Completely Folk'd Page 6

  ‘Caderyn is … known to us,’ the Dagda broke in with no small measure of understatement, glancing at the Morrigan.

  ‘I knew you would come back, Da,’ Gaim said. Though he had the body of a young man, Danny could see the childlike wonder in his eyes, the unquestioning hero worship. ‘I told Glon–’

  ‘Shush now, Gaim,’ Glon said harshly. He regarded his father for a long moment.

  ‘You’ve grown, son,’ Caderyn said. Danny could tell the man was calling on every ounce of strength he had to stay calm, to ignore the daggers with which Dub and Dian were holding his sons hostage. Danny saw him try to step forward, to break the circle’s perimeter, and be pushed back by whatever invisible barrier had been erected.

  ‘This ends now,’ Amergin said. ‘We will discuss the terms of our occupation.’

  ‘Occupation?’ Carman snarled. It was the first word she had spoken since the humans had arrived on the scene. ‘Humans? Occupy my island? Not while I draw bre–’

  ‘I beg you to finish that thought,’ the Morrigan snarled back, still crouched over her, twin daggers poised, each ready to deliver the killing thrust.

  ‘Release her, Regan,’ Caderyn called to his former wife.

  ‘I can’t,’ the Morrigan replied. She did not shout, did not need to. ‘You don’t understand, Caderyn. If she’s allowed to live, none of us will ever be safe. Tuatha and human alike. You don’t know what she’s done. You don’t understand–’

  ‘What she’s done?’ Cadeyrn said bitterly. ‘You broke your promise, wife. How do you think I felt when you took my sons from me, to this life? Look at them, by the gods – what have you done to my little boys?’

  ‘Me? How dare you blame me,’ the Morrigan shot back. ‘Your kind killed my son! Humans butchered my little boy! Was I supposed to let that happen?’

  ‘My kind?’ Caderyn echoed sadly. ‘Is that why you took him from me, Regan? You were unable to leave him with “my kind” any longer?’

  The weight of Caderyn’s words pressed down on her, and the Morrigan’s grip on her daggers faltered, only for an instant, but it was long enough for Carman to move and to twist herself free. With a kick, she sent the daggers flying to the soil, diving after them as the Morrigan spun and, with one mighty heave, ripped the Sword of Nuada from the earth.

  Battle was resumed, with twice the ferocity of anything that had gone before it, and now all attempts at subtlety or mind games were out the window and it was just weapon against weapon as the two combatants threw themselves into the fight with every ounce of hatred they possessed for the other – a seemingly inexhaustible fuel source.

  Caderyn was living every blow, Danny saw. He couldn’t take his eyes off the fight, but there was none of the rapt awe in his expression that the others standing by him – the Dagda and the Milesian nobles – demonstrated. He wasn’t excited by the battle, he was simply terrified for the woman he once loved.

  ‘Die!’ the Morrigan cried out and, ducking under a flurry of blows, she lashed out with the flat end of the blade, disarming Carman’s right hand and opening up her flank for a savage swing of the Sword that would bisect the witch from hip to shoulder.

  ‘No!’ The horrified cry had come from Caderyn, but it hadn’t been directed at his wife.

  Gaim fell heavily to his knees. His hands went to his throat, blood pumping through his fingers as he tried desperately to stem the flow from the slash wound Dian had just inflicted. Gaim’s warrior tunic, so resplendent, so pristine, was soaked in red. He looked from the frozen expression of his mother to the hollow, grief-stricken face of his father, and he tried to smile.

  ‘You came back,’ he gasped, and pitched forward.

  ‘GAIM!’ Caderyn screamed, anguish and anger consuming him utterly as he threw himself against the combat circle. He rebounded fruitlessly from its intangible borders, hitting the ground, weeping and hollering.

  The Morrigan’s momentary advantage had been derailed completely by the sight of her son’s murder. Carman struck, planting a foot high into the Morrigan’s chest and sending her sprawling backwards. She swooped to grab the displaced dagger and threw herself up and forward, raising the daggers high above her head as she leapt, meaning to impale the Morrigan when she landed.

  At the last second the Morrigan rolled out of the way and Carman, having missed her target, roared in frustration and lashed out wildly. There was no finesse in her strikes but their ferocity drove the Morrigan back – with one well-timed blow she cut a deep gash across the Morrigan’s left thigh. Carman, sensing victory, pressed on once more, trusting that a combination of grief and pain would serve to ensure a swift end to the battle.

  Her mistake.

  The Morrigan came out of her half-crouch, her sword-free left hand bunched into a fist that connected so solidly with Carman’s jaw that the crack of hand on bone was heard around the Hill of Tara.

  Carman landed flat on her back, the jarring impact knocking her daggers from her grip. Not bothering to attack straight away, the Morrigan instead picked up the daggers in one hand and, without even looking, threw them back over her left shoulder and right into Dian’s chest.

  Dian gasped in shock, took a long step backward, and brought a shaking hand to the hilt of one of his mother’s daggers, protruding from his chest. His mouth was filling with blood. He looked from his mother to his murderer. ‘Thank you,’ he said, before slumping, dead before his body hit the ground.

  His lifeless corpse had fallen beyond the invisible borderline at perimeter of the combat circle, moving the daggers outside the reach of anyone within. No one went to him.

  The Morrigan, silver Sword in hand, moved to stand over the prone body of her opponent.

  ‘Glon, no, please no. Not Glon too, please gods no,’ Caderyn sobbed helplessly, pale as a ghost, knowing what he was about to witness.

  The Morrigan, looked then at her firstborn son, eyes wide in desperation.

  ‘Do it,’ Glon nodded. ‘Put me in the Cauldron afterward. I can come back to you.’

  ‘Try it,’ Carman hissed. ‘I beg you. Try it.’

  ‘Let her go, Regan’ Caderyn whispered, on his knees at the edge of the circle. ‘Please. Let her go.’

  She shook her head, eyes brimming with tears, and raised the Sword.

  Dub’s hand moved, once. That was all it took.

  From behind her she heard the sound of choking and gagging and she knew was hearing the life leave her eldest son. Glon slumped to the ground, exactly as his younger brother had done only minutes before. There was no time for final words or a last goodbye.

  Caderyn tried to call Glon’s name, but he was too out of his mind with grief to make any coherent noise. What came from his throat was not a word. It was the sound of a man’s heart breaking.

  ‘I have nothing left to lose,’ the Morrigan sobbed, as she stood ready to deliver the final blow. ‘So now, you die.’

  But before the Sword could descend, the final cruel twist in Carman’s plan unfolded. Dother, until now nothing more than a bystander, finally moved. He reached down amongst the bags Carman had brought into the circle with her and unwrapped, untied and removed the gag from something previously hidden amidst it all, something red, shaking, and terrified.

  The child’s hysterical cries rent the air. The Sword froze in the Morrigan’s grasp.

  Dother held a dagger to the little boy’s throat. ‘Say hello to Mummy and Daddy, Coscar,’ he said pleasantly.

  Danny started forward as if to mount a rescue attempt before realising that anything he did would be futile. The same could have been said for Caderyn, who must have known, based on previous attempts, that any effort he made to enter the circle of combat was doomed to failure. Nonetheless, the sight of his youngest child in mortal peril was enough to make him throw himself against the invisible wall once again–

  – and pass right through.

  Danny felt sure the man should have paused for a second, taken stock, been surprised or even thrown off-balance by his unexpec
ted success. If he had, Dother might have had time to react, might have done something quite horrible. Caderyn didn’t so much as slow down.

  With a primal roar he launched himself at Dother, bounding in a way that put the most acrobatic of the wolf-faeries to shame. He knocked Dother off his feet so quickly and so completely that little Coscar was thrown free, unscathed, and suddenly there was a sword in his hand and Dother hadn’t even the time to cry out before Caderyn buried it deep in his heart, right up to the hilt.

  Caderyn looked over at his wife, and nodded, once.

  ‘No–’ Carman said, or started to say, but got no further before the silver Sword was plunged down–

  ‘Stop. This is bullshit. Stop this now,’ Danny said, anger bubbling inside him. The silver Sword, paused in mid-impale of the witch queen, was released by the one delivering the killing stroke. The Morrigan, now back in director’s commentary mode, glanced coolly at Danny who did nothing to disguise his annoyance.

  ‘This is all lies. This isn’t what really happened,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she admitted.

  ‘So why?’

  ‘Because!’ she shouted at him, anger overtaking her at long last, ‘It’s what should have happened! Caderyn’s love should have been powerful enough to break that barrier and allow him inside. He should have been able to knock Dother away. He and I should have ended it right here! Love. Love should have been enough to save us!’

  ‘But it wasn’t.’

  Her lip curled. ‘Watch.’

  Time rewound several moments. Once again, Dother held a dagger to the little boy’s throat. ‘Say hello to Mummy and Daddy, Coscar,’ he said pleasantly.

  Caderyn threw himself against the barrier … only to be thrown back.

  ‘Here’s what’s going to happen,’ Dother went right on talking. ‘You’re going to release my mother. You’re going to declare her the victor of this fight. In return, I will spare Coscar. My mother won’t exercise her right as victor to kill you–’

  ‘What?’ Carman choked in disbelief.

  ‘Face facts, Mother,’ Dother went on. ‘The Tuatha are a significant force in themselves, and now they’ve been joined by five times their number of humans. Humans who have made it clear they want to see the back of us. Violently, I would imagine. If we want to avoid wholesale extermination, we’re going to need to show a willingness for compromise here. Plus’ – and he ruffled the howling little boy’s hair in what he probably imagined was a passable imitation of paternal affection – ‘isn’t he cute? Look at his widda nose!’

  ‘He speaks wisely,’ Amergin said.

  ‘That witch murdered my sons! You have no right!’ Caderyn said.

  ‘Enough, Caderyn,’ Amergin said warningly. ‘I hold you in high esteem, but you do not rule our people. I do. We have already paid a heavy price for agreeing to come to your aid in reclaiming your son.’

  ‘You thought I took him,’ the Morrigan said, looking to Caderyn.

  ‘What was I supposed to think?’ he demanded. ‘You made it clear the day you left that you considered us beneath you. I woke up one morning to find my son gone and I tasted the same magic in the air as I did the day you slaughtered every man, woman and child–’

  He trailed off, but too late.

  ‘What did you say?’ Amergin said, disbelievingly. He drew his sword. His brothers followed suit. ‘She is the one responsible for the village massacre?’

  The Tuatha around him likewise drew their weapons. Danny couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Everything was falling apart.

  ‘Shall I tell you what will happen now?’ Amergin went on harshly. ‘You will call an end to this madness, as he has already suggested,’ and he nodded towards Dother, who pulled off a mock salute, ‘to spare further bloodshed. When this has been accomplished, you – all of you, faerie and Tuatha alike – will surrender to us. Unconditionally. Or we will repay you a hundredfold for every human death you have caused.’

  He raised his voice, so that as many as possible of the assembled Tuatha and faerie could hear his words. ‘The age of magic is over,’ he said. ‘Now begins the Age of Man. Accept that, and we may choose to be merciful. Resist, and we will annihilate you. Your choice.’

  ‘Idiots!’ the Morrigan raged. She glared death at Amergin, at Eber Finn, Eremon and Caderyn. ‘Mercy? Sparing this thing,’ and she kicked savagely at Carman, who took her blows without flinching, ‘would be mercy? She won’t rest until she finds some way to kill us all!’

  ‘Is her death worth that of your people and your son?’ asked Dother.

  The Sword was still suspended above Carman. The Morrigan had held it aloft all this time. To have done so, Danny knew, took almost incomprehensible strength – no human could have possibly held a sword so heavy in such a position for so long. Her muscles, the muscles of a goddess, glistened with sweat. At her feet, Carman stared up balefully. One downward stroke would put an end to her once and for all.

  She lowered the Sword. It clattered to the ground.

  ‘I concede,’ she said, so softly that Danny barely heard it.

  Carman’s eyes sparkled with triumph. She backed away on her hands and knees, watching the Morrigan for any sign of movement, and only when she was a few feet away did she get to her feet and move to stand beside Dother. Dub had joined them now also, carrying Dian’s body in his massive arms.

  ‘One last parting gift,’ Carman said, and reached for the dagger in Dother’s hand–

  ‘No,’ the word came from Dother.

  Carman’s eyes widened in outrage. ‘No?’ she echoed.

  ‘No,’ Dother said again. He threw the dagger aside and pushed Coscar free, into the waiting embrace of his mother. Caderyn, at long last free of the barrier around the combat circle, was there a moment later.

  Carman, betrayed, stared at Dother for several heartbeats too long. ‘I won’t soon forget this,’ she said.

  Dother only smiled, and there was an element of weariness in the gesture. ‘Dear Mother, I’d expect nothing less.’

  Coscar struggled free of his mother and threw himself into his father’s arms, great whooping sobs shaking the little boy’s body.

  The Morrigan was now empty-handed, the Sword of Nuada discarded at her feet. She left Coscar and Caderyn to their reunion and went to the bodies of her elder children. She fell to her knees when she reached them, placing a hand on each of their heads and closing their eyes for the final time.

  The grief overtook her then. Her howls, terrible and empty filled the air.

  *

  The fate of Ireland was decided on the Hill of Tara that day.

  Above ground, the physical, mortal realm that humans called their own, was to be the sole property of the Milesians, their kin and descendants. No magical creature was to be permitted residence there.

  In return, the Milesians swore to stay away from the world beneath the surface – the Otherworld, as some called it. It was to become the sole property of the magical beings. The two worlds, human and magical, were to be split from one another, and all entrances and exits between the surface and the Otherworld were to be sealed off.

  The most prominent of the Tuatha divinities promised to perform the necessary magics, swore individual oaths that when the time came they would, without protest, lead their people down into the Otherworld. Once there, at a secret location, they would, en masse, enter a voluntary period of sleep – a species-wide hibernation.

  They did not specify when, if ever, they would awaken from this hibernation – only that, as a minimum, it would last many centuries. Knowing a good deal when they heard it, and having seen the Tuatha in action, Amergin and his brothers knew that, while their superior force of numbers likely gave them the advantage, many would perish if they forced the Tuatha into violent revolt.

  Carman was not so accommodating. Only with much persuasion from Dother – mocked for his cowardice by his brother Dub for his troubles – did she come to see the wisdom in not taking on the humans. She agreed to lead h
er people into the Otherworld, but made no promise about hibernation, and went so far as to hint heavily that once locked away she would not rest until she found a way back for her and her spawn and Ireland could be reclaimed.

  ‘Do not concern yourselves,’ the Dagda reassured Amergin and his brothers, even as Carman and her hordes were swallowed by the gateway that now existed at the foot of the Hill of Tara. ‘We will use deep magic to keep her imprisoned down there. Humanity will not see her kind for many scores of years, if ever again. In the meantime, tell your descendants the stories. Keep the fear alive. Be vigilant.’

  Only one of the Tuatha refused to co-operate in the migration, or enter hibernation. The Morrigan was appalled by her people’s plan to sleep for centuries and not to actively fight the faeries, and she had no particular faith in the humans to keep the stories alive. ‘Give them a century, they’ll probably come to believe faeries are pretty things that grant wishes’, she was heard to remark.

  And then there was the matter of her remaining son.

  ‘He is a magical creature,’ Amergin had said, from his makeshift throne on the summit of the Hill of Tara, for what seemed like the hundredth time. ‘And I will not permit magical creatures, half-breeds or no, within this kingdom.’

  ‘This creature is my son!’ Cadeyrn protested.

  Amergin looked warningly at his subject. ‘Much has been sacrificed in his name already.’

  ‘You have a new kingdom to divide,’ Caderyn shot back. ‘Spoils beyond reason. All I want is my son, my little boy. Let me go with him. I want no riches. No estate. Just my son and the chance to live a normal life with him.’

  ‘Show mercy,’ the Morrigan said. She stood beside her husband, their son between them, uncomprehending, while his fate was being decided. ‘As a half-blood he will be unable to enter sleep with the rest of the Tuatha. He will be alone, in the Otherworld, with Carman and her hordes.’

  ‘He will have you,’ Amergin pointed out.