Sidhe's Call Read online

Chapter Twelve

  I couldn’t believe how close I came to being loved to death. I saw how much Fallon focused on Dwayne to know his capabilities.

  Quickly I finished my chores, bones aching with every movement. But I was careful to conceal the morphing pains from my sisters. I didn’t want to explain why I had been in a changed state for such a long period of time. Yesterday I was supposed to be conducting more reconnaissance on Aidan, trying to find out more about him so that when the time came for his death, I would know how to bring comfort. But I was not very successful.

  True, I now knew the layout of the house, but the way Aidan’s aunt spoke to me freaked me out.

  It was as though she spoke through my Sidhe magic. But I was just imagining things. I was in such a panic at the Tanner cabin.

  I continued dusting the ancient, unused mantle. It was merely there for emergencies and looks because my kind captured the power of the sun and moon ages ago.

  “When you’re done with that you need to go out and help Bridget with her gardening. I’m having a meeting.” Branna didn’t even look up from her work – runes, again.

  My sister was one of the few rune writers in our clan. All Branna ever did was pore over books and scrolls, her fingers permanently stained purple by charmed inks. The charms left the runes indiscernible to anyone who did not drink from that specific ink prior to reading. In fact, each draught of ink had its own complex mixture – including the maker’s mark. I didn’t learn the art of Inking, but Branna was one of the most skilled Inkers in the clan. Whenever messages needed to be sent to the old world in Ireland, it was Branna who spent hours concocting the perfect blend of incantations, herbs, pollens, and a bit of her own hair.

  I had to give Branna credit. She was spectacular with her gift.

  Quietly I closed the door, my last glimpse of Branna hunched over her worktable, furiously scribbling away.

  It was an unseasonably warm day for Palouse country. The dew clung to bunchgrass and tiny purple blossoms of silky lupine, but the sun melted the prospect of bone-chilling frost.

  “Over here!” I heard Bridget’s familiar voice echo over the pastureland surrounding our mound hidden among the magically cloaked hills of Finias.

  I waded through the knee-high grass, fingertips brushing the tops of wildflowers which were beginning to flower. Bridget was working in the western fields along the tree line, her green apron melding with the surroundings.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, picking up a shovel. I helped dig a hole for a sapling.

  “Well, I’m planting some new trees along the edge here so that the lowland has a sort of privet. Just for a little privacy.”

  “I didn’t mean the tree. I meant with Branna. What’s this meeting all about?”

  “Oh, Morgan, nothing to worry about.” She continued hefting the clay-riddled soil out of the growing hole. “Hand me some peat?”

  “I’m just wondering–” I hefted a bale closer to her reach. “There seems to be a lot of whispering going on.”

  “There’s always whispering going on, Morgan.” She mixed the peat moss with the existing soil, muttering spells under her breath as she finished a final turn of the earth.

  “True, but…” I fished around with how to word things without letting her know I eavesdropped on my sisters’ visit to Onora. “You know everyone was talking about the prophecy before my Induction, but now that it’s over, I haven’t heard a word about it.”

  Bridget shrugged. “Like I said, always whispering going around. There’s the movement of Dryads who have been asleep for centuries, the sighting of a Selkie at Herriman. Always rumors, Morgan.”

  I knew she would be difficult. Bridget had her own way of being as stubborn as Branna. Another twin thing.

  “So, who is coming over?” I tried for more information.

  “Oh, just some members of the Inner Ring.” Bridget pointed to another sapling. “Hand me that, would you, please?”

  I heaved the sapling into the hole and helped her backfill. As we finished, I sat back in the grasses, arms outspread. Bridget moved down another thirty feet and shoveled the next hole.

  I stared across the acres of northern prairie which made up our family’s land. When the first wave of immigrants arrived in the new land, my ancestors settled in the remote and grassy hills.

  The rolling hills were not as green as Ireland, but Father always said it felt like home. For centuries my family lived in the hills of the Old World, watching over the O’Briens after the Great War between human and Sidhe.

  When the families migrated, so did the Sidhe, continuing our vow of protection and keening in the New World. We protected the O’Briens at birth and through life, but when death came to the O’Briens, it was our duty to announce the death, comfort the family, and sing the departed onto the shores of the Otherworld.

  I wish it could be different. And I wish Bridget would tell me what is going on, I thought.

  To the west, an unsettling front of darkening clouds was slowly boiling into the valley. The spring storms that I loved were sure to follow.

  “Morgan? Help?” Bridget stood with her hand on one hip, leaning on the shovel with the other.

  I sat up and stared at her. “I’ll help if you tell me.”

  Bridget laughed, as if it was a joke. “Tell you what?”

  “You know.” I kept my voice steady as I continued sitting in the same spot, unflinchingly staring at her.

  “Oh. I know? Know what? If you’re so sure I know something, then you must know that something already.” She brushed a long strand of black hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear as she casually propped her chin on the end of the shovel.

  My eyes narrowed. “What if those who were supposed to love you the most kept something from you?”

  “I guess I would think that they had my best interests at heart in keeping it from me. But let me ask you this,” Bridget put her hand back on her hip and continued, “if you knew something that could change the course of someone’s life and you didn’t know if it would be for better or worse, would you still tell her?”

  I stared at the upturned earth at my feet. It’s so unfair, I thought. The way she can twist things around on me like that. Why can’t they just tell me and have everything be my own decision?

  I swallowed hard. “Yes. Yes, I would tell.” I lifted my head and stared right into her eyes, no longer willing to smooth things over by remaining silent or simply by agreeing.

  “Yes?” Bridget snorted and went back to her digging. “That tells me you’re definitely not even close to being ready.” She stomped on the shovel, driving it deeper in her half-completed hole. “She’s so right. You are such a child.”

  A child?

  I couldn’t believe Bridget would say such a thing and agree with Branna.

  “Take it back.” My soft voice cut the air before I realized what I was saying.

  “What was that? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Bridget’s mockery pierced me. It was a tone I usually expected from Branna.

  I stood up, my black hair flitting in the breeze. “Clean out your ears.” My voice shook slightly, but I took a deep breath and steadied myself. “I said, ‘Take it back!’”

  “Excuse me?” Bridget’s sneer morphed to snarl. I hadn’t seen Bridget this annoyed in a long time.

  “Take – it – back! Is that slow enough for you?” I sputtered. My heart fluttered in my chest, begging me to end the confrontation. But I stood my ground.

  “I don’t have time for this.” Bridget drove the spade into the dirt and hefted a shovelful over her shoulder, dirt scattering in the rising wind. Her stiff movements showed her anger.

  I was getting to her.

  “You never have time for anything that’s important to me!” My hair swirled around in frenzy, but I had to keep pushing Bridget as far as I could, hoping that she would tell me what I needed to know. Surely if she were angry enough, she would fo
rget to keep things hidden and spout something before she could check herself.

  “Of all the selfish—” Bridget flung her shovel down, ready to leap over and slap me across the cheek. But instead, she suddenly stopped in her tracks. The look in her eyes was enough to tell me that she was affected by something. Maybe it was the confidence coming through on my face. The fact that I didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. Didn’t cower.

  Maybe she finally understands, I thought.

  My words were finally having some impact. I wouldn’t let go of the opportunity to express exactly how I felt and hopefully push Bridget for information about the prophecy and the Inner Ring. “Selfish? Well, maybe it’s about time I thought of myself! Maybe it is time that I quit getting bossed around and snickered about!”

  Bridget’s eyes went wide and her mouth hung open.

  Yeah, you never thought I would say it! I thought. I loved seeing her so shocked. I should have started responding like this a lot earlier.

  “So what is it, Bridget? What’s going on?” My voice thundered through the sky as my hair continued to whip around in the oncoming storm.

  Dark clouds hung directly overhead, and I spread my arms out on either side to wait the first raindrops.

  “I—I—” was all Bridget could muster as she pointed through and above me.

  Then I felt it. Not the raindrops. Not the crackling electric air of spring storms. Steaming breath exhaled on the back of my neck. My eyes went wide as I stared at my sister for some clue as to what, exactly, stood behind me. But Bridget collapsed to the ground.

  Slowly I turned, head held high so as not to show the slightest shrinking. I came face to face with a red-eyed horse. It stood stoically behind me, its black mane dripping wet.

  Rearing back, the horse’s sharp onyx hooves pawed the air in front of my chest – just feet away from tramping my skull to pieces. Yet I didn’t cower. The intimidating muscle-bound horse’s nostrils flared and its neck arched as though ready to charge.

  I took a step back, but the ebony horse moved toward me, legs outstretched and muzzle rearing as it whinnied.

  Winds bent saplings until the topmost boughs touched the earth as in prayer to the creature with solid crimson eyes.

  I prayed, Please don’t kill me, as I crouched to the ground, arms covering my head.

  Please don’t kill me. I’ll tell her I’m sorry. I’ll tell her I didn’t mean to be such a brat. I desperately whispered the pleas in my mind.

  The horse was going to pummel me with its fore hooves. I awaited an onslaught. I closed my eyes, waiting for it.

  Instead, the horse came down on all fours and lowered its muzzle against my partially-covered head. I felt it snort against my scalp. I was certain it would nip at me or wait until I uncovered my head and then strike.

  I stayed motionless.

  “Haieet!” the shrill came across the grassland from the mound. “Haieet veel!”

  The horse took a tentative step back, its breath no longer labored. It lowered its head to nibble on a tuft of grass, but kept its red eyes trained on me.

  I remained crouched, staring at the massive horse, blind to the clan members rushing past and toward Bridget. I was deaf to incantations recited over Bridget’s still body, and numb to Onora’s warm hand on my clammy forehead.

  Gradually, I heard Onora’s voice break through.

  It was just simple muttering at first, “–you feeling?”

  “Huh?” I shook my head and looked into the wrinkled face above me, realizing that Onora was not muttering a spell, but was actually talking to me.

  “How are you feeling?” Onora’s smile went wide. I could barely hear her over the swirling winds.

  My heart still drummed away. I shook my head and then remembered. “Bridget?” I swiftly turned to where she lay, but Onora caught me before I could move.

  “She’s in good hands. The best hands. But how are you, really?” The old seer touched my cheek with her gnarly yet deft fingers.

  Her bracelets jangled as Mother’s used to when I was a young girl – the bracelets that made the humble music of kneading dough, cleaning scrapes on knees, or rocking a child at night.

  In the years since Mother left, I tried to wash the memory of her away so that getting by would be easier. It would be simpler to move on without the reminders. But the sounds were relentless. They spoke to me, and the ancient rhymes Mother taught echoed in everyday ventures. A walk down the hall mimicked the bass rhythm of a dancing circle song. The swish of wind through the long grasses sang lullabies. And it was the one thing that Mother left me – the gift of music making.

  Melodies came easily, wherever I went, but I shoved those songs deep inside, keeping them locked away for another time and place.

  Even now as I stared at the dark horse, I could hear a song dancing in my mind in sync with the horse’s gnawing. It was a discordant refrain that chilled me.

  “I’m fine, but what is that thing?” I found myself out of breath as I nodded toward the feeding horse.

  Onora did not hesitate. “He is yours, and you are his.”

  “Mine? What do you mean, he’s mine?”

  “Well, as much as one can own a horse from the Otherworld. Which isn’t really owning at all, now that I think of it. More like… a mutual relationship.” Onora pulled a delicate white flower with a bulbous yellow center off a nearby stalk, shoved it in her mouth, and chewed. She spoke with her mouth full of the flower, “Maolaigh.”

  Onora spat the yellowish glob into her palm, brought out a satchel that was tucked away in her cloak, and added a silvery powder. She blended it together with her index finger, continuing to repeat, “Maolaigh.”

  “Now,” she held her hand out toward me and nodded.

  I crinkled my nose. “I have to eat that?”

  “Oh, no, no, no!” Onora’s belly jiggled as she chuckled. “You need to blow on it. Haven’t your sisters ever used chamomile?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she replied. “Your mother would be most unhappy. You should already know such things. Well, can’t change the past, we can only play make-up in the future. Now, blow on it.”

  “What does it do?” I eyed the disgusting mass with suspicion.

  “Calms the nerves! They’ve never even given you the tea? Even humans use it for that!” Onora was about to throw her hands up in the air, but caught herself before sending her concoction flying.

  I just shook my head again.

  “We’ll deal with that later. Now, Morgan, one breath. That’s all. We need to stop this storm which you seem to have stirred up without even trying.”

  I blew on the crone’s hand, really just a wisp of air, but Onora’s eyes beamed at me expectantly. “Well? How do you feel now?”

  I shrugged, “Same as I—” and then the numbness crept from my nose, through my face, tingled each hair follicle on my head, cascaded down my torso, and exploded through my arms and legs. I slumped onto the ground, still awake, but caring much less about anything besides admiring the myriad of grasses surrounding me.

  The winds fell silent on the camas prairie, just a trickle of breeze stirring the vegetation.

  Suddenly a scarlet-cloaked woman who looked like a praying mantis in robes approached, and Onora stood from crouching at my side.

  I mumbled as the bony woman faced Onora, “The Otherworld? What was she saying about the Otherworld?” But my mind raced away like the random darts of dragonflies.

  The woman with silver streaks in her black hair was as old as Onora. She swished her cloak out of her way like a magician about to begin a routine. Her pursed lips creaked into a disdainful smile as she looked down on Onora who stood mid-chest to the lanky Sidhe. The woman’s red cloak meant only one thing – she was from the Inner Ring.

  “Onora,” she said, her eyes darting to me. “This child must come to the Chapel. Would you mind escorting her and making sure she arrives
unscathed?” Her reptilian voice made me shiver, but it was the way this Sidhe flicked her boney hand in my direction that made me feel completely despised. My presence seemed to revolt the ancient Sidhe, like a sour taste in her tiny hole-of-a-mouth.

  Onora merely nodded respectfully at the request.

  “Very well.” The woman gathered her billowing skirt and half-turned to leave. “Oh, and it was nice seeing you once again. It’s been far too long since we’ve… chatted.”

  “That it has, Muirna.” Onora humbly bowed.

  Muirna! My eyes shot up from the haze and took a second look at the impending figure. Branna’s Muirna. The Seer.

  Seers typically lived in seclusion, only emerging for their ward’s Induction and the yearly recitation of The Thousand-Year Sidhe. Muirna’s figure seemed somewhat familiar, now that I could place where I glimpsed her cruel face before.

  “And the Kelpie from the Otherworld. I suppose you want him to accompany Morgan?” Onora’s interlaced hands rested on her paunch, her casual demeanor annoying the High Sidhe.

  “You suppose correctly, Onora. After all, where the girl goes, the horse will follow. So it is written, and so it shall be.” One final twirl and she was gone, a diminutive swallow flitting across the meadow and into the trees, no longer visible between the boughs.

  Onora slapped her flower-smeared hand against her side, cleaning off the mutilated blossom, and turned back to me. “Well, we should be off. You ready?”

  “But the horse of the Otherworld?” I was floored; Onora treated every occasion as though it was in the realm of ordinary, but clearly the dark horse that now slowly grazed was extraordinary.

  “It will come to you, I am sure, how it all fits together. If you open your mind it will make sense. But the Kelpie, he must go with us, as Muirna said.”

  “Is Muirna always right about these sorts of things?” I slowly stood from the dissipating stupor.

  “I like to keep her thinking so.” Onora smirked and guided me through the row of saplings away from home.