¡±


    In great effort I pushed myself up onto my knees. His gloating cleverness edged me on. My hand inadvertently closed around a smooth rock. Summoning all my strength I went to move my hand, but Elatha must have seen the movement and stepped on my wrist. I felt it snap. What was one more bit of pain in a universe of pain?


    ¡°Cliodhna,¡± I shouted, desperately trying to get through the agony. ¡°He pretended to be Sherlock. He did this. He did this to you. He did this to Ciabhan. It wasn¡¯t Manannan. It was Elatha.¡±


    He laughed confidently. ¡°She can¡¯t help you. Her link is too strong with Ciabhan. There¡¯s no healing here for her only pain and insanity.¡±


    ¡°Why, why her? Why them?¡± I panted. I was up on my haunches holding my wrist.


    Elatha flashed me that irritating smile and moved a hand over his face. His features changed. Suddenly I saw Mr. Itchyberry standing there, wringing his hands in concern: ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Will,¡± he said in a mocking voice.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know it was me did you?¡± He passed his hand over his face again and there stood Tom McCreedy, Ciabhan and Cliodhna¡¯s son. ¡°What a scoop,¡± he said pretending to take a picture. The hand passed again and there stood Russel Crowe, or The King of Kerry. ¡°At every stage of your journey, I¡¯ve been guiding you. Making sure you came to this point. I orchestrated everything. How can you fight against that? Join me, join me and take back what once was ours, what will be ours again. You may be Milesian, but the blood of the Tuath de Dannan flows in your veins.¡±


    It was then that Cliodhna struck. She hit Russel Crowe with a branch the size of my forearm, right against the chest. She hit him so hard that it sent him flying through the air, to only stop once he collided against the trunk of a tree. Instead of having the decency of falling unconscious onto the ground, he changed back into his pristine Elatha self. There was a little drop of blood at the corner of his mouth.


    He looked at us a rather irritated expression on his face and licked away the blood. Cracking his neck and clenching his fists he snarled and got to his feet. ¡°Whether we do this the compliant way or my way was entirely up to you, and since you¡¯ve decided to do this my way...¡±


    I noticed that he was standing, his feet, on the edge of some very low lying crumbling masonry. It looked like a well, but it was hard to be sure from where I was. Cliodhna was shaking her head as though trying to clear away the decades of madness.


    ¡°Can you get to the well,¡± I whispered to her, just loud enough to be inaudible to Elatha.


    She gave a very strained nod.


    My try out for football hadn¡¯t been entirely useless. I mustered the remaining strength I had, prayed this wouldn¡¯t entirely rip my hand off, and charged. I imagined Elatha to be the biggest sledge ever invented. I don¡¯t know whether he was just surprised or amused, but he didn¡¯t move and I hit him directly in the solar plexus. It was like hitting a cement wall and I felt my should dislocate.


    But it was enough so that he stumbled backwards, arms spinning like a windmill. Even so, he would have managed to regain his balance if it hadn¡¯t been for Cliodhna. What happened next was exactly what I hoped for. Cliodhna, breaking out of her malaise, dashed to Elatha, and with one finger ¨C nail red as though dipped in blood ¨C pushed Elatha into the well. I waited for the splash, or the crunch, but nothing came.


    ¡°How deep is the well?¡± I asked.


    Cliodhna¡¯s face no longer had that plastic sheen of madness. Her eyes were bright and the expression on her face determined. ¡°I don¡¯t think it has a bottom.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were supposed to drink from the well¡­¡±


    ¡°Why would I do that?¡± Her voice was softer, more pliable, but immensely tired.


    I grimaced in pain. ¡°Isn¡¯t the well supposed to cure insanity?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s a silly myth. Here, let me help you.¡± Before I could say no, she grabbed me and wrenched my shoulder back into place.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the least I can do.¡±


    H was on the ground slowly coming out of her wooden state. I took my cape off and placed it over her shoulders. She sat up, shivering hugging it to her like a life preserver. Maybe some of the heat Aillen was still in it.


    Cliodhan was anxiously standing in front of Ciabhan. The last of the coins fell from his body and she gave an involuntary shiver. I couldn¡¯t imagine having hundreds of coins imbedded in my body. He would live. His bark was becoming healthier, but it would take awhile for his flesh to come back.


    ¡°You all right?¡± I asked H wondering how she had gotten here.


    She looked up at me with those wide; expression filled eyes and gave a tremulous smile. ¡°I think so. What about her?¡± She asked about Cliodhna.


    ¡°Better than usually. How did you¡­¡±


    ¡°End up as a tree?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Elatha is my Grandfather. He came for a visit, said he had something really exciting I should see. Like most people in my family, it¡¯s impossible to say no to them.¡±


    ¡°And he turned you into a tree? Why?¡±


    ¡°It was all about you,¡± said H through her chattering teeth, ¡°all about you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather it wasn¡¯t,¡± I grumbled.


    ¡°The passages between the worlds are limited, and guarded, but you, you can make passages. You also seem to be able to move between them with no side effects. He wanted to convert you to his cause.¡±


    ¡°By forcing me? Obviously he doesn¡¯t know me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± The voice was Cliodhna¡¯s. She joined us, knelt and looked at H¡¯s eyes and nodded. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine. Ciabhan will take a little longer.¡± She sounded so ¨C sane. It was going to take some getting used to.


    ¡°He¡¯s fine, then?¡± I asked hoping Ciabhan would turn out to be a good guy like Sherlock. ¡°I mean I saw you trying to get here, in the beginning, and the two of you getting separated¡­they said the well was supposed to cure insanity.¡±


    She gave me a startling lucid gaze. ¡°I knew I had offended Elatha when I picked Ciabhan. He¡¯s a bit of a nut case when it comes to keeping the blood line pure, which makes him a raving hypocrite. I wanted to get Ciabhan here, because this is my home. I¡¯m most powerful here. Now that he¡¯s gone. I am myself once again.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re not, like a banshee or something, set on vengeance?¡±


    She frowned. ¡°Heaven no, I¡¯m the goddess of love.¡±


    ¡°And you don¡¯t remember trying to kill me or my mom?¡± I just wanted to make sure that when I turned away from her I wouldn¡¯t end up with a knife between my shoulder blades.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she said with real concern on her face, ¡°if I¡¯ve offended you or your family in any way, I sincerely apologize. ¡°But what she says about Elatha is true. He wants you to join his cause and he won¡¯t stop until he gets his way.¡±


    ¡°But you pushed him down the well.¡± I was hoping that that would have been the end of it, but no such luck.


    ¡°He will be back,¡± said H. ¡°You can¡¯t really kill a god. He¡¯ll force Manannan to come pick him up. It will take him time, but he¡¯ll be back.¡±


    I gave a sigh. Nothing in Faerie seemed the way it was, so, why should anything be easy. ¡°What will we do when he gets back? He broke my wrist like a twig.¡±


    Cliodhan reached for my wrist and when she touched it I was healed.


    I flexed it. ¡°Thanks, again.¡±


    Cliodhna looked adoringly at Ciabhan. He was slowly coming out of his wooden prison. ¡°Love heals all. When Elatha returns, you will have to remove his head and keep it separate from the body, and then the two can¡¯t reform.¡±


    ¡°But do you think he can do it, you know conquer the world?¡±


    H stared at me with those big, wide eyes. ¡°With you, he can do anything.¡±

 Part II: Chapter 1: Fair is Foul (Head Hunters)

    ¡°Fair is foul, and foul is fair,¡± mumbled Tom as we stood on the broad steps before the front of The Holy Tinity Chruch in Stratford on Avon.


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± snapped H. As usual she was dressed in black. She placed her head against the front of the door, near the lock. ¡°It is what it is,¡± she hissed. ¡°You¡¯re talking like someone from Faerie.¡±


    H was one of the three daughters of The Morrigan, one of the numerous nobility of Faerie, and she was also my girlfriend, last time I looked, however, lately she was being rather stand-offish. She was also one of the most intense people I had ever met.


    ¡°Well, he is a Fomorian,¡± I ventured.


    Fomorians were ancient Irish Gods associated with the malevolent powers of nature. I¡¯m not even sure ¡®Irish¡¯ was a term I could use here. They existed a long time before there was an Ireland, and would probably exist a long time after. The story goes: they lost the war with the Tuatha de Dannan and the Tuatha lost the war with the Milesians. Now the Fomorians, under the banner of Elatha, wanted the earth back. Some of the Tuatha supported him and some didn¡¯t, but the real problem was that there were some eight billion ¡®Milesians¡¯ standing in his way and he was a psychotic killer.


    ¡°Remind me again, why we¡¯re here,¡± said Tom. ¡°I mean, if we want to see Shakespear¡¯s grave, why not just wait until opening hours. Then we can pay our respects like normal people.¡±


    H had done something to the lock because it clicked. She looked up at Tom testily. ¡°First of all, we¡¯re not ¡®normal people¡¯ and second of all, I don¡¯t think people would like us smashing open his grave.¡±


    Even though H had been able to take out the street lights I could see Tom¡¯s face blanch.


    ¡°You never said anything about smashing open his grave! It¡¯s cursed.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To dig the dust enclosed here. Blessed be the man that spares these stones, And cursed be he that moves my bones,¡± I said. One of the irritating things about my mind was that I could almost remember anything, except details about my own life.


    Tom immediately began to fumble with a pack of cigarettes and was about to light one when H knocked them from his hands. ¡°Don¡¯t you know, smoking is likely to get us all killed.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Tom continuing to fidget.


    I placed my hands against the door and opened it. Shutting the door behind us we were suddenly encased in darkness. In the chancel, at the far end of the church, was where they kept the graves. Tom took a couple steps, the hard heels on his cowboy boots making loud echoing noises that bounced off the high ceiling ricocheting back down on us.


    H stared at him and jabbed a finger at his boots. ¡°Take them off,¡± she hissed.


    Tom gave an anemic complaint but used my shoulder to hold himself up as he struggled to pull them off.


    In the chancel we were surrounded by high walls and tall stained glass windows, and in front of an alter we found the graves marked with black plaques. On the wall, just visible in the dark was a bust of Shakespeare, his bald headed effigy brooding down on us as he signed a sack of grain.


    ¡°Behold,¡± whispered Tom worshipfully, ¡°the Immortal Bard.¡±


    H gave him a perturbed stare. ¡°Would you shut up?¡± She turned on me accusingly. ¡°I really don¡¯t know why you insisted on bringing him along. He doesn¡¯t even know who he is.¡±


    ¡°Just a little while ago, I didn¡¯t know who I was...I still don¡¯t, not really. Besides, he¡¯s now a card carrying member of the Finnan Finn.¡±


    That was another thing. When I turned eighteen, I was supposed to remember who I really was, but I didn¡¯t, much to the disappointment of my aunts, both of who were druids. Supposedly, I was from Faerie. My mother and dad, to preserve my life, had fled the place, and my aunts had cast a memory charm over me, one that wouldn¡¯t be lifted until I came of age. The idea was to keep me safe: what I didn¡¯t know wouldn¡¯t be able to hurt me. It was an idea, not a very good one, but an idea. However, when I turned eighteen, for some reason, it didn¡¯t lift, although I do have some glimpses, like a vague shadow of a memory, of people, of places, of things. In itself, a strange thing, but add to it my photographic memory and it gets even stranger. So, instead of being good old Will Suntag, I¡¯m actually Fionn, the Captain of the Finnan Finn, who are a bunch of ex-military, blood lusting bikers. I didn¡¯t ask for it. It had been bequeathed to me by my father who was Captain before me. So, one of my first actions as a Captain was to let Tom join. He had been crazy to accept. Besides, I owed it to his mother, Cliodhna, the goddess of love, who had tried really, really hard to kill me and my mother...


    ¡°Deep thoughts?¡± demanded H. This was as close to being sensitive as she got.


    ¡°Nothing homicidal.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± She nodded somewhat satisfied. One of the side effects of spending too much time in Faerie is that you tended to develop and overwhelming desire to kill things. Fortunately, they had a system of visas that helped vent those nasty desires. That¡¯s where I met H. She was a librarian and I was a co-op student, before things got really crazy.


    ¡°Are you sure this is going to work?¡± asked Tom as he swung the sack he was carrying onto the ground.


    I knew what the round object was.


    ¡°It¡¯ll work,¡± snapped H. She was on her knees looking at what was written on the plaques.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably the one outlined with the black cord,¡± said Tom. ¡°Anne Hathaway is to the left.¡± He was a rabid Bardologist.


    H was running her hand over the surface of the floor. ¡°It¡¯s the right one. You see, the stone was replaced awhile back.¡±


    She quickly rose to her feet and hefted the sledge hammer she had been carrying. She was about to smash open the grave of William Shakespeare, when a beam of light hit us.


    ¡°Drop the hammer and put your hands into the air this is the Police.¡±


    I could sense H¡¯s fury, a dark anger coalescing about her. The outline of her skin became blurry. That was another thing about a lot of people who lived in Faerie, they could shape shift. H could shift into a black panther.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do it, not here, not now. They¡¯re innocent,¡± I hissed into her ear. The other thing was that when she shifted she had the tendency of killing anything that got into her way.


    She calmed taking a long breath. I had been teaching her yoga, but she preferred kung fu.


    An officer in a short sleeved shirt, flak jacket and a forge cap with a distinctive checkered band around it, continued to instruct us to raise our hands. H dropped the hammer and it clattered harshly onto the floor. A female officer shone a light at the bag and bent down to investigate.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°What do we have here,¡± she said reaching into the bag.


    ¡°Better be careful,¡± said the male. ¡°It might be a bomb.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be daft. What are they going to do, bust open a grave so they can plant a bomb in it?¡±


    ¡°Stranger things have happened,¡± he said defensively. ¡°Remember the guy who tried to blow up a plane with his underwear?¡±


    I tried not to laugh.


    ¡°Think that¡¯s funny pretty boy,¡± snapped the female officer shining the light into my face. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± And she pulled the skull out of the bag.


    ¡°It¡¯s a skull,¡± said the male constable.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± she said, ¡°you three better start talking, before we have you up on murder charges.¡±


    The interrogation room had a table, two chairs and a one way window. I knew they were watching me from the other side of the window, letting me ¡®stew¡¯. I always liked cop shows, but I wasn¡¯t to terribly excited to be in this one. I knew we were in deep trouble because we hadn¡¯t discussed what our story was. Whatever they were asking Tom and H, our tale was bound not to be the same.


    The door opened and a squat detective in a blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and wet stains spreading out from his arm pits waddled into the room. He had a round, pug like face and was grossly overweight. He glared down at me with blood shot eyes. Plopping down into a chair he tossed his clip board onto the table. In his other hand he carried the skull.


    ¡°You know why I¡¯m here?¡±


    It was an interesting opening statement. I almost asked him if he was looking for a doughnut.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Because London has too many freaks!¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°They were afraid I would hurt someone.¡±


    I glanced hopefully at the recorder. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you turn that on or something?¡±


    He glanced at the recorder and laughed. ¡°Why would I want to do that? Someone might get the wrong idea...that I actually cared or something.¡±


    ¡°Where are my friends?¡±


    He looked at me in feigned surprise. ¡°Oh, they¡¯re being taken care of, just fine. Now,¡± he placed the skull on the table. ¡°Why would you be breaking into a church with a five hundred year old skull?¡±


    ¡°Well, at least you can¡¯t accuse us of murder.¡±


    The detective sucked in his amble cheeks and blew out a hot stream of air. ¡°A funny boy. No, no, I really can¡¯t do that, but I can charge you with the desecration of human remains, breaking and entering with the intent to vandalize.¡±


    My mother always taught me the following: when caught in a compromising position, always tell the truth, no matter what. It was a tact I usually avoided, but in this circumstance I think, perhaps, it was a good idea.


    ¡°Are you Irish?¡±


    This caught him by surprise and his eyes narrowed, suspicious of a trap. ¡°What are you playing at?¡±


    ¡°The answer to the skull.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s Irish?¡±


    ¡°No. The skull belongs to William Shakespeare, but we got it from the Rovers.¡±


    The detective¡¯s face went white and his mouth dried up so that when he spoke his voice cracked and squeaked. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious...¡± The Rovers were one of the most dangerous gangs in Ireland.


    I didn¡¯t want to go into details of how Goll mac Morna and his brothers had busted into the Rover¡¯s cash and made away with the skull. I reached out and took the skull and looked into its vacant eye sockets. ¡°Are you familiar with Fionn mac Cumhail?¡±


    The detective relaxed a little and let a strained laugh slip out his lips. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°I am Fionn.¡±


    He gave a great barking laugh. ¡°The next thing you¡¯ll be telling me is that you were breaking into the church to reunite Mr. Shakespeare¡¯s head to his body so that he could walk the earth again.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m telling you. Shakespeare is a Fomorian. He offended a lot of them by mixing magic in with words, so they removed his head.¡±


    The detective just stared at me, his face turning a peculiar shade of reddish-purple. He must have forgotten to breathe.


    Just then a commotion cut through the interview door. The detective, now thoroughly rattled got up, opened the door and looked out at the front desk. The police station was in commotion. It was like a sea of dark blue and in the centre stood a figure in fatigues, a form fitting red barrette on her head. She looked distinctly like H, relatively small in stature but standing with a lethal confidence that made you take notice. Instead of black hair, like H, her hair was red. It was H¡¯s sister, Red. She had been one of the Finnan Finn, when my father had been its Captain. She had also been with him when he had died.


    The detective trundled over to her. Even though shorter than most people in the room, Red seemed much taller. It almost looked as though the detective gave her a little bobbing bow as he knuckled his forehead. I couldn¡¯t hear what she was saying, but it was quick and to the point. He turned and bustled back into the interview room.


    He didn¡¯t look pleased. He waved a big sausage finger in my face. ¡°Fionn, right. I don¡¯t know who you are, funny boy,¡± he picked up the skull and thrust it into my arms, ¡°or how you came by this, but you¡¯ve got friends in the Commissioner¡¯s office.¡±


    ¡°So...¡± I said holding onto the skull.


    He swung the door open. ¡°So, sod off.¡±


    On the street, half on the sidewalk, half on the street, crouched a massive vehicle. It was a dun coloured Mastiff PPV. The driver in the narrow window signaled me to go around to the back. When I did so, the back doors swung open and H reached out and pulled me in. There were several bucket seats in the back, plenty for everyone.


    Tom was so excited he looked ready to burst. He was staring at Red adoringly.


    ¡°This is...this is...¡±


    ¡°I know. How are you doing, Red?¡±


    She motioned me to take a seat, her mouth a tight slash. She pounded on the roof of the vehicle which started to move, and then she turned to me, her eyes burning. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that. You haven¡¯t earned the right to call me that.¡± She stared at her sister. ¡°How did he know to call me that?¡±


    I caught a warning glance from H. The daughters of The Morrigan were three: Birghid, who had blonde hair and had an affinity for poets, H, who had black hair and was more partial to artists that built things, like black smiths, and then there was Red, who liked to heal people. Right now, by the way she was glaring at me, it looked as though she wanted to damage not heal me.


    ¡°Sorry. Thanks for bailing us out in there.¡±


    Red turned to H. ¡°And you¡¯re absolutely sure he¡¯s the Captain?¡±


    H gave her a bit of an embarrassed nod, which stung a bit.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re supposed to support me,¡± I complained.


    Tom who was examining the lights on the ceiling said: ¡°I support you.¡±


    ¡°Who is he?¡± asked Red. Then in exasperation said, ¡°No, he didn¡¯t make him a member of the Finnan Finn.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story, don¡¯t ask,¡± responded H.


    ¡°This is awesome,¡± said Tom.


    ¡°Seems a bit skinny to be a Finnan Finn,¡± said Red.


    ¡°Hey,¡± protested Tom, ¡°I heard that.¡± He made a muscle with his arms. ¡°I may be wiry, but I¡¯m strong.¡±


    ¡°What do you think you were doing back there at the church?¡± demanded Red. ¡°You might as well just stand in the middle of the street and start shouting, hey, we¡¯re here! We¡¯re going to do something incredibly stupid, come get us.¡±


    H seemed to bridle at this. ¡°It was a good plan. They took Shakespeare¡¯s head for a reason.¡±


    ¡°Did you ever wonder about that,¡± countered Red. ¡°Maybe they took his head, because even amongst the Fomorians he was considered too dangerous.¡±


    ¡°They were afraid of a playwright?¡± I asked.


    Tom was shaking his head as though I had just said the most unknowledgeable thing in the world. ¡°His words were power, man. Sit through three hours of King Lear and tell me how you feel afterwards. You feel altered.¡±


    ¡°I know how my bum would feel, nub,¡± I said didn¡¯t get the calculated laughter I was fishing for.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± H said apologizing for me.


    Red fixed me into place with riveting eyes. She certainly had a dominating personality...much like her mother. ¡°He¡¯s right. Words, in this dimension, are words. We can sense their power, but words in Faerie can create, can destroy. Poetry...Birghid can explain it better than me.¡±


    ¡°So, you think Will crossed Elatha?¡± I suggested. ¡°All the more reason to bring him back.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that,¡± countered Red. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of secrecy around the event. If you do reunite the head with the body, you have no idea what you would be bringing back, and once he¡¯s back...If he sides with Elatha...¡±


    ¡°Yes, but what if we can get him to join us,¡± said Tom heatedly. ¡°Imagine if he¡¯s like Prospero in ¡®The Tempest,¡¯ where he can command the very wind itself.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too dangerous,¡± said Red stubbornly. ¡°I¡¯m going to take you back to HQ and then we¡¯ll decide what to do next.¡±


    I wondered what it would sound like, if you were inside a big tower bell when they began ringing it, and suddenly, when the explosion happened I knew. I went deaf instantly. We were tossed around the interior of the Mastiff like rag dolls. I hit the ceiling and then bounced onto the floor. Red hit her head and was knocked unconscious. H was dazed, and Tom was...I couldn¡¯t see where Tom had gone. It was as though he had just vanished.


    The back doors to the Mastiff were flung open and standing there, his pearly white teeth reflecting the light from the sun was Elatha. He had brought help. Behind him were what looked like a dozen ninjas, except Instead of carrying knifes, they held automatic weapons.