

Eire of Aggression

Book four of the Eire series

By Gavin Green

Copyright 2015 Gavin Green

Also by the author:

Eire of Intrigue (book one of the Eire series)

Eire of Mystery (book two of the Eire series)

Eire of Hostility (book three of the Eire series)

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely imagined. Any resemblance to real people or situations is a wild coincidence. If you know someone who closely resembles any of the characters, I'd like to meet them.

Dedication

To Cassandra, who understood without me having to say a word; to Lora, always there whether I needed a hand or not; to Pete, a friend with envious character; to Rachel, the navigator for when my boat drifted off-course; to Mike, who manages to be both wise and disgusting at the same time. And especially for anyone that knows who these people are, because I sure as hell don't.

1

A three-fingered, gloved hand gripped its owner's forehead as if in pain. The velvety dark material of that glove shimmered in the glow of a single flickering candle, sharp in contrast to the pale blue skin it held. Enochia Eversight lifted her head from her hand and let both arms slump onto her rune-covered alabaster table. The weariness of her unnaturally long and slender face bore comparison to the faded, tattered shawl that covered most of her lean torso.

She leaned back into the cushions of her Victorian-era chair with a sigh; her lids hung heavy over large cobalt eyes that had seen much. Her vivid hair, which ranged in hues from royal blue to aquamarine, fanned out against the padded backrest, but otherwise defiantly kept its naturally spikey shape. It was the only part of her left with any endurance.

Enochia's potent ability of far-sight, like any fae gift, required glamour. A danger in using her gift while depleted of it might lead to misinterpretation. That couldn't be afforded at this stage of events. As of late, the seer had harvested little of the precious energy, more concerned to discern what she could of Ballaghadaere's fate. She didn't fool herself into thinking that the pursuit was for benevolent purposes; she was one of the rare practical fae.

As a whole, the village and surrounding lands was a rich in warm spirits and goodwill - that is, precious glamour, and therefore valuable. It was also near to her own haven, as well to a few other fae whom she thought well of.

One of those respected fae was Aldritch of the Old Wood. He was formerly considered a wanderer, hermetic and enigmatic. With the onset of danger to his human progeny, though, that looming dryad had confined himself to the area they called home.

Enochia thought that the very recent conversation she and Aldritch had shared showed his growing anxiety and uncharacteristic care for their well-being. She couldn't empathize with his turmoil, and didn't choose to try. Perhaps other fae with mundane offspring had the same familial emotions, but that was their self-imposed burden to bear.

What troubled Enochia was that when she warned Aldritch that someone of his blood might fall victim in the dark times to come, he didn't even consider that he was included in that grouping. That elder's devotion to kin might be admirable to some, but it was clouding his normally good wisdom and sense of self-preservation.

Then again, she thought, Aldritch's grandchildren merited protection, if not at least some consideration. For humans, they were talented, as well as being fonts of glamour. The seer reluctantly concluded that Jack, Kate and Jane were worthy of an effort, but their mater, Cora? The problem of that ungifted human could be easily solved. But that was no longer for her to decide.

The human that Enochia did have a vested interest in was Brody Lynch. He was also the primary reason for her depleted energy. The seer knew from early in that man's life that he had a role to play in the events to come. Her gradual influence for him to make decisions he otherwise wouldn't have was draining; mostly because of the grace he was bestowed. Ragnar of the Red Rock was Lynch's benefactor, and the human was given a measure of the troll's vaunted iron will and innate mental defenses.

Recently, new visions had come to Enochia that involved Lynch, and she had been attempting to ply suggestions into his fortified subconscious ever since. Efforts on his behalf sapped her; she hoped he was worth the strenuous endeavor.

Other matters had also kept Enochia's keen interest, thus siphoning even more of her reserves; namely, the war party. After learning early on that Saraid of the Moon Glade was gathering a force, continuous attempts had been made to glean any strategies from its commanders. But to no avail - the glamour of so many gathered obfuscated any chance to glean sight or tactics.

The seer had been refocusing her efforts on where the war party's portal might appear. Thus far, she could only see tall grass and gray skies - not exactly helpful, considering it was Ireland.

Enochia had to rest some hope in what information was offered to her. Her servant, Harkin, had been sent to the Lore on numerous occasions to learn of any gossip from fae villages or groups of low-borne. Through a random insight, she was made aware that the elder troll Ragnar would soon have information worth bartering for.

Most importantly, the recently-titled sprite Oriana Solemn Sight still acted as a spy within Saraid's ranks. She stealthily had sent messages through Lore spiders that were sent to Enochia's holdings, where the seer could mentally decipher them remotely from her Verden haven. Oriana was the main reason why so much was known of Saraid's militia thus far.

While thinking of that brave fae, another vision came to Enochia. However, in her weakened state, the revelation was indistinct and fleeting. The ambiance it carried implied that some minor aspect was overlooked; Enochia felt no guilt for failing at the impossible task of seeing every possible outcome. All she could ascertain was that a subtle, lesser matter - a personal betrayal - had already set in motion a dire course of events.

As she looked out from her shadowy parlor into the lit hall through the open doorway, Enochia assumed that her servant was just beyond. With her allowance, he was allowed to read from her gathered books and tomes which he'd organized on shelves in the entry hall. "Harkin," she said in a tired whisper, knowing his sharp ears would hear, "come to me. You are needed."

The harpy, dressed as always in his crimson vest and trousers, stepped almost immediately into the doorway. His ash-gray hair hung over his face, although his dark eyes shone through the strands. He held his pale, mottled wings to his sides in a submissive pose as he replied, "I am here Mistress."

"There is a matter to be seen to, although it will only be retaliatory. The damage has already been done and its effects are in play."

Harkin knew better than to ask about any of her vague statements, which were plentiful. One instance of overstepping that boundary was enough; being made to think he was a rooster for an entire Verden day was a lesson not soon to be forgotten. "Of course, Mistress; I will do my utmost."

Enochia weakly nodded her head. "As you always have, my faithful servant, but your role in this matter is only that of a messenger. While I normally could communicate with my spiders and not use you for such trivial tasks, I am currently taxed. And so, I must tear you away from your reading and studies."

"Of course, Mistress; I would rather be serving you than myself."

"Very well, travel to my holdings and pass word to any of my lingering familiars to contact Oriana. She will be either on her own holdings harvesting glamour, or once again on Saraid's land near the war party. She is to initiate the secondary objective she aptly named 'the scoundrel'. Afterwards, return here for another simple task."

"Yes, Mistress, I shall see to it directly and return with haste."

Just as Harkin was about to step away, Enochia added, "Ah, and Harkin, add the recommendation that Oriana find a proper assistant beforehand. Her purposes would be better served for it."

2

Simon stepped out from the front door of his house into a bright and breezy Saturday morning in late February. While his dog sniffed through the matured plant beds, he looked up and took a deep breath of satisfaction. He tilted his head up and exhaled, letting the cool plume escape in a long, refreshing whoosh. Only a few stray clouds rolled past, decorating the brilliant blue sky. The air was crisp and clean, soft with the scents of horses and hay. There were no planes flying overhead, no hum of distant traffic, no noisy neighbors; Simon basked in the serene quiet and sunlight.

While he waited for Gunnar to mark his territory once again and then drop a load, Simon recalled the time from just a week ago; a busy week, indeed. He tamped down a quirley and struck a fireplace match from the heel of his cowboy boot to light it, telling himself enjoy the moment. He had a lot on his plate, but he chose that for himself and truly enjoyed everything he was doing.

Simon knew that routines would sort themselves out and things would settle. Just for a bit, though, there'd be some days that would knock the steam out of his pipe and he'd be drained by the time his butt hit the bed. He wouldn't have it any other way.

From when he took on Gunnar just a week ago, they'd taken to each other immediately. Sure, his brindle mixed breed had a touch of goof and ham in him, but the dog was nigh on a year and still had a lot of pup to live out. Simon's big worry of his pet running off was soon forgotten; Gunnar had no interest venturing beyond the low walls along the rural road and kept himself close to his master as a matter of choice. Whenever Simon was in his shop, Gunnar stayed outside of it because of the noise, but was always nearby. The dog was often seen laying in the doorway with a tennis ball in his mouth, and was often indulged with a few minutes of play.

Simon was happily giving his dog more attention than he thought he would; Gunnar went with him on farrier calls, ran close by when he rode Banjo out back through the fields, and slept on whichever side of the bed Simon was closer to. Being a happy dog, he had no idea how strong he was; Simon would get a real workout during tug-o-war with a rope. When it was time to relax and try to find anything decent on the idiot box, Gunnar was right next to him on the couch and ready to be given attention. The happy, four-legged galoot was like a child and worthy companion all in one.

Simon's newly adopted horses kept his spirit renewed, he guessed because they reminded him of when he worked in the corrals as a youngster. Banjo was a handsome boy and liked to show off his speed and agility; he'd get jittery with anticipation whenever Simon fetched the saddle. Most times, though, the tall Connemara kept company with Charlie. The older horse was slower to warm up to Simon, but was becoming more affectionate.

Both horses loved the freedom to roam the big pastures after living in cramped quarters. Charlie liked rain more so than Banjo and would graze out in it while his younger friend normally found the nearest tree to stay dry but still kept company. Simon sometimes liked to just walk his land with them, enjoying the solitude. Like with Gunnar, his frequent attention brought a friendly familiarity.

The only other movement around Simon's ranch was when he'd noticed that tiny fae friend of Brody and Kate's when she was on his property on a couple occasions. The first time, he'd simply caught sight of her when she slowly floated across his back lawn. The second time was just two mornings before; he stepped out of the metal shop and saw her sweeping the porch of the stables. When she took notice of him as well, there were a few uneasy seconds before she curtsied. Simon nodded his head in return and then went in the house.

He wasn't thrilled about seeing her there, but at least he felt no inclination to grind her under his heel.

Only on one other occasion did Simon come across fairies out on his land, just a few days after he'd moved in. During a nighttime stroll through the pasture, he saw some flying lights low to the ground near the far tree line. Two of the things were just glowing balls of light, but the other two looked like Tinkerbelle-style fairies. Brandishing his boot knife, he chased them all off, and hadn't seen any strange lights since.

Beyond his newfound domestic bliss, Simon was eager for his and Brody's store to open. On some of the projects, he and his mountain of a cousin got to work side by side \- 'collaborating', as Kate called it - which was always a good time. Brody had some good ideas and was pretty creative, his filly kept everything organized, ol' Mary was sure to run a tight ship, and the marketing firm spread the word and already had internet sales coming in. Simon had back-stock on a few of the items that were already moving, so he wasn't under much pressure.

There was even a plan to shape up the storage garage back behind the store to be used as sort of a team workshop where he and his cousin could finish their projects together. Every aspect of the new business was leaps and bounds over what he had back in Denver, and the scenery let him enjoy some peace.

Another topic that Simon was nearly as expectant for was Alana Quinn. He wasn't sure how it would pan out, but things looked good so far. She chose to spend at least part of her Valentine's Day with him, which he took as a good sign. Over that date, she agreed to go with him over to Brody and Kate's for the big duck dinner.

Simon recalled the night before, sitting around Brody's big table and stuffing himself with all the good cooking. Brian Madigan's wife, Tira, was starting to show and would be popping out a little nipper come May; Alana and Kate seemed almost envious from time to time through the evening when they looked at her. Anytime Simon thought he saw that look, he stepped out for a smoke.

It wasn't that he didn't want things to get serious with Alana, but he hadn't even settled in yet. Besides, he had no claim on her - she could have other courters for all he knew. The only extensive experience Simon had with women was saloon whores; he was walking a thin line between not treating her like one and having some fun at the same time. He didn't want to get the mitten by being a jackass of one sort or another; he would just have to stick to his guns and hope it kept her interest.

Other than that little itch in the back of his mind, Simon really enjoyed himself at Brody's the night before. Alana was just the right kind of date, too. She was funny and talkative without being a boor; neither clingy nor distant, and sarcastic with a strong pinch of flirt. Brian and his wife started quiet but loosened up. Jack and his wife, Fiona, were fun folks as always. Liam was his reliably laid-back self, and his wife, Cora, evidently took the stick out of her ass before she came over.

Brian the butcher was a gun enthusiast - which explained him being a crack shot - and they swapped hunting stories. Simon and Liam talked horses as usual; the older gent asked about Simon's new pets, so he was invited to come out to give Banjo a ride whenever he wanted. Simon remembered when Jack told Brody one of his mason workers smashed some fingers on the job, and Brody offered to fill in a bit before Jack even thought to ask.

Afterwards, and for a little while, things were as they should be; the men were bending elbows and cutting up while the ladies sat in the kitchen and traded their scuttlebutt. It was yet another aspect of this new life that Simon was enjoying.

When it came time to call it a night, Alana surprised Simon by quietly asking him where she was sleeping. He didn't hesitate for long. Sure, they were both a little sauced from the strong drinks after dinner, but he made certain that she knew what she was doing. After she assured him, they went straight to his place; her car was there anyway. That gal was just as fun in the sack as she was at a party. He reminded himself that she was still asleep in his bed; he'd wake her after a spell.

Simon contentedly walked to the side lawn toward his shop and stables with thoughts of last night's erotic romp with Alana replaying in his mind. He distractedly noticed when Gunnar sprinted by him in pursuit of a squirrel, but then something else caught the man's keen eye.

Some type of creature hovered over his property, out by the stables. With just a quick glance, Simon felt more than thought that it was something vulgar and vile; a corruption of nature. It was a blemish of foulness surrounded by native beauty. It did not belong.

Simon continued walking at a normal pace toward his metal shop, going in the general direction of the fiendish figure. Only using peripheral vision so as not to let the thing know he could see it, Simon was only able to get a few details. The creature, maybe half his height at a guess, hovered twenty feet above the open area between the shop and stables. It was roughly humanoid, dark in color, with flapping bat wings that kept it airborne. He didn't dare to look up directly at it to figure its intentions, so he kept to his course and walked into the open door of his shop.

From there, Simon hurried over to a workbench to hastily gather up one of his special projects; he wanted to get back in time before the foul fairy thing moved on. With hand-wrought metal weapons in hand, he jogged back over to the wide doorway and looked up.

The creature was even more revolting in detail; sickly green and gray skin, long arms and short legs, pot-bellied, swishing lizard tail, oddly shaped head and ugly as all hell. It was a bit closer to the empty stables then, eyeballing Gunnar as the dog ambled toward his master. Simon thought that for the bastard to even exist was bad enough, but its leering cat eyes told him that it was on the shoot with designs for his dog.

Livid and glowering, Simon quickly settled into a stance before the flying thing caught wind of him. A balanced throwing knife was heaved just as the creature began to turn, making the blade barely miss its disproportionately large head. It spun and looked at him with what he guessed to be surprise. Simon took advantage of the thing's hesitation and flung another blade lightning-quick.

The razor-sharp knife slammed into the foul creature's round stomach, buried to the handle. The flesh around the wound almost instantly turned black, bubbling and sizzling as the darkness spread in veiny tendrils. The little monster's inhuman mouth opened impossibly wide in a silent scream, contorted in a rictus of agony.

_'How does that feel, you shit-ugly devil?'_ Simon thought to himself with grim satisfaction as he stared up at the mortally wounded fiend.

The fairy creature's wings began to flap erratically in a futile attempt to gain altitude and flee. Both three-fingered hands frantically gripped the metal handle to dislodge the blade; its fingers immediately began to char from further contact with the hand-wrought iron. The otherworldly trespasser was almost thirty feet up by the time the poison of the metal was discoloring its thin neck, big ears, and jittery bat wings.

It looked down at Simon, its eyes wild with horror and loathing as dark veins coursed up its brutish face. The creature came to a sudden halt of movement, defied gravity for a long second, and then dropped straight down.

Upon contact with the hard gravel, the grotesque body crumbled into itself like wood ash collapsing in a hearth. Simon stepped over to it and dispersed the majority of the dusty remains with a swipe of his booted foot, content to let the cool breeze deal with the rest.

In a crouch as he was retrieving the blade that had killed the ugly fairy and also giving the affectionate Gunnar a scratching behind his ears, Simon once again detected movement out ahead of him. Further off, near the field gate between the stables and the carport, another small figure flew into view at a brisk pace.

Shooting to his feet and stepping in front of his dog, Simon set himself into another throwing stance. With his arm cocked back and the blade held between his thumb and forefinger, he waited until the smaller target came to a stop. Just as it did, Simon tensed for a longer throw but then froze; he recognized the figure. He let the knife drop from his shaky hands, placed them on his slightly bent knees, and took a deep breath.

After exhaling and peering back up, he saw that Liadan had floated nearer to him with her tiny blue eyes level with his hazel. Simon stood straight and frowned at her - he didn't feel inclined to chew the fat with another fairy just then, friend of Brody's or not. He wondered what she was doing there yet again; she could have been ready to offer a hand, or she could have just been sticking her tiny nose in his business.

Liadan looked down at the scattered ash and then nodded to him, as if to commend the man for his attack. Simon didn't want to be disrespectful, but he didn't need her consent or approval.

In the silence of the sunny morning, the back door of Simon's house was heard opening and closing. He shifted his eyes from the silhouette of Alana in his enclosed sunroom back to Liadan. She regarded him for a moment before offering a pleasant, dimpled smile; he wasn't sure what her gentle reaction meant.

The tiny fae then turned in mid-air and held one of her hands out in front of her. To Simon's surprise, a miniature trellis arch appeared in front of her, glowing and decorated with vines and blooms. Liadan floated through its flowered canopy and simply vanished; a second later, so did the shimmering trellis arch. As Simon knelt to once again retrieve his blade, he stared at the spot where the tiny woman had just been and only saw blue skies.

The squeaky door of the sunroom brought Simon's attention back to Alana. She took a few steps out onto his back lawn and waited with a rosy smile as he approached, with Gunnar following lazily behind him. Dressed in her own casual shoes, but wearing a pair of his tightly-cinched sweatpants and bundled in his long denim coat, Simon thought she looked silly and ravishing at the same time.

"How's the form, Yank," she said with a playful lilt.

"Mornin', ma'am," Simon replied with a grin of his own while he leaned in for a peck on the lips.

"I remember you saying last night that I... how'd you put it? I 'tuckered' you out. Then I wake to an empty bed..."

Simon pulled his coat more snugly around her neck. "Don't take no offense, Alana; I had a heap of fun, and last night was top-notch. It's just that I'm one of them early risers, and to be honest... I ain't used ta sharin' my bed."

Alana grinned; Simon was immediately relieved she didn't take his words wrong. "Fair enough, but maybe it's something you'll become fond of."

"Yeah," he replied with a new grin, "I just might, at that."

So," she said as she glanced around his shoulder and then back up to meet his eyes, "what were you doing out here?"

"Just enjoyin' the quiet, is all."

"Well then, if you're done communing with nature and had enough quiet time," Alana said as she put her hands on his hips, "why don't we step in out of the chill and go make some more noise. What say, my fine Yank? Care for another go before I'm away?"

Simon put an arm around her shoulders to lead her back inside. "I reckon you read my mind."

3

Two evenings after Brody and Kate's big duck dinner with friends, the couple once again had company invited over. Jane and Mac praised Kate's glazed lamb chop meal (Mac ate his with wooden utensils he'd whittled), and they all found Brody's attempt at oatmeal cookies surprisingly edible.

The hosts had invited them for a number of reasons, but mostly to see how Jane and her fae suitor/guardian were getting along. They also wanted to learn any more they could from Mac about his world, and to have credence to give a positive report back to Liam.

Jane, in her long-winded fashion, put into simple terms what she'd come to understand about the Lore. Still, she was mystified about most of its alien nature and couldn't properly describe topics that defied logic. She did explain that her and Mac's chats were discreet, being kept to their time after school either walking or at the lent bungalow. Mac would answer any casual questions aimed at him with simple answers, but had just as many questions for Brody and Kate about subjects they took for granted.

The conversations over dinner and dessert were filled with statements like Kate's comment of, "I can't understand that geography in the Lore is considered a fluid concept" and Mac's query, "I see wire and hooks everywhere - why don't you just use rope and wood for everything instead of metal?"

Brody knew there were some topics that Kate wanted to personally address with her sister, so he invited Mac out to his workshop with the excuse of getting a different opinion on some of his sculptures. The young fae was immediately and noticeably apprehensive at the invitation, remembering the big human's warning concerning Jane. After Mac had a chance to make sure Brody's aura held no foul intent, he genially accepted.

Kate noted throughout the evening - and especially the reactions just before Brody and Mac stepped out with their respective pets - how rapid and continuous the fae's emotional nimbus fluctuated. She'd never thought to study one of the Other Crowd's patterns for any length of time, and wondered how the Fair fae wasn't exhausted. She silently mused, _'And to think I considered Janie's nimbus chaotic'_.

Soon after Brody, Mac, and the pets stepped out, Kate refilled her cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table across from her sister. Jane was glancing about at the few new pieces of wall décor in that room when she noticed Kate silently staring at her with a small smile. Jane grinned back with a curious lift to her thin eyebrows.

"And so here it is," Kate finally said. "I'd like to try a little game - or test, if you will - for my nimbus gift. I did have a few questions on my mind to ask, but then this idea formed in my head. Care to indulge me?"

Jane's grin widened. It was a pleasant surprise to see her older sister being creative and playful - quite a departure from her younger self. "Alright, this might prove fun, and I've wanted to know more about your sight-gift-thing anyway. How do we go about it?"

"For starters, you'd turn and face away from me so I can't see any of your facial expressions. No offense, Janie, but your poker face is nonexistent."

Jane sneered and gave a squinty-eyed stare at the remark. She then stood and sat in the chair backwards, resting her forearms on the backrest. "If this is a prank..."

"On my honor," Kate said with a smile to her sister's back. "Now, all I'll do is say a word, a single word every few seconds, and see if I can't figure things out that way. When we're finished, I'll give my answers and you tell me how close I am to the mark."

Jane turned her head and looked at Kate from the corner of her eye. "I'm not supposed to say anything at all?"

"I know it'd be a much more fun game if you were allowed to blather on like a duck, per usual," Kate replied with a smirk, "but this won't take long, fair enough?"

With an exasperated sigh, Jane huffed, "Fine," and turned her head away once more.

Just before Kate began with her test, she said, "Em, Jane? Some of the words might be a bit... personal. Is that alright, or should I skip those?"

Jane was silent for a moment. Without turning, she eventually answered, "I suppose I'd be telling you some personal things anyway, so it's okay."

Without asking if her sister was ready, Kate simply waited a few seconds and then began. With time given between each, she stated the words, "Singing," "Doors," "Mam," "Sex."

Before Kate could say she was finished, Jane spun in her chair and glared at her. "Jaysus, Katie, you weren't kidding! That got personal right quick, like!"

Kate lowered her head for a second, but then met her sister's eyes. "I suppose I did intrude a bit, Janie, and I'm sorry for that. But I did ask, if you'll remember. It's just that I worry for you. I know you would have told me things in your own way had I asked, but I just... took a shortcut." She offered a hopeful smile and waited for a reaction.

"Christ on a bike, Kate - relax!" Jane said with a smile as she reached across the table and gave her worried sister a playful slap on her forearm. "If you'd kept on using your gift, you would have known I was only miffed for a sec. Go on, then; I'll tell you how close you come to the mark."

Relieved, Kate took a sip of her steamy tea and said, "Since I can only see emotion and intensity, I'm somewhat sorting a puzzle. I may not have all of it right..."

"No excuses," Jane said as she stood, grabbed her own tea cup and stepped toward the kettle on the stove, "Start talking, sis."

"Okay, here it is. Your singing aspirations; you still have dreams of it, but they're no longer the grand hopes of international stardom. I think you'd happily settle for less if you're able to have other important things in your life as well."

Jane nodded while she refilled her cup. "True enough, although that could just be clever guesswork from someone in the know."

"Fair enough," Kate conceded. "So, about 'doors'... You're a mixed bag of emotions on that subject. You like that it's a form of escape and refuge, but you can only protect those with it who've already been touched by fae in one form or another. You can't shield mam or da with it if things go sour in the fall, and that worries you. Equally so, you see your door gift as something magical end enchanting, yet you feel as if there's something more to it that you haven't discovered yet. You don't know what this other aspect - or piece you're missing - is yet, and it scares and thrills you at the same time."

"Now that's a nimbus gift thingy in grand form!" Jane said excitedly as she resumed her seat at the table. "You said it better than I could, and they're my feelings for fuck's sake; fair play, Katie."

Kate smiled at her sister's reaction and praise, but then said, "A bit more on that; you also have glee and guilt about your doors. You like that you have a talent somewhat in common with Mac, and that he's impressed with what you can do. The guilt is from thinking that you might be putting people in harm's way because your gift was found out."

Jane stared down into her cup with a frown and mumbled, "A little, I suppose. I bet you'd feel the same in my place."

"Jane, look at me," Kate said softly as she reached over and took her sister's hand. Jane glanced at her fingers curled into her sister's warm grip and then peered up into her big brown eyes. "Let me make a few things plain," Kate said with a serious tone. "To start, Mac is fascinated with much more about you than just your gift. Next, stop feeling guilt for things you have no control over; the supernatural happenings are by choice of the Other Crowd. Besides, Brody and I are just as involved with this mess as you are, if not more so. And I also see a trace of fear of the one who hunts for you - stop trying to deny that feeling. I would think that anxiety is a natural response in your position. All you have to do is accept it and temper it."

"What do you mean, 'temper it'?"

"Denying that there is danger would make you a fool. Being consumed by fear would make you weak and useless." Kate smiled tenderly at her sister. "You've always been strong, Janie, and sensible when there was need to be. Just keep on that path like you are now. Worry about that foul fae woman when there's need to."

"Cheers, Katie," Jane said with a small grin, "I'll keep those words near. Now," she said in a brighter tone as she sat back and reached for her cup, "what was the next word?"

"I said, 'mam'. As I mentioned before, you're worried for her and you still haven't thought of a good solution to keep her safe. The truth is, neither have I. Given the choice, I don't think she'd want to be made to forget, although it would be to her detriment to remain aware and thus in danger of this war party's wrath. Honestly, there's nothing she could do to protect us any better than we can do for ourselves."

"I think mam's happy that she's closer with us," Jane said soberly, but then grinned. "And she's not near as scary anymore. The thing is, mam just seems so... em..."

"Overwhelmed?"

"That's it - overwhelmed. I think this is a bit much for her, Kate. Mam's not weak, but I'd imagine she feels helpless and without any say whatsoever. She's used to having at least some control, but how do you keep people out of fantasy in line? You don't - you can't. My first bit of time in the Lore almost sent me seriously loopers, so I have, like, an idea how mam feels. I'm worried she'll go mental and not come back from it."

Kate rubbed her hands together in thought before she replied, "You're right, of course; I was just afraid to voice my worries of her mental stability. It'd just feel manipulative if we had her memories altered without her consent."

"But you think she wouldn't give her consent, do ya? So, we're stuck, right?"

Kate frowned. "Unless someone makes the choice for us, we have to keep mam safe - not just for her sake, but for da as well."

Jane gulped down her tea and said, "I guess we've decided, then. Let's not bother ourselves with the details for now, okay? There'll be a time for it." After Kate nodded her agreement, Jane then asked with a smirk, "So why did you say 'sex'? Bit of a perv, are we?"

Kate shook her head with light-hearted indignation. "God, no; it sounds as if you've been spending time with Alana or something."

"Why'd you ask, then?" Jane goaded with her smirk still present.

As she leaned forward, Kate replied, "So I'd know what kind of report to give da soon enough."

Surprised and a little concerned, Jane asked, "Why - why would you be telling da anything?"

"So he knows better what sort of lad is after his precious little girl, that's why. With favorable words from Brody and me, he may just allow you and Mac - before you're off to Uni - to travel about and play in pubs and festivals and such - chaperoned, of course."

"That would be so savage!" Jane said enthusiastically. Then she suddenly glared at her sister. "Hold on, now... that all depends on what you tell da. I feel a bribe coming on..."

*

The door to the workshop was left open so that the dogs could come and go as they pleased while Brody and Mac kept out of the brisk evening wind and chatted. The young fae kept a near-constant grin while he admired the large assortment of finished sculptures, going from piece to piece energetically. Brody said that he was glad Mac enjoyed his handiwork, but then casually asked why he seemed so jittery; the reply was one he hadn't thought of. In animated tones, Mac said the workshop was awash with glamour. Hopes, dreams, and creative impulses saturated the little building.

Brody sat on an uncut block of limestone and asked, "Does that mean it's going to draw fae here? I'm pretty sure I don't like that idea."

"Any who might happen through this area, yes," Mac said as he stared at a bull's head carved in obsidian that he carefully held in his hands. "I see little reason why most fae would come this way normally, but your shop would certainly be noticed if they did. Since low-caste have better senses for glamour, I'd imagine your lady Kate might occasionally see activity around here deep into the night. How strange that low-caste fae are more receptive to glamour when they have limited abilities to manipulate it." He looked over to Brody with a crooked grin. "Ironic, don't you think?"

"Wait a second," Brody said with concern, "you mean I have low-class fae here in my shop prancing around in the middle of the night?"

Mac turned to look at him with a curious expression. "If you're referring to low-class as meaning unsavory types, then I find that doubtful. Most low-caste fae are genial creatures. That being said, it is best not to intrude upon their dancing and frolicking; I'm sure you don't want any more mischief on your land than what you've already told me about."

"See, that's the problem - if I wanna go out on my land in the middle of the night, I'm damn well going to. Your low-caste can deal with it or fuck off."

"But, as I understand it, you wouldn't be aware of them without your Lady Kate's fae-sight."

"Yeah, but now I know they're here without her telling me, don't I?"

Nodding solemnly, Mac replied, "I can see where you would find it an intrusion. However, you could simply befriend them; there are benefits to such a tactic."

Relaxing his scowl, Brody asked, "What sort of benefits?"

Mac shrugged. "Allow them a small tribute, such as an occasional pail of milk or a few sticks of butter; low-caste would be inclined to reciprocate. They might tidy your shop or pull weeds from your property, for example."

Brody rubbed his chin in thought and tried to imagine what Kate might advise. If fae were going to be hanging around anyway, it might be best to be on good terms. Then again, if he could send them off with no repercussions... he liked that idea better. "Uh, do those old ways of warding fae off really work? You know, like salt or horseshoes or whatever? Not that I plan on it - I'm just curious."

Mac set the obsidian sculpture down and began to study a Celtic cross carved from malachite. "I suppose they would," he said distractedly, "although those methods only work on low-caste. Hand-wrought iron, on the other hand, would keep any fae at bay. It still might lead to mischief if, say, a gnome was denied a location by mundane means that he'd come to favor."

"It almost sounds like extortion," Brody grumbled.

Mac turned and looked at Brody once more. "With all due respect, wouldn't sharing a bit of your dairy be a much better course of action? In times to come, there will be enough hard-hearted fae to contend with. Why add to their ranks?"

"Why? Because this is my damn land, that's why. If they want to ask me or Kate permission - like you politely did - then maybe. Otherwise, they're not welcome!"

Taking a small step back, Mac quietly said, "It was not my intention to anger you..."

Standing to his full height, Brody heatedly said, "What if it were your place, Mac? Jane says you have a real nice spread; what if you had sneaky little humans hanging out on your property while you slept? Don't tell me you wouldn't feel intruded upon."

To Macklin's eyes, the graced human seemed to swell to slightly greater proportions than his already formidable size to accommodate his growing anger. From the light of the electric lanterns, his large frame cast ominous shadows throughout the interior. The fae took another small step back, mostly because Brody's presence was beginning to make him feel claustrophobic in the small structure. "I cannot say it would be fair to compare the two," he replied calmly. "But, in your place, then I might take small offense to the trespass. As a solution, I would either make them retainers or find a diversion for them off of my property."

"Make them retainers, seriously?" Brody replied with a growl, "How in hell am I supposed to do that? The point is that I don't want any damn retainers! I don't want to have to share my own damn property!" He took a step forward while clenching his fists and bellowed, "And most of all, I want my life back - my simple, normal, fucking life!"

Mac tensed as Brody's aura bloomed to a new intensity. His attention was then diverted when a presence was sensed at the open doorway, and it certainly wasn't one of the dogs.

"Here now, Mister Brody," said a soft feminine voice. Both heads turned to Liadan as she floated just inside the workshop. "Not exactly chewin' the fat out 'ere, I'd bet, what with all the noise and making your pets nervous just outside." She quickly eyed them both. "You're alarming this well-intentioned Fair fae with your hard words and dark mood, ye are - might that be your intent?"

Brody let out a harsh sigh, trying to reclaim his composure. "No, it isn't. I'm sorry about that, Mac - I'm just frustrated with all this."

Mac nodded his acceptance of Brody's apology, although it was Liadan who spoke. "I hope you'll not be minding me to ask, Brody, but might you be also perturbed with the field mice and rabbits out in your paddocks?"

"What?" Brody asked with a frown. "No - why should I?"

"Because they're honestly not much different than low-caste at this point; ye take no notice of them and they've been about this area for long and long, to be sure. Honestly, the furry little pests are a bit of a nuisance when compared to the gnomes and pixies I've seen hereabouts." Liadan hovered forward while Brody sat back down and Mac visibly relaxed. "Ye might even look at it this way, if ye would but try. They be wee children who come to revel in the glow of strong hearts and fine endeavors, they do. Take it as praise, even."

Brody rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands loosely together. "That's a better way of looking at it, I guess. Again, sorry - I didn't mean to get all worked up like that." He looked over to Mac and said, "That new info just caught me off-guard; I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I admit that I don't understand your anxiety," Mac said with a grin, "but perhaps it had something to do with what you really wanted to discuss." Brody's eyebrows arched questioningly, so the young fae added, "I sensed a topic troubling you when we first came out here."

"Should I leave you gents be?" Liadan asked them. She then quickly offered to Mac, "That's a fine manifest ye have, master Fair."

Glancing from one supernatural guest to the other, Brody said, "Oops, forgot my manners. Liadan, this is Macklin. Mac, this is our friend, Liadan." They informally bowed or curtsied to each other, respectively. "I've mentioned both of you to the other; I'm glad you finally get to meet."

"Ah, lady Liadan," Mac said to her with a warm smile, "tales have been told of your counsel and talent with gifts. I'm honored to meet you."

"Actually, Liadan," Brody interjected, "I'd like you to be here for the question I had for Mac." He didn't want to be rude, but was anxious for an answer to the topic foremost on his mind. "I figure two opinions are better than one, ya know?"

"Very well," she said as she floated up and sat on one of his shelves, "but I'll be remembering a promise of a warm hearth and biscuits with me visit, and I'll be holding ye to it."

"Sure, of course," Brody quickly replied. "So anyway, the question I had for Mac, and now both of you, has to do with when this attack is supposed to come. Is it an army, or just a group, or what? What will they do first? Who will they go after? Is it gonna be like a street fight, or are these bastards more serious than that? Is someone gonna form a defense? Will they hurt humans? What happens if -?"

"Easy - easy now, Mister Brody," Liadan interrupted from her high vantage point. "Me poor head couldn't keep up with all your queries. Simmer a bit and I'll do me best to answer, I will. I'm sure that good Macklin will do the same from his own view." She said the last with a questioning lilt.

"Of course," Mac said. He sat on a rough block of granite near Brody and looked at him earnestly. "I've not been in a battle like this before, nor even seen one. I have heard tales, though. To make matters simple, I'll tell of what I'd expect. Is that acceptable?"

Brody sighed his reply, "That'd be great, thanks."

"Now, with fae being mainly independent creatures, it will be no army. Their numbers are dependent on their leaders and attending elders, as well as the amount of plunder."

"What's worthwhile to them around here?"

"Verden havens, for one," Liadan answered, "and there's more than a few hereabouts, I can tell ye."

"There are?" Brody asked.

"Aye," she answered with a nod, "and with some of those come permanent bridges. I believe I've mentioned all this to ye in the past, if ye think on it. Seized by another fae, those hard-earned bridges can be opened and near always lead to the vanquished fae's Lore holdings. In turn, that land is at risk as well."

"Okay, so wait a minute," Brody said as his brows furrowed together. "That means most local fae - if they had a haven and bridge - would want to defend their own shit. Unless they could make some defenses or something, each one would be facing that pack of looters on their own. So, basically, they're fucked, right?"

"Unless they either fled or stood together before the aggressors could make any claims," Mac replied, "then... yes."

"The war party would have other aims as well," Liadan explained. "They'd capture places such as glamour-rich glens and woods. And, as far as seizing glamour... sometimes humans fall into that category, I'm sorry to say."

"They'd take some of the villagers?" Brody asked in a hushed tone.

"It is possible," Mac said. "And let us not forget their excuse to pillage: namely, you and all of the local McCarthy women, 'defiantly' in breach of one of our laws. When they arrive, attempting to explain your situation may well be futile."

"It is also possible," Liadan offered, "that their leadership be lacking and each greedy fae will go after their own prizes; seen it happen before, I have." She left her high perch and floated down in front of Brody while she brushed rock dust off of her plump backside. Liadan then looked him in the eye. "If there were to be a group to confront and counter them, then that might be best. Still, the defenders could lose." She cocked her head slightly to the side. "And before ye ask, I'm no leader or warrior, although I will fight."

"Any fae to act together by choice as guardians is a far cry from common, from what I've gathered," Mac offered. "And, only from what I've heard, most loosely assembled war parties will attack like a swarm. If allowed, they'll ignore tactics and pursue chaos at their own whim."

Liadan nodded. "Aye, that could be the truth of it. I have it on authority from me chum Lochlan that this rabble not be sanctioned by the Circle. Oh, and by his word, the lough now be safe again. Incensed, he was, that the waters be intentionally poisoned by a fae hand. That fine merrow made it safe once more with no small effort, he did."

"It was intentional?" Brody asked; his surprise was tinged with anger. "Well, tell him thanks from me."

"That I will; he also said more of the war party against Ballaghadaere, passed on to him. Ah, the Lore be ripe with gossip, yet all of it honest, it is. So, Lochlan learned of a few fae who went to join their ranks; not so concerned with righteousness or laws, they were - more out for blood and spoils of conquest, is what I be thinkin'. Others might actually be seeing the virtue of their cause; I can't say for true. "

"So," Brody said with a perplexed expression, "you're saying that really anything could happen. I'm guessing you mean it'd be better if it was over with as soon as possible - that makes sense. But what happens if they beat the defenders, if there are any? What happens if all the area fae just protect their own places and get picked off one by one?" Brody looked to Liadan first, waiting. She simply pursed her lips with a worried look in her eyes, so he turned to Mac. "What happens then?"

With a sour expression, Mac replied, "A long, dark road for Ballaghadaere."

*

"Cheers, Katie," Jane said excitedly, "I think those are grand ideas!"

"They won't interfere with anything you had in mind?"

With a grin and a chuckle, Jane replied, "I really haven't given it much thought yet, to be honest, so I didn't have much in mind at all. Hold on," she said as she dug into one of her pants pockets to retrieve her phone, "let me get this down so I don't forget." Jane fiddled with buttons and then looked up. "Okay, what was the name of that song mam and da always danced to on their anniversary?"

"It's called 'Irish Heartbeat'," Kate answered with a soft smile of reminiscence. "It's by Van Morrison, who was before our time. It's still a brilliant auld tune, though. Just look up the lyrics online; I wouldn't think they'd be hard to learn." While her sister typed into her phone, Kate added, "They'll adore your rendition of it, Janie."

Jane stopped typing for a moment to look up at her sister and smiled in response. She looked back to her phone, hit a few more buttons, and then said, "Now what song did you want me to sing in Irish?"

"Here," Kate said as she reached for her grocery-list pad, "I'll just write down a few options. They all make me think of Brody, so anyone of them will do. Whatever translates best, I suppose. Oh, and you should really showcase Mac's skill on mandolin... and yours on guitar, for that matter. You've got a fair hand at it, Jane. Admittedly, Macklin's talent almost rivals your voice, but you're much more proficient than just strumming rhythm chords."

"Nice of ya to say, sis, even though I'm pure shite on strings compared to him. So, like what; maybe something tired and trad, like 'Swallow Tail Jig'?"

"Sure; I don't think that dead horse would mind another few whacks."

They were both giggling when the front door opened. With Mac and the dogs a few steps behind him, Brody came in and stepped into the living room where he could see the women at the kitchen table.

"Keep it private for a bit," Kate quickly said to her sister.

Forcing a smile, Brody said to Kate and Jane, "Look who we found."

The women turned their heads to face Brody as Mac stepped up next to him. Jane's first thought was that, although she knew Mac to be strong and fit, he looked rather puny standing next to the huge Yank. Then she noticed something on her fella's shoulder, like how a pirate would carry a parrot. She was about to ask where he found a girl's doll and why he would perch it on his shoulder, when it spoke.

"Conas deas a fheiceann tú arís, Miss Kate," Liadan said from Mac's shoulder.

"It's good to see you again as well, Liadan," Kate said as she got up and went around the table to stand next to Jane, who was still seated. Kate glanced down and saw Jane's mouth hung slack while she stared at the tiny fae.

Liadan floated off of Mac's shoulder and toward the ladies. With a dimpled smile, she looked down at the wide-eyed young woman and said, "And who might this fair lassie be?"

When Jane didn't immediately reply, Kate said, "This is Jane, my younger sister." She gave her sister's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Jane, this fine fae is Liadan, whom we've told you so much about."

"Savage," Jane said softly as she continued to stare.

Liadan glanced at Kate, whose cheeks were coloring from embarrassment. "Yes, well..." she replied as she looked back to Jane with another warm smile, "Savage to you too, dear."

4

Under a cloudy Verden dawn, an unlikely group of fae gathered atop a sturdy section of ramparts that were part of the Ballinfol Castle ruins. The morning sun slipped beams through the broken overcast sky that tinted varied ribbons of faded peach and mauve on the leaden background above them.

The soft rays also shone upon a few of the beautifully feathered wings of the ten harpies in attendance, which enriched the hues of their individual plumes.

Two high-borne fae stood nearby, facing the harpies. Oriana Solemn Sight, the sprite whom they'd recently met, whispered a few private words with the short fae next to her before she made formal introductions. "Neoteric harpies of the neutral lands, this is Gideon the morpher, the fine fae I spoke of to you." She turned her head to him, noticing that he continued to gaze openly upon them. She hoped the awkwardness wouldn't last long. "Gideon, these are the splendid low-caste that I made mention of in the message I sent."

Galatea led the other harpies as she spread her lustrous white wings and bowed her head, letting her long, milky hair flow down. "Greetings, master morpher," she said respectfully, despite her reservations. The other harpies followed suit as they bowed their heads and murmured the same words.

His light brown eyes wide, Gideon tried to take in their collective exotic appeal. He had never seen creatures that could compare to them; clever and proud harpies, although with touches of beauty that he found captivating. Some still had large, ugly ears common to their race, while others had hooked noses or sallow skin that one would also expect. Yet mixed with those traits were beautiful faces, alluring eyes, curvaceous forms, and striking plumage. "Cad a chaith álainn," he said softly to himself.

The harpies glanced at each other uncertainly and then back to Gideon and Oriana, some of them with the narrowed eyes of wariness; the little morpher seemed to take no notice.

"Chaith álainn?" Oriana asked him. "I'm glad you think so. Perhaps they will as well."

"'Ky - allin', he said, elder?" Galatea asked as she took a tentative step forward. "We know a handful of Verden languages, but are unfamiliar with those words. Might we inquire their meaning?"

"It is of the old language here in the Eire, meaning 'beautiful cast'." She turned to the morpher. "Cast, Gideon? Do you refer to these creatures as a theatrical troupe?"

"If I might suggest, elder," said a gorgeous, dusky-hued harpy with a silky voice, "your cohort might also be referring to the avian definition. The word 'cast' is also used in reference to a group of predatory birds; as in, 'a cast of hawks' - the proper terminology. We are - or were - more often compared to Verden vultures, but the intended meaning is not lost on us."

"Ah," Oriana nodded, "then I'm sure there was no slight meant."

Just as the harpies nodded in cautious appreciation, Gideon expounded on the explanation. "Far from it, says I. Never have such striking creatures graced me eyes, I tell ye true. Cunning, exotic... glorious; the words jump from me gaping gob, they do. Femmes fatales in fine feathered forms, ye be; what a wonder."

Unsure how to react to the morpher's candid praise, the harpies remained reserved. Fiamma - a harpy with an unfortunate face, but also with dazzling ruby eyes, crimson wings and fiery red hair - moved next to Galatea. With a stern voice, she said, "All respect given, master morpher, but if you mean to toy with us and lower our guard, then you'll find that we are not so easily deceived. We are still harpies, and plying us with flattery is a tactic that has never worked to gain our allegiance or servitude."

Gideon was alarmed by her words. "There be no ruse here, red maiden, nor a game played - by the elements, I swear it! Only grand admiration in words that do no justice, says I. There's just enough reason in me head ta know flowered words not be dullin' yer sharp wits, even if those words be true. I'll be expectin' no commitment or grand service, but we be given a chance to repay injustices; I'd be wantin' those who share me quest ta know me mind, I would."

Oriana stepped behind Gideon; she placed a hand on his shoulder and regarded the harpies from over his curly white hair and goat horns. "On my oath," she said to them, "his aura is pure with truth and respect."

The harpies traded looks among themselves, some with grins forming.

Gideon turned his head and looked up at Oriana. "Pure with truth, is it? Now, that might be a first."

Amused, Oriana smiled down at him and shook her head. Many of the harpies were grinning as well; some of them even chuckled. Gideon laughed along with them.

Fiamma, the red-haired harpy, approached the two high-borne. Standing just taller than Gideon, she looked him in the eye and said. "Please understand my former apprehension, master morpher. Now known that your adulation held no guile, I thank you for it. You are... very kind... to say such things. Your particular candor thaws our cold hearts."

Gideon was surprised to hear such heartfelt words from a harpy. He was about to respond when his voice caught in his throat. As Fiamma stood in front of him, her features began to smoothly shift. Sunken cheeks rose to a fine, feminine shape; cruel teeth straightened and became pearly white. "Elements take me," he whispered in astonishment. Fiamma smiled demurely at his reaction.

Oriana leaned closer to one of Gideon's long tapered ears and quietly said, "You see the curse in action."

"Curse, me dimpled arse!" he exclaimed. "Bollocks! That be a gracing of sorts, it is! Some right eejit got the intent of their bane twisted, says I. And to the betterment of the finest of the low-caste, I tell ye true." He looked directly at Fiamma. "Yer smile now be matchin' yer spirit, it does; I be grateful to ye for it, milady."

"It is decided, then," Galatea said in a proud tone. "We will not eat you for breakfast." Gideon wasn't sure to laugh along with the harpies or not, but did manage a nervous grin. He thought their velvety, musical voices more than compensated for their dark humor.

Oriana lightly stepped forward and placed gentle fingers on both Gideon's and Galatea's shoulder. "I am pleased to leave you both in fine company. I have enjoyed this gathering, but unsavory duties await me and I must hasten away."

"Must ye now?" Gideon asked. "Ah, well, all good things pass, they do."

Oriana looked down at Gideon with a wistful smile. "If it was possible to bestow Lore providence from one fae to another, I would offer my best hopes for your own impending quest. However," Oriana said as she turned to face Galatea, "low-borne, if not already in servitude, may be recipients of such. I therefore impart to you and your sisters good luck, in both your mission of retribution as well as the solace you deserve."

After the harpies murmured their thanks, Oriana stepped back along the narrow rampart and opened a gate. Regarding them all, she said, "May you fare well," before stepping out of the human dimension.

There was a moment of silence after the sprite elder's departure until Gideon piped up. "That one pined for me a time ago, she did. Poor lass; but let her down softly I did, I tell ye true."

"Of course she did," said Galatea. "It must have been that round little belly of yours that charmed her, no doubt."

He looked at the harpies and was met with disbelieving smirks. "Aye, that and more, "Gideon replied with an impish grin and wiggle of his bushy white eyebrows. "Here in the Eire it was - me favorite of lands. Untitled then, the lady Oriana called to the grand avian o'er her head - that bein' me. Swooped down, I did, further takin' her breath with me graceful flight. Then did she bid me come to her haven and frolic, and sore tempted to go was I. Knowin' it was only me masculine air that swooned her, I couldn't be takin' advantage of her virtuous nature, as the truth of it. So I be sayin' to lady Oriana that me heart must remain free fer its match, as must hers. And so it be; she keeps her pride and I keep on me gallant ways."

"How refreshing," remarked a large harpy who was colored in rich shades from cream to brown; she stood on her stone perch on the rampart wall and quickly continued. "The good morpher's lies are so outrageous that I find myself entertained."

"If it be entertainment ye be wantin'," Gideon said with a somber tone, "we'll be havin' our fair share of it soon enough, we will. When we start carryin' out our own payback, we'll be drunk with the pleasure of it, says I."

"Now might be a good time to explain what it is exactly you are requesting of us," Galatea said. "We were promised retribution against the schemes of the elder Saraid Moon Maiden, but not in what form it would take."

"Then let me tell as I have been told." Gideon pointed out to the southwest, where dark morning clouds gathered anew. "Not far out that way is a village called Ballaghadaere; it be a place rich with good tidings and glamour, full of friends and family, I tell ye true. And close to me heart it be for long and long. Progeny of fae even reside there, so I hear. And, the ether also lies thin; many a fae - low-caste and high-borne alike - be makin' havens thereabouts, with me self as part of that count."

"If the place you describe is for some strange reason our target of retribution," a golden-haired harpy said, "then I admit my reluctance to raze such a place... if it is as you say."

"No, no! By the elements, no, says I. The place be as I say - all serenity and charm, it is. But now the village and lands about it be plagued; sour fae and their foul intent to inflict the worst of luck, they be. Aye," Gideon said, nodding to them, "gremlins they be, and with their vile master lurkin' about. That same one be in league with the Moon Maiden, he be, and does his deeds by her bidding. It be so, as sworn to me. We all be asked to remove that... that... unnatural, unwholesome taint."

The morpher's information made the harpies take noticeable interest; neither low-caste race involved was fond of the other. "An intriguing affair," Galatea calmly said, "and it certainly holds appeal for us. But, good morpher, with all due respect... I'm sure you have other strong talents. It is only that -"

"I don't appear the warrior type, is it?" When she nodded, Gideon smiled to show that no insult was taken. "I'll be tellin' of me martial tales another time, I will," he said. "Suffice it to say that me skills be fittin' this type of outing more than some hardened combatant, says I. Me brother Kazimir offered a few reminders of tactics fer what I'd be havin' in mind."

"You have a brother named Kazimir?" one of the harpies asked.

"Ah, well, most of me race consider each other kin of sorts, but far removed if they go provin' themselves to be... eh, the unsavory type, I tell ye."

Galatea closed her brilliant white wings together to clasp her clawed digits together. "So," she said, "we assume this will be no frontal attack. How do you wish to proceed?"

"Ye have it right, me fine mare." Gideon explained his plan while slowly walked through their number, looking each harpy in the eye as he moved along. "The goblins be spread through that area, causin' their mayhem. We'll not use their ways, although I'm knowin' you'd be up to that task. No, we be sendin' scouts, make sure one of them bat-winged bastards be alone, and then strike in force."

"In force," Galatea repeated him thoughtfully. "That sounds... appealing."

Happy that he had their interest, Gideon pressed on. "Hard and fast, says I, and it'll be no more than they deserve. We'll not be strikin' fear into their ugly hearts - just their ugly hearts alone. No banishment for them blighters, says I; we take one down once and fer all, and move on to the next. It may take time, but I'll be keepin' ye fed and find ye glamour should ye need it. I'd even find ye better attire than those drab rags, should ye choose it. On all this, ye have me word."

"You'll gather dresses for us?" asked Fiamma with a surprised expression. "Even without us being in servitude to you?"

"Ye deserve no less, says I - that sad get-up does ye no justice. But back to it - gowns come later. I'll be wantin' us to be sendin' a message to Saraid with our deeds, I will. By the end of our quest, I'll be wantin' the goblin's master all alone and wonderin' what the feck happened to his minions. Worse yet, I'll be wantin' all of us to be lookin' into those scared eyes, lettin' him know the answer is Gideon and a party of stunnin' harpies."

"Chaith álainn," Galatea said with a widening smile, "You may refer to us as chaith álainn. Given our location, and that they were your fine words, it seems appropriate... and complimentary. When can we begin this quest?"

"By the elements, Galatea, keep yer calm, says I. Have ye never heard of food? I tell ye true, I've only had just one meal this mornin'."

5

The neutral land known as the Mephitic Mire was a dismal place. Seemingly endless bruised clouds hung low and swollen, occasionally spitting a pungent rain. The ground was uneven, filled with muddy bogs and stagnant puddles, with a thin layer of low fog throughout. The Lore creatures that called the place home were no more than small irritants, but added to the bane of the landscape.

There were stories that visiting fae could be sucked dry of their glamour by the pervading leech-like denizens of the Mire, but only if they were foolish enough to lay and rest. The Mephitic Mire was otherwise not considered to be a highly dangerous place, although Ragnar of the Red Rock was glad to be nearly clear of it nonetheless.

The huge troll took the last few steps through the soggy terrain, finally reaching his destination. The moody clouds above abruptly stopped in a defined line to allow azure blue skies ahead. He checked his footing in the foul terrain and then gazed at the claimed property immediately before him.

Thick and lush blue-green grass formed the initial border, followed by a low, makeshift timber bespoke fence. A few paces beyond that began a dense field of sugar cane. To the left and right, the grassy border and its slipshod fence curved away into the distance. The descriptions Ragnar was given were accurate.

Even if his sense of honor allowed him to, the troll was wise enough not to tread onto a bauchan's land without consent. That race was creative with defensive traps; trespassing fae could be afflicted with a wide variety of creative curses after only a short stroll onto a bauchan holding unannounced. If received and welcomed, hopefully those traps would stay dormant. Ragnar hadn't ever had need to visit any bauchan before, but planned to make the meeting cordial... at least initially.

Following an unwritten rule of Lore etiquette, Ragnar placed one of his huge, muddy sandaled feet onto the soft turf and let it linger before removing it. He then stepped on the held land twice more in the same fashion, not unlike politely knocking on the door of a Verden home. The bauchan - surely as any other fae - would be attuned to his holdings and aware that he had a prospective guest. If Ragnar was for some reason unwelcome, he'd simply send all of his spriggan servants to retrieve that particular fae in any manner necessary. One way or another, the two would converse.

It wasn't long before a quirky, high-pitched voice called to the troll from somewhere within the robust sugar cane field. "My mind wonders who you are and what your purpose here is. Tell my ears now or be on your way."

Ragnar assumed a relaxed pose with his hands clasped loosely behind him. "I am elder Ragnar of the Red Rock, respectfully requesting audience with the bauchan named Haas."

A diminutive creature, standing no taller than the troll's knee, cautiously slipped into view from between leafy stalks. His wild, cherry red hair and muttonchops stood out in contrast to both his neutral clothing and the yellow-green fields around him. The bauchan's small, pale blue eyes flicked about before settling on the giant troll; his long fuzzy ears twitched, and his pug nose took in the scent of his visitor with short whiffs.

The small fae took a tentative step with his oversized bare feet out onto the thick grass with a look of curiosity. "You're elder Red Rock? My brain knows that respected name from stories of your exploits and campaigns." In a quieter tone, he asked, "Are you sure you've come to the correct holdings?"

"Quite sure," Ragnar nodded once. "I am told you have information that might aid me; perhaps we could come to an understanding."

Haas assumed the renowned warrior wished to barter; the temptation for such an opportunity was irresistible to the avaricious fae. How could he refuse? The troll was sure to have many covetable items, should one strike his fancy. Even better, he could hold the favor over the powerful elder, calling in the debt when there might be need. Grinning wide, the bauchan replied, "My ears say there is an offer for parlay; I'm quite fond of the notion."

"Then am I welcome onto your holdings? I've trekked the inhospitable Mire for longer than I care for."

"Ah... sure; of course you are, elder," Haas invited him with a welcoming wave to come forward. "Your ears will be soothed by the birdsongs, your nose will savor the heady aromas of rich soil, and your eyes will soften at seeing my fields roll in the breeze."

Ragnar easily stepped over the low fence and closer to Haas without looming over him. The air was warmer on the bauchan's holdings, even if only from a dawning sun. There was indeed a natural, comforting scent in the soft breeze; the wary troll had a slight concern that it was a subtle trap to lull him into complacency, and so resolved his vigilance. The gentle chirping of birds sang from the taller multicolored foliage in the near distance, which appeared to encircle the center of the domain.

From his high vantage, Ragnar could see orderly fields of various crops further in the distance to his left and right, marking the land's borders. He thought it a small pity that his objective wasn't for tranquility; the bauchan's land certainly offered it.

He looked down at his host. "Your land has a rustic appeal indeed. Is there somewhere to your liking where we might conduct our business?"

"Yes, yes, follow me. The path is just over here." Haas moved quickly to stay ahead of the troll's long strides. Further along the field's slow curve was a cart path of packed earth - just wide enough for Ragnar's huge form - cutting through the dense crops. "Not many come to call on me," the bauchan said up and over his shoulder as they moved along. "How did you learn of my location, good elder?"

"A few fae in Saraid's war party knew of your general whereabouts." He saw the little bauchan tense at that information, but didn't falter in stride.

"Ah, so... you've joined their ranks, then?"

"I've not yet fully committed myself," Ragnar replied vaguely. "In searching you out, I was told of an unfortunate incident concerning you and a sprite named Renard. I hope your banishment wasn't too painful. All the same, your land seems robust enough to restore your glamour soon enough."

Haas flicked his hand dismissively without looking back. "A mistake is all it was. I'd brought some of my more potent beverages to an encampment revel; Renard imbibed a wee bit too much, as did I. If my brain recalls correctly, many did. My ears heard gaiety, my skin felt warmth and freedom, my mind swam in happy waters, and my eyes saw a blur of campfires and dancing. What they didn't catch was that fool Renard swinging his big morning star wildly as he sang and jumped about. It caught me full, curse my luck, but it was over quick. I suspect that sprite will offer debt when we meet again, if he knows what's good for him."

"Hopefully his wisdom and honor will prevail," Ragnar commented in a proper, if dismissive, fashion. He was taking mental note of his surroundings and the lay of the land, as any strategist would. Reaching the end of the sugar field, there was a wide swath of grass separating it from a dense orchard of fruit trees. A mix of both Lore and Verden varieties were being cultivated, apparently for the bauchan's enterprise of intoxicants.

Taller foliage stood beyond the compact woods, more than likely circling or comprising the hub of Haas's domain. The troll presumed that few, if any, traps would be laid there; most unwelcome fae would retreat or be repelled long before they reached it, so none were necessary.

The taller vegetation turned out to be gargantuan planted onions; their bulbs - halfway protruding from the dark soil - were as big as boulders. In various colors of white, faded yellow, muted red and pale orange, they grew in close proximity to each other except to allow paths leading out to the orchards and fields. Their formation ringed an open area of shade-dappled turf.

In the center of the sward was a half-submerged yellow onion over twice the size of the others; recessed into it were numerous small port windows and a miniature, radius-arch cherry wood door, currently open. Three aging pixies with butterfly wings of fading color were busy flying in and out of Haas's onion-haven, setting out a pile of pillows and cushions in lieu of furniture that wouldn't hold their huge guest.

Ragnar looked up at the heavy, bowed stalks of the haven-plant that created even more shade on the close-cropped grass lawn. "Interesting and aesthetic; I've not seen anything like it."

Haas nodded his appreciation and gestured for Ragnar to have a seat. He waited for the troll to adjust his toga and sink down onto the cushions in a relaxed pose before taking his own seat in a sturdy chair that his servants had just brought out. "Would you care for a drink, elder? I have quite a selection."

"Thank you, no; I wouldn't want to deplete your stores."

Haas grinned. "Trust my words, elder Red Rock, I have ample supplies. I trade kegs to the hamlets of Aisling-maith, Solnedgang-kysten, and Elementus, and with many individual fae besides."

Ragnar let out a sigh. "I'm not here for a drink. I have travelled various lands to arrive here -"

"Yes, elder, my eyes saw the last of it."

The troll stared at his gabby host. "That you did. In any event, I did not come here to barter for your wares. I am here for information, and -"

"Yes, elder, my ears heard you say that before." Haas had an expectant look, apparently oblivious that he was being rude.

Gritting his teeth, Ragnar continued. "I am here to learn what you know of Saraid's war party. There -"

"Yes, elder, my mind remembers many things of it. I doubt that I shall return to -"

"Be quiet."

"Elder?" Haas looked more surprised than concerned.

"Your manners are found wanting, especially to a guest," Ragnar said calmly. "I am not here to sample your goods. I am not here to listen to your chatter. I am not here to barter."

"But," Haas sunk into his chair, "earlier you said you wanted to negotiate. I took that to mean -"

Ragnar leaned forward in his seated position. "Yes, negotiate; not barter, not parlay. It is an agreement. For your part, you will give me information on the war party you've been a part of; its amount of mercenaries, noteworthy names, planned actions, gate locations, and the like. Whatever your crafty mind can recall, and details are important." Ragnar's smile was anything but pleasant. "Now, for my part; if I feel you are not fully forthcoming, I will pull the answers out of your head rather unkindly. Then, while you drool as you try to remember your own name, I will lay waste to all you own."

Haas stared at him with wide eyes. "That's no agreement! That's a threat!" The hovering pixie servants shot away, up and through the foliage canopy.

Ragnar shrugged. "Semantics; you still have a choice."

"Some choice, that." Haas sat straighter in his chair. "I thought you were nearly in league with the war party. Why not just gather your information from them? Even more, you were in camp not long past; why do you even ask me when you can get your own answers. Unfair, my brain says."

"I said that I was not fully committed - I did not say to whom my allegiance was leaning toward. I was only in the war camp long enough to learn of your whereabouts; any longer, and difficult questions might come my way. True, I learned a few other snippets, but you've been much more involved in their activities, both socially and covert."

"I am only one of many in that position!" Haas replied with exasperation and fear in his voice. "I could gladly name others who might know more than I; why me?"

Ragnar casually rubbed the palms of his hands together. "To begin with, you're a bauchan; your strong senses might have seen things or overheard whispers. It would only make sense that you know much."

"I know nothing," Haas said hastily.

"More importantly," Ragnar went on, ignoring him, "your name was given to me by a comrade."

"What? Who?"

Still with a cold smile, Ragnar answered, "Aldritch of the Old Wood. He had words with you on some Verden Eire lawn, did he not?" He then rhetorically added, "Perhaps you'd rather answer to that angry force of nature than to me." Although the dryad wasn't known to take part of many battles or war campaigns, most fae would still decline - if not flee -from singular confrontations with that elder.

"What - what if the party hears of this?"

"Ah, well then, if one of them find me, question me, and find my answers not to their liking, I'll deal with them accordingly. Then I'll return here for another 'agreement'. Are you done stalling yet?"

Haas bowed his head despondently and muttered a harmless curse in an old Scandinavian language. Without looking up, Haas grumbled, "Just ask what you will and be gone."

6

Only a couple of days before Hammerworks had its official store opening, Brody and Kate were quite busy seeing to details. He had much lower expectations for its sales than what transactions online were already producing, but the store was much more of a physical representation of his endeavors. It was a point of pride; Brody didn't want to think of himself as sitting on his ass in a chair made of money. Even if local shoppers and tourists didn't buy anything from him or Simon, maybe some other shop in the village would catch their eye. He wanted Ballaghadaere to prosper as well.

Kate handled many aspects of the impending opening - mostly in a supervisory capacity - and seemed to be in her element. She kept in frequent touch with Moira, their marketing agent, making sure that ads were met and also to keep informed on sales trends. Mary had gone over her bookkeeping strategies with Kate, and was given the freedom to make decisions within a malleable budget.

Two employees were agreed upon; Robbie Kelly as a full-time assistant, and Megan Gorski - eldest daughter of Jed the chef - for part-time work on the weekends. Besides all of those facets, Kate was keeping up with economic trends that might impact sales or expenditures. While it all was stressful, she seemed to be reveling in the challenge.

On that cool, sunny morning, Brody also had other chores to fit into his schedule. The Irish and American courts had earlier requested his deposition for that morning in regards to the list of charges against his cousin, Ben Wagner. Brody would have to make a trip up to Sligo town for that, answering prepared questions while on Skype and being filmed. With forewarning of the date to be there, he got permission from Jane's folks for her to skip a school day and go with him; he had some studio time secured for her and Mac to record a demo CD.

Kate wanted to go with them, but a botched supply delivery demanded her attention. Disappointed, Brody picked up the young couple, telling them of his plan to drop them off at the recording studio and would come back for them in the early afternoon.

On the drive to Sligo town, Brody had more questions for Mac. The young fae had told him and Kate over a week before that he'd be trying to contact any and all fae who frequented the area; Brody wanted any results there were to be had. When he inquired, Mac made casual mention of a "skittish otter-morpher lass" named Kelby who wished to be left alone.

The young Fair fae then abruptly changed the subject, mentioning his new weakness for flavored oatmeal. Brody humored him for a minute but then asked his question again. Mac had acquired the names of a handful of fae, although the majority of his recent time was spent practicing music with Jane at her request. Mildly frustrated, Brody decided to ask the same of Liadan when he could.

Brody met with the engineers who were affiliated with the radio station he'd done business with prior to the Christmas holiday. Introductions were made to Jane and Mac, who both seemed nervous yet eager to make their music. Seeing that the young couple was left in capable hands, Brody drove further into Sligo town to get his deposition over with.

Over the past number of months, his feelings for Ben Wagner ran from compassion to pity, and finally to indifference. Except for an apology that came far too late, Ben had no admirable traits that Brody could see. That made his video testimony simple and to the point, with no emotion-tinged responses. Walking out of the Sligo courthouse, he considered that unfortunate part of his life done with.

Jane stayed in an elated state for the entire drive back home; Mac could hardly get a word in, seemingly content to let her ramble on. She said the audio engineers raved about her singing voice, and were just as impressed with Mac's skill with his mandolin. Brody glanced in his rearview mirror to gauge Mac's reaction to the compliment; the young fae caught his gaze and simply shrugged.

After going on about every detail, Jane then mentioned that the studio would offer a discounted rate if she chose to record her music with them again, and suggested they get a producer involved. Brody advised that Jane and Mac wait until they heard the first CD before making any decisions.

The next two days went by in a hectic blur, interspersed with irritations. Brody had two separate incidents of blown tires, Kate saw a trio of sparkles in the village that had very dark intent, and Robbie Kelly fractured a finger when he slipped with a heavy box of supplies in his hands. Formerly anticipating the opening of Hammerworks, the feeling was then mixed with an anxiety to just get it over with.

The shop opened with a bit of fanfare; Moira and her marketing assistants made a production of it. Photographers took seemingly endless shots, both of the proprietors and of new inventory. Interviews were sought from nearly anyone who had something worthwhile to say.

A film crew was on hand to capture everything - for posterity, they said. Those activities, in turn, drew curious onlookers. Such was the commotion that a villager who was walking over to join the crowd was hit by a distracted driver. The film crew, with apathetic zeal, had their camera on the accident only seconds after it happened; again, for posterity.

Throughout the rest of that day, family, friends, and nearby shopkeepers visited the Hammerworks store, mostly just to see the shop and chat. While Robbie and Megan constantly refilled the complimentary tea and biscuits, Brody, Kate, and Mary socialized throughout the day. Simon talked with the few people he knew well enough, and answered questions that browsers had about his works, but he otherwise kept to himself or out of sight completely.

It was therefore Brody who received all of the light-hearted teasing about some of their pictured ads. Otherwise, only some of the talk around the shop was about the well-crafted wares; the remainder was about Riley Dugan's broken leg - due to being daft - and Ryan Gallagher's lack of skill behind the wheel.

Nearing the end of their first day, Brody invited all of the employees to dinner. Megan Gorski had to decline the impromptu offer, saying she had to help look after her little brother; Brody was glad he remembered that little Michael was autistic before any uncomfortable questions were asked. Simon begged off as well with no specific excuse, which wasn't a big surprise.

So, with the young and affable Robbie Kelly and the white-haired, dry-witted Mary Clarke as their guests, Brody and Kate treated them to a fine meal at Doolin's. Brody and Kate used the engaging company to forget how their day had started, and hoped the rest of the evening would go smoothly. And it did; more misfortune didn't come until the next morning.

After Mary bid them all a good night after dinner, Brody and Kate offered to buy Robbie a pint at Gil's pub. There was no live music that night and the crowd was thin, but the dozen or so patrons were in lively spirits. The elderly bachelors Archie and Flinn were in fine form that evening, telling old tales with bawdy exaggeration. A few other patrons told other stories of recent bad luck, but only the incidents that could be laughed about.

Brody and Kate only stayed for two rounds before saying farewell to all, and in return were wished good fortune with their new store. Once the couple arrived home, they fell asleep as soon as they got in bed.

Brody woke to Kate's hand gripping his shoulder. He blinked awake and looked at her. She was sitting on her side of the bed, untied robe over her nightshirt, and holding her phone to her ear with her other hand. Kate's eyes were rimmed red as she looked at him with wet eyes - but no tears, not yet. She was apparently still listening to whoever had called, and finally said into the phone, "Of course, Father, I'll tell him. Thank you for the call. We'll see you there."

By then, Brody had sat up and was waiting for the phone conversation to end. "What is it, darlin'?"

With an expression formed by grief, Kate softly said, "Flinn Sweeney passed on."

"What? How? I mean, I knew he was old and all, but he always seemed healthy as a horse."

Kate scooted closer and took his hand. "He was riding his old bicycle home from the pub, as he always did. He had a house out south of the village, just beyond the golf course. He never made it home."

Brody wiped away the tear that rolled down Kate's soft cheek. His other hand gave a firmer grip on her small hand; he waited until she was ready to say more.

"Brian Madigan found him. The more his wife Tira swells with her pregnancy, the more she kicks about at night in her sleep. It was the same last night; Brian was kicked awake and decided for a dander in his car in the wee hours before trying for a few more hours sleep on the couch. Him being a neighbor that was close enough to walk to Flinn's, he wasn't out long before the bicycle was spotted down the old heath road some of them use out that way."

"He wasn't hit by a car, was he?" Brody couldn't restrain from blurting the question.

"No, love," Kate said, "nothing so awful. They'll never know for sure, but it's a fair guess that his tire hit a stone or hole as he rode down the patchy old lane in the dark. Auld Flinn had heart troubles in the past, so I'm told. Grace, one of the local clinic nurses, arrived along with the ambulance a time later. She assumed the fright from taking a spill jolted Flinn for the last time; a massive heart attack, it was." She sniffed and tried for a smile. "That cheeky codger managed to crawl over to an old field wall a few meters off the lane and leaned back against it before he let go."

"That smartass," Brody said, and heard his own voice waver. "He always said he'd never die lying down, unless it was under a woman." They shared a brief laugh before Brody turned somber. "Flinn was the first one - well, him and Archie - to welcome me here... welcome me home. I was still wondering what the hell I was doing here when I met them; they made my first impression a good one. Those two saucy old bastards made me feel like my crazy idea to move to Ballaghadaere might be a good one after all."

"Ambassador of goodwill and dirty jokes - that was Flinn," Kate said with a sad smile.

They shared a short, tender embrace until Kate rose to splash water on her face in the connected washroom. Brody was pulling on sweatpants when he asked, "Did Father Doyle say anything else?"

Kate came back into the bedroom drying her face with a towel. "He said there was to be a traditional wake until the funeral tomorrow afternoon." She glanced up to see Brody's curious look. "It's just the old way, love - you can follow my lead."

"Oh, okay - good."

"And it might be best for us to pay our respects later today when some others will arrive after work; the retired members of the community who keep to old customs are a sure bet to be there early on."

"What's wrong with that? I like old folks," Brody replied while he pulled a sweatshirt over his head. "In some ways, they're the liveliest people around here."

"Here's an idea," Kate said as she fastened her robe, "While I see to the dogs and start breakfast, you look up 'keening' on the net. You'll thank me later."

Late that cloudy afternoon, Brody and Kate followed the short line of cars ahead of them to Flinn's home. They didn't have to guess which well-spaced house was his; there were at least twenty cars strung out along the lane in front of a well-worn cottage. Many others had just arrived and were mingling out on the small lawn or near the front door. Brody felt, aside from wearing respectful attire, like he was going to community picnic.

As he once again took note of how the houses and cottages in the area - as in most of Ireland - were widely spaced but within walking distance of neighbors, Brody had an unexpected thought. Of the numerous properties he'd bought, there were still two he hadn't visited personally. The community labor crew assembled by Father Doyle had been to all of the locations numerous times by then for general upkeep, but Keenan Moore of McMillan Construction hadn't been sent to them for assessment yet. He thought to take some time soon to give them a look.

After Brody and Kate said hello to a few friends and acquaintances on their way to the house, Father Doyle met them at the front door. More people were milling about inside, mostly keeping to the parlor or kitchen. The little old priest led them down a short hall to a bedroom.

On the bed was an open coffin, with Flinn Sweeney inside; he'd been washed, shaved, and put into his best suit. Brody thought he looked to be at peace, but would have seemed more natural with the lopsided grin that was always on his face.

Between the bed and an open window sat Archie Walsh in a borrowed chair. "Ah, me favorite young couple," he said, obviously inebriated, "come ta see auld Flinn off. Welcome, welcome." The last bit of his beer sloshed in his glass as he gestured to them. "I'll keep ta me self while ye say yer farewells."

While Kate silently offered her prayers for Flinn's departed soul, Brody stood next to her and inwardly just thanked the old gent for being a good friend. Their finishing thoughts were disrupted when a woman came in the room with another drink for Archie. She let out a quiet 'tsk' of disapproval at his condition. "Archie Walsh, how are ye to stand guard for the departed soul if ye can't even stand at all? It'll be tea instead, ye rotten eejit."

"It will in me hole," he slurred. "'Ere now, you're disturbin' the giant Yank and his mott; just quit bein' a cunt and hand over that feckin' pint." He was given a scowl and an exasperated sigh before his empty glass was exchanged for a full. "Ah, there's me wan."

Father Doyle led the couple out, passing others who came to offer their respects. Kate gave Brody's hand a squeeze before heading toward the kitchen, where many other women were gathered.

"Cora McCarthy is making sandwiches," Father Doyle said up to Brody. "Go fetch yourself one and then step out with the menfolk. Liam and I would like to have a word with ye when there's a chance."

Brody nodded his assent to the priest and belatedly followed Kate into the kitchen. He greeted the other women there, especially Cora, Fiona, and Tira Madigan. While a plate was being prepared for him, Brody answered a question, saying that as soon as the shop closed Mary would be out to say goodbye to Flinn. He was then handed a plate, heaped with roast beef sandwiches, crisps, and pickles, and just as quickly was politely ushered out of the room.

Among a group of mostly men outside, Liam was waiting for Brody and holding a bottle of Guinness for him. They chatted idly but comfortably while the elder McCarthy led him to the broad side garden. Father Doyle waited under the blooming boughs of a lone ash tree and smiled warmly at their approach.

Brody ducked under a branch and, with his own grin, asked, "So, in a traditional wake, it's expected to get handed half the pantry and then ran out of the house?"

"Be thankful," Liam joked back, "I haven't been offered anything yet."

While Brody held out his plate and Liam took a small sandwich, Father Doyle said, "I'm glad you both had a chance to know the sarcastic but wise Flinn Sweeney, whether it was for decades," he nodded to Liam, "or for less than a year," saying the last to Brody.

"Then you must be luckiest of all," Liam replied. "Weren't you mates with Flinn and Archie in your young years?"

The old priest nodded with a nostalgic grin. "And rowdy ones, we were too. I met back up with them both after being offered this diocese back in... em, well, long before ye were born, Brody. And I can still remember when ye were a restless boyo in the pews, Liam. Archie was married back then and attended with his wife, but I recall Flinn openly admitting that he came to Mass to bide his time until a pub opened." Father Doyle chuckled and shook his wizened head. "When I half-heartedly called him a sinner, Flinn came back at me with, 'Joseph, if we don't sin now and then, Jesus died for nothing'."

Brody choked on a mouthful of food. After gulping the bite down, he looked at Father Doyle and said, "Sorry about that, Father; I hope it's not sacrilege or anything to laugh."

"If it is, we're both in trouble. Actually, Liam and I wanted to chat with ye about something that roughly resembles what we're doing here today. We stand in the garden of an old friend of mine, trying to find levity at a sad time - as you both know, it can ease suffering if done with tact. Likewise, this community is trying to keep its spirit up in the midst of a bad-luck epidemic, it seems. I've been hearing it all from parishioners, anything from lost mail to painful accidents to -"

"Sick donkeys and flat tires," Brody interjected.

"And busted water pipes," added Liam while he lit a cigarette.

Brody and Father Doyle looked at him, both mildly surprised. "Whereabouts was this?" the priest asked.

"It's the main village line, Father," Liam replied with a frown. "A few areas of the factory I oversee use the main supply; the workers there noticed strange reactions to some of our materials in the cooling vats this morning. I had an inspector come out. Just before shift bell he said there is contamination, sure enough. I'd wager if we were all in our homes right now, we'd be hearing about a boil order coming in effect. Odds say no later than tomorrow."

"Well, shit," Brody muttered in frustration. "Should we tell the women inside to stop using the tap here?" he asked, concerned.

"Not a worry out this way," Father Doyle answered, "These folks use rural water. This," he held up a bony finger for emphasis, "is an example of what I'm speaking of; this community has of late been tested with adversity on many levels." He looked at them both earnestly. "This is a good place; folks here still look out for their neighbor, as it used to be far and wide. We've faced bad times before, and came out stronger - more united - because of it. But this... this constant string of foul events and accidents... If these dark times continue, I don't know that the village could fully recover and keep its good nature. Ireland has enough depression; call me petty, but I don't want Ballaghadaere to add to it."

"Me neither, Father," Brody said, "but how do we stop, um, bad luck?"

The priest grinned up at him. "Normally, I'd say prayer, but I think something more is needed besides strong faith. The community needs something to look forward to, something everyone can choose to be part of. I know St. Patrick's is nearing, and the small parade will be grand as always, but most of the villagers are only spectators and the event is over all too soon. However, I passed Liam on the street the other day and mentioned these worries to him." He placed a wrinkled hand on that man's shoulder and looked at him with admiration. "My friend had a brilliant idea..."

"Okay, great," Brody glanced from one to the other, "So what do I have to do with this big idea?"

Father Doyle looked up at him and his expression immediately turned sheepish. "You're a fine bloke, Brody Lynch, and generous to a fault. You've already given more than I could have hoped for to the folks here, and let the church have the credit, no less. It makes me wince to hope for anything else..."

Brody caught Liam's curious look at the priest's words before replying, "Father Doyle - Joseph - just tell me what you two have cooked up; I'd be glad to help if I can."

Liam answered, "We thought a festival - Ballaghadaere's own hosting - might be just the thing. We'd propose a three-day fair to the community board; food, music, games, prizes \- all the best a fest can offer. What do you think of that?"

"It sounds like a blast," Brody said with a wide smile. "You're right, Father, that's an awesome idea. When are you gonna have it?"

"Liam and I thought near the end of April would be best, the next weekend after Easter."

"Oh... I was hoping for sooner, but then I don't know shit about organizing a festival."

"A wee bit of planning and work is at hand," Liam explained. "Securing regional attractions, getting permits, constructing booths, gathering volunteers... There's much to be done; we're cutting it to the quick with that date. But it gives everyone something to look forward to and prepare for. Father thinks the auction field would work best; it's a large space with the stage at the far end, already run for water and power." He sighed and added, "Sorry to say, the town coffers wouldn't cover much of the expense."

"Before Liam goes on," the priest interjected, "ye both should know that Flinn had some cash set aside. Three labeled envelopes, to be exact - one for his own funeral, another for his sister, and the last for the church." His next words were soft and wistful, "No longer with us, and still surprising me." Liam's hand of solace on Father Doyle's small shoulder brought him back to the topic. "Flinn's bequeathal is generous, but even added to the village treasury it's still far short of the rough estimates."

Liam said, "Going through Aidan McNally and the bank for a loan would be pointless. Besides the chance that Aidan might refuse us just out of being a right prick, Father doesn't want a thing in return except for what might be found in donation boxes. There'll be no entry fees, no booth rentals for locals, and no surcharges of any kind. While a grand notion, it wouldn't repay a loan." He looked Brody in the eye. "We need a patron, and not just for some frivolous party. This is for saving the spirit of the village, of all our kith and kin that call it home. Father thought it too much to call on your generosity again, so I'll ask for him. We could use your help, me boy."

Brody took a moment, trying to hide his mixed emotions. "You told me all that just to see if I'd kick in some euro for something important? I would've hoped you both knew by now that you coulda just said, 'Hey Brody, I could use a few bob to make everyone around here happy'. I'd just hand either of you my wallet without a second thought."

Father Doyle heard the turmoil in those words of the big man, wanting to be polite and kind conflicting with being somewhat offended. In a mollifying tone, he responded, "It'll be much more than a 'few bob', and we didn't want to assume, lad."

"I get that, but the amount doesn't really matter to me." Brody paused before deciding to open up a little. "I got most of my money from my parents, in a way that I was... uncomfortable with. The details aren't important, but this festival idea - mainly the reason for it - is just the kind of thing my mom and dad would both think is something good to use the money for."

"From Kate," Liam said as he let his cigarette fall to grind under his heel, "I've heard that they were both taken from you suddenly; you have me sympathies. It's heartening to hear we'd have the support of such fine people." A grin then formed on his handsome face while a cool breeze tousled his white and auburn hair. "But I was also of a mind to ask for something besides your patronage. You worked in construction, yes?"

Glad that the conversation shifted away from his parents and money, Brody returned the grin. "Yeah, I'm a mason, but I've had some experience with framing and wiring. No need to beat around the bush, Liam; I'd be happy to lend a hand if I'm needed. But," his expression turned serious, "here's the deal: no one but you two will know where the financial support is coming from. Father, you're already aware of how I wanna keep things private." He leered at the priest with a smirk and added, "Even though your old buddies Archie and Flinn always somehow knew a thing or two."

Again with a sheepish expression, Father Doyle's eyes darted about. "Aye, well, I'd speak kindly of ye, and they simply came up with their own notions. Good at reading between the lines, those two crafty devils. I see the point, though; the Wagner clan incident comes to mind." He saw Brody's frown at the mention of the sour memory. "It may still be a sore point, but ye did Kate and Cora proud. Me point being, those bastards brought avarice to the extreme that no Irishman would even dream of, which makes it a worthy example." He then met Brody's eyes once more. "It'll stay with us, lad, ye have me word."

"And mine," Liam agreed. "But it would be only right to have the festival themed..." He looked thoughtfully over to the priest and up to his daughter's big fella. "Since the money Flinn left for the church will be going in for this, we could just have it in his name. That auld fox always tried to attend every festival he could, so I'd imagine he'd love this. I can see him now," he sighed with a bittersweet smile, "swatting everyone back with a stick so he could enter first."

"You're gonna call it the Flinn Festival? That's a fantastic idea!" Brody laughed the words out. "You could have a dirty joke contest, and set up a 'feck off' booth!" The other two chuckled with him.

"If we're to do this in honor of that charming rogue," Father Doyle added with a widening grin, "it'd only be fitting to have a Guinness sponsor on hand as well."

7

That particular variety of Lore fruit, which looked like an oversized, bright pink avocado, needed both of Vaughn's small hands to hold safely. He planned on making a meal of it while once again visiting the controversial Eire village, this time of his own volition.

He stepped out of his fae-bridge onto a familiar business rooftop near the center of the small community. It was late into an evening when he arrived; each streetlamp fought back the deep night and illuminated a pelting hailstorm coming down. Tucking the fruit close to him, the leprechaun bent over to shield it from being bruised and scowled up at the black sky with narrowed eyes.

While cursing the annoying weather, Vaughn created another portal to a nearby location that would offer shelter. He reentered the Verden realm a short distance away, within a rarely-used mercantile storage building. It sat on the southwest outskirts of the village, back in a field far behind a string of small shops.

Vaughn wrinkled his button nose at the musty smell of the interior; he set the fruit down on a shelving unit and pulled open one of the large double doors. The exterior hooded lamp above the doors was lit, giving the leprechaun a short-range view of the ice storm just beyond.

The hailstorm created a constant thrum upon the field of wild grass, the old gravel lane that led back to the building, and the shingled roof above. It created a mixture of rapid drumbeats that Vaughn found oddly soothing. He absently retrieved his food while he thought of the reasons that brought him back to that curious little community. Primarily, his guilt over placing innocent Jane McCarthy in harm's way created an urge to offer some sort of recompense. Also was the curiosity about the allowed glimpses from Oriana's thoughts, of other gifted humans in the area and their role in events to come.

Chewing a large bite of the succulent fruit as he leaned against the open door, Vaughn's sharp sight caught a glimpse of movement out above the unused field. It was a form in flight, a different shade of black against the inky night. It was erratically heading in his direction, more than likely to take refuge from the pounding hail. Standing in darkness that the door frame provided, the leprechaun knew he couldn't be seen - at least not yet - and waited a moment to see what manner of creature came his way.

Vaughn quickly recognized the shape as it came closer. Lumpy silhouette, bat-like wings, long and spindly arms; it was a gremlin. Or better yet, he thought, a fluttering obscenity. The leprechaun was told that the morpher Fergal had sinister designs for the village, and then he sees a low-caste harbinger of foul intent in the same place. It could be no coincidence. Vaughn wanted some answers; if the profane beast could form coherent sentences, perhaps he'd get some. Setting the fruit back on the nearby shelf, he took a few steps back into the deeper shadows of the building, and waited.

The dark, grotesque form of the gremlin had just come into the electric light's glow when it suddenly locked in place, still some feet off the ground. Vaughn had just begun to wonder what was happening when he noticed another mystery. In a short span all around the ugly creature, the hail stones were also suspended in air, halted from their descent and hanging motionless. The storm all around the small pocket of cessation continued unabated, except for the ice pellets that came into contact with the small bubble of immobility. A dome was just beginning to be formed by the hail when the bubble suddenly, silently, popped.

Instantly after the gremlin - and hail - was released from the strange confines, a blur of other creatures shot into view. They drove directly into the surprised low-caste, ramming it to the ground. While a momentary struggle ensued, Vaughn recognized the ambushers as harpies by their feathered wings and haunting screeches.

More harpies began to land while the gremlin was held to the ground with its limbs outstretched under unyielding talons. Having never seen harpies attacking with such concise tactics, the cautious leprechaun stayed to the shadows and simply stared.

Vaughn had only a moment to note the peculiar appearances of the harpies before him when yet another creature landed near the head of the pinned gremlin. It was a large white barn owl that suddenly changed form into that of a small, chubby fae with short sheep horns curving back over his white hair.

Hands on hips, the stout fae - a morpher, Vaughn obviously assumed - stood over the gremlin. "Now would be yer chance," he spoke down to it, "ta speak what ye know, it would, lest me pretties be takin' exception ta yer misguided loyalties."

"You belong in guts of dragon," the goblin croaked with a gravelly voice. "Rot before it shits you out."

The other harpies huddled closer with evident ire on their exotic faces. One of them - unexpectedly attractive with silken red hair and crimson wings - leaned in and released a focused, damaging scream down at the gremlin. The piercing sound lasted less than a second before the morpher placed a calming hand on her shoulder, but it was enough to convey her message. Vaughn had flinched at the audial attack even though he only caught its echo; her gift of the siren must have been potent.

The miserable gremlin fared much worse from the impulsive assault, as it was aimed at him in close proximity. It laid there, arms lax in its captors' grip and large head lolled to the side. One of its deep-set eyes bulged half out from the socket, and black blood trickled freely from its hooked nose and long ears. The wretched low-caste panted from the debilitating pain while its fingers involuntarily twitched.

"Sorry I am for yer discomfort, I tell ye true," the morpher said softly to his captive, "but provokin' me chaith álainn will have ye earnin' it, it will. If you'll just be tellin' us a certain thing or two, we be sendin' ye on yer way to the elements quick; me word on that. But now, if ye dally about and go tryin' to mislead us... ah, don't be havin' me explain the other option. If only for yer sake I'd be askin' that."

_'Did he just call his harpies 'chaith álainn' - his 'beautiful cast' of servants?_ ' Vaughn's thought was tinted with bemusement. _'True, a few of them have some unusual... features...'_ He lost his line of thought when he studied them in more detail. The lamp above them cast harsh shadows which detracted from his scrutiny, but the hailstorm had lessened considerably since their arrival which allowed a clearer view.

The two harpies closest to him - the ones who held the gremlin's ankles - were like none of that low-caste he'd ever seen before. Granted, one had the unfortunate ears common to the race and the other had dull and molting wings, but in most other respects they were quite alluring. He wondered where in the elements they came from.

The goblin's chest heaved with labored breath from enduring the pain of its injuries. It meanwhile glared up at the morpher with malevolent defiance from its one good eye but made no sound, save for its raspy panting.

The plump, curly-haired fae squatted down next to his captive. "I'll only be askin' once more, I will" he said with a gentle, compassionate tone. The morpher placed a hand on the coarse skin of the goblin's shoulder; almost immediately, the bulging eye eased back into its socket and the multiple trickles of dark blood dried up. "I'd be doin' ye this service out of fairness alone, I tell ye true." He retracted his hand and then spoke in a firmer tone. "Now be tellin' us where we might be findin' yer kin; you'll otherwise be thinkin' that first scream you took was but a wee tickle compared to what ye might get."

Vaughn waited anxiously during the pause after the morpher's demand. He already knew the immediate outcome; gremlins were too loyal for their own good. What the leprechaun waited for was the reactions of the morpher and his servants after the gremlin denied them the information.

Shaking his head in regret, the morpher stood and looked over to a shapely, beige-colored harpy with blue highlights on her wings and in her long wavy hair. "Desdemona," he called to her with a dejected sigh, "rend him."

Given the warning, Vaughn had time to cover his ears before that harpy began. She stood astride over the gremlin - a male, he'd learned - with one clawed, avian foot on either side of his hips, mostly blocking the leprechaun's view. Three short, intense screeches were aimed directly down onto the prone creature. Even muted, the passion of the quick vocal attacks made Vaughn flinch.

The harpy Desdemona stepped away from the gremlin and next to the morpher. The others who held the tortured creature down struggled to keep him in place; he bellowed through gritted teeth as he bucked and writhed from the grave damage done to him. In separate locations on his torso - stomach, chest, and shoulder - the tough flesh was open in long, ugly gashes. Black blood pumped from them, pooling around and under his convulsing body.

Over the groans and throaty growls of anguish from the stubborn gremlin, Desdemona said in an even tone to the morpher, "At your leisure, guide Gideon."

"What say ye now, I'd ask," Gideon inquired, looking down at the horribly wounded gremlin. He waited through a few grunts and whimpers from his victim. "Saddens me, it does, to see ye in such a torn state. For yer loyalty alone - even to a vile master, says I - you'll feel little more pain. But," he went on while he leaned down and touched the gremlin once more, "you'll not be allowed escape by banishment." In short time, the grievous wounds were mostly mended by the morpher's adept skill with the healing gift.

"Mulish as the other we caught, I tell ye true," Gideon said to himself as much as to the gremlin. "I'd wager it'll be the same for the others. A pity, says I." He turned to the red harpy who had first lashed out in defense of him. "Fiamma, I believe you'd be havin' claim to this one. Make it quick, if ye please."

While the red harpy crouched over the struggling gremlin with the talons of one foot raised high to strike, Gideon turned away to address two others of his 'beautiful cast'. "Hemera, Lenore, I'd be hopin' you'd be takin' your turn to watch over lil' Jane's abode for a time, I would."

One of the two harpies was about to reply when an inarticulate bellow came from behind the morpher. They both glanced over his shoulder to see Fiamma ripping the heart from the gremlin's chest.

"Little Jane?" Vaughn unintentionally whispered to himself, barely audible to his own ears. He didn't have to guess if who the morpher mentioned was the Jane McCarthy he knew; coincidences were becoming a thing of the past in these parts.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he saw a few of the harpies turn their heads quickly in his direction.

When Hemera and Lenore spun toward to the open door of the building, Gideon barely had the chance to register surprise before a flurry of feathered movement happened in front of him. The other harpies noticed their sisters' reactions and moved swiftly to stand between their high-borne leader and the possible threat from inside the building.

Vaughn cursed himself and then realized what a volatile situation he could be in if the morpher's excitable servants misread his intentions. And he thought it best to act quickly before the situation escalated away from his favor.

Vaughn stepped slowly into the wide doorway where the lamp's light illuminated him. "A thousand pardons for the intrusion, good morpher," he offered with a smile, "I'd be havin' no aims ta disturb yer festivities. Truth be told, I was here first. And enjoyin' the show, I was; yer lasses surely be knowin' their business."

"Agreed, sir... leprechaun, is it? Me ladies be a skillful sort in many endeavors, I tell ye true. If ye will, let's not be testin' me words on that, for all our sakes."

"On the contrary; seen their work, I have. Count me as impressed. I was just enjoyin' me dinner out of the weather, I was," Vaughn peered up, noticing the hailstorm had moved on, "when ye and your 'chaith álainn' be showin' up in pursuit o' that," he glanced down at the small pile of ash, "eh, former gremlin. And then, Gideon - I'll be callin' ye that if we're ta be on fair terms - ye mentioned a name; a human girl's name, if I be havin' it right. The sharp ears around ye caught me slip of the tongue, I admit, but now here we are. I'd be makin' the best of our meet if I'm able."

Gideon's soft eyes narrowed with caution and suspicion. The harpies around him sensed the tension and bristled, ready for more aggression if need be. "Some would be thinkin' that eavesdroppin' be unsavory, they would. But if it be as ye say, then it can pass, says I. Now I'd be havin' yer name, if ye please, as well as why yer so keen on some girl. Normally more cordial, I am, but belief comes hard in the Verden of late, it does."

Vaughn nodded his agreement. He saw Gideon as a decent sort, thrust into affairs that fae schemes had created beyond his wishes. He also gave off the signs of being a novice in violent situations, but was well-served with able servants who took confrontation in stride. The normally derisive and outspoken leprechaun thought it in his best interests to keep his sharp tongue in check. He could easily escape, although there was a firm belief that he and the morpher were in accord on currently vital subjects.

Before Vaughn could answer, a stunning white-haired harpy stepped near to the morpher, taller than him but with a deferential posture. Her words were for him, but she kept her eyes on the newcomer fae. "Good sir Gideon, with no disrespect to the leprechaun, should we not be off? Our task might be lengthy in Verden terms, so we should not dally with the inconsequential."

"Ah, but it might be of consequence after all, says I. Only a moment we'll tarry, fair Galatea; I'll be waitin' for the good leprechaun's words beforehand, I will."

"Very well," Vaughn kept a steady gaze on the morpher and his white harpy, "ye want answers, and ye'll have 'em. Ye hope fer faith in me words, then so be it. Vaughn o' the Altered Aspect be me name and title, given in respect to me talent with dream-craftin'. As fer the lass... if it be the home o' Jane McCarthy ye'd be lookin' after, then I'd be countin' that as one less thing ta worry after. I'll most likely not be considered a friend o' hers, but fer me own reasons I feel an obligation to her safety, I do. Holdin' these words ta be honest and true, ye have me oath on 'em."

Gideon sagged with relief, and the harpies parted respectfully. With Galatea keeping close, the morpher took a step forward with a warm grin on his cherub face. "Sore glad am I to hear it, good elder Vaughn."

He simply nodded at Gideon's response. "A few questions be itchin' at me brain, if ye'd be of a mind fer indulgin' me." When the morpher gave his own amicable nod, Vaughn asked, "Where might ye be findin' these curious low-borne, and how'd ye find yerself in their lead?"

Giving a shrug, Gideon began telling the story, albeit condensed, of how he came to be involved. It began with the glamour-laced queries from the elder dryad Saraid of information on Jane. In hasty fashion, he mentioned his subsequent banishment, Kazimir's assistance, and finally of a message from Oriana. That scroll told of an opportunity for retribution, but in a confrontational capacity.

Gideon told how he sought his warrior 'brother' Kazimir for instruction and guidance before arriving at where and when the scroll requested. The little morpher then gave gushing praise of the harpies who assisted him, providing details of individual skills and commendable acts in the short time of their campaign. Those noteworthy events began with facts, but Gideon kept adding fantastic points until they were tales of absurd fantasy.

Grateful for the kind words, Galatea felt compelled to speak up. "Our guide Gideon has earned our respect as well, despite his ridiculous lies and stories. We are coming to find the laughable creations as good entertainment. While even he will admit that he is no warrior, he is cautious and wise; it has served us well. We are treated better than deserved, are fed well, and gain confidence in our quest with his praise. He tends to us with his strong healing gift, should we require it. We are even promised fine Lore gowns to replace these tunics," she brushed at her drab clothing, "when our work is finished, and without barter or further demand."

"I'm sure he does well by all o' ya, white one." Vaughn didn't mean to sound dismissive, but the trade of flowery compliments was getting on his nerves. "What I'd also be wonderin' about was how ye made that bastard gremlin stop in flight just afore yer birds o' prey tackled 'im. Some varied trick o' the climate gift, or o' the freezing one, mayhap?"

Gideon stammered with modesty as he pulled at his long chin hair, so Galatea spoke in his stead. "This unassuming morpher wields the rare and exceptional gift of suspension."

Vaughn's shaggy eyebrows arched high. "Truly, able ta manipulate the flow o' time, are ye? Now that's quite the trick, it is."

"Nay, it's not near as grand as ye make it out, I tell ye true," Gideon replied bashfully. "On occasion - not often - I can only be stoppin' the present in a wee pocket, and only for a few fleetin' moments, no more. Weak I be with the gift, although it may have a use or two. Now," he said with emphasis, wishing to turn the topic away from himself, "one last question of me own before we must be off, I'm sad to say. Did ye truly come to be here by simple happenstance, elder?"

Vaughn shrugged casually. "Some might be sayin' there's no such thing as coincidence. If that be true then I'll just be a pawn, ye see, and that'll not be sittin' too fuckin' well with me. I'd be holdin' no skills as a seer, if that's what ye might be on about. But on that note, I do be havin' skill with the gift o' locatin', ta be sure. Seein' as how ye and yourn already be doin' me a service ta some degree, I'm o' the mind ta point the way ta yer next target. With me helpin' hand now and again, there'll be no need fer further interrogation; it suits ill ta yer nature anyway, sure as shite."

Gideon's light brown eyes lit up with surprised joy. "That would be most agreeable, it would." The two fae shared a momentary comradely silence until they both sensed Galatea staring at them. Gideon cocked his head to the side and softly asked, "Yes?"

The exquisite, white-haired harpy frowned, which somehow made her appearance even more striking. "Please forgive my candor, both of you, but I cannot form the vocabulary to ask with tact. I'd not given it much thought until I was witness to your dialogue..."

"What's yer question, I'd be wonderin' now", Gideon asked in a gently prompting tone.

"I can only wonder... why do you two bright and worthy fae use a manner of speech that makes you sound foolish?"

8

"Shut up! Shut the hell up!"

"Simon," Alana called to him, grabbing his bare shoulder, "wake up, Simon!"

"Wha -" he sputtered as his eyes flickered open, not fully awake. He was on his left side in his bed, facing away from her. His half-mast eyes met with Gunnar's, who had his head on the mattress looking at his master.

Alana was propped up on an elbow, rubbing Simon's arm. "It was just another bad dream. Who were you yelling at?"

"Oh, uh... the television," he said groggily. "It was cussing me again. It's done it before."

He heard a strange noise from her that brought him to full consciousness. Now wide awake, he was sure of it: she was laughing at him. He immediately felt embarrassed for admitting something he normally wouldn't, had he been wide awake. His feeling of vulnerability automatically turned defensive.

Simon turned his head to glare at her over his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're entertained, ma'am. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go add some piss to the kettle before you go use it."

Still chuckling, Alana slapped at his bare butt as he got out of bed. "Oh come off it, ya sour fuck. So, like, what - telly newscasters eating the head off ya? As nightmares go, that's like a Disney version." Her grin and raised brows showed her playful attitude.

Simon wasn't in the mood for it. "If there was a way," he grunted while pulling up a pair of boxers and reaching for his jeans, "I'd swap you dreams; it'd hobble your lip pretty damn quick."

"If you say so," she purred with honeyed sarcasm.

He looked back to Alana after pulling a t-shirt over his head. She was languidly stretched out on his bed, still mostly covered by the blanket and with a challenging smirk on her cute face. He overcame the urge to do anything about her suggestive pose or the provocative glint in her eyes.

Running fingers through his unkempt straw-blonde hair, Simon muttered, "You know where everything is if you want breakfast. Remember to use the bottled water; I'm not sure if the tap is good yet. I'm taking Gunnar outside." He walked out of his bedroom, not waiting for a response.

The early morning sky was uniform gray, but little to no rain was expected for the day. Simon glanced up at it while hand-rolling a cigarette at the picnic table in his backyard. Lighting the quirley, he watched in silence as Gunnar chased a squirrel up the big, budding yew tree that shaded most of the rear lawn. He turned when he heard the sunroom door squeak open; Alana, dressed in her clothes from the night before, came out carrying two steaming mugs.

Sitting across from him, she set both mugs down. "If you're past being an aul git, we can start the morning over. Here, I'll start: happy Saint Patrick's Day, honey."

"Yeah, yeah, you too; I didn't mean to be so quick on the shoot, but it's a bad way to wake up."

Alana nudged his coffee closer to him. "From the handful of times I've been here to see it, you don't sleep very sound to begin with. It may be all the hours you're putting in. Lord knows auld Gordon McCoy is scraping off all of his farrier clients on ya; itchy to retire, that one. In the meantime, you have to keep up with your and Brody's shop; Kate mentioned that some of your work is in demand. Beyond all that, you have horses in the field, and you're constantly foostherin' this place to perfection."

Simon turned his head to exhale smoke and then back to her. "Are you saying that I'm not leaving enough time for you... for us?"

Frowning, Alana shook her head. "No, I'm saying that maybe you're spreading yourself too thin." Her eyes lit up with a sudden thought. "And today is the perfect time to start cutting back a wee bit. After Mass, we'll take in the parade and then take the rest of the day off. Little else is open except for the chemist and pubs today anyway. And I'll bet there'll be mighty craic at Gil's tonight."

"That may sound like a bang-up day to you," Simon said after a sip of coffee, "but it sure as hell ain't to me. No thanks."

Alana gave an exasperated sigh. "Then don't attend services; you never do anyway. But it all starts after that. Arse around for once, would ya? What say?"

Simon stamped out his quirley in an ashtray on the table. "Let me see here... a crowd of people in the ol' gospel mill, and me standing there itchy in my best bib and tucker. Then there'll be a bigger crowd at the parade, where I'd be surrounded by stupid grins and screamin' kids. And then I suspect Gil's will be packed tonight for some big fandango." He shook his head. "I'm not keen on crowds, Alana; I'm pretty sure I mentioned that before."

"What's on ya?" she asked with an annoyed scowl. "Why're you so feckin' antisocial?"

Simon sneered back. "I'm not antisocial; I'm anti-jackass. There's one in every crowd, and sooner or later I bump into him. I learned that the hard way."

"You don't have one meg in you, do ya? Not one fuckin' ounce of fun." She saw that he was about to respond and cut him off. "And lampin' it all over your gaff isn't part of it!"

"Uh, say again?"

"Sex, ya eejit!" Alana swung her legs out from under the picnic table and stood. "Jaysus, you can be right thick sometimes. Cop on; you only get one shot at it."

"Shot at what?" he asked, bewildered. "Do you mean you?"

Alana growled with infuriation before shouting at him, "I mean life! Fuck!" She spun and stormed off around the house to her car out front. Simon heard it roar to life; three seconds later he caught a glimpse of the hood as she drove away.

After another sip of coffee, he muttered to himself, "Well, shit."

"If ye don't mind me sayin', Mister Rike," came a soft, feminine voice from a distance behind him, "the fiery lass might be havin' a sure point."

Simon turned toward the far end of his lawn. Hovering over the blooming bushes that hedged his small garden was Liadan. His eyes narrowed. "I don't think I could take the opinion of another woman right now, my kind _or_ fairy. So, if ya would," he turned his back to her, "just... go away."

"Aye, sir," he heard her say, "I'll leave ye be."

Grunting out a harsh breath, Simon knew his fuss with Alana would rub him raw before the day's end. The problem was that he had no idea how he was supposed to fix it. He didn't want to call Kate; she and Alana were peas in a pod and she might get sore at him too. He had no other immediate options except one.

He quickly looked behind him once more, hoping that Liadan hadn't moved too far off yet. "Hey, L -" Simon's loud call caught in his throat; she was still hovering in the exact same spot. "Uh, what are you still doing back there?"

"As I said, sir, I'd leave ye to it - sulking, that is. But I saw the turmoil turning sour in ye, I did, and thought ye might need a way to get it sorted." She began floating slowly and gracefully toward him. "And afore ye wonder: no, fae and human women not all be the same, but share the traits that matter, we do. I've been about long enough to know that, to be sure."

Liadan landed gently on the picnic table. Simon scooted back on his bench to give her space. "Traits..." He pondered the word as he pulled the coffee mugs and ashtray out of the way. "Like what?"

Her dimples deepened with her grin. "Ah, truth be told, Mister Rike, we'd be smarter, on the whole; more complex, if ye like."

"Yeah, complex," he replied with a hint of derision. "Your 'complexities' drive men to drink."

"Suggesting that we're trouble now, aye? And ye'd be the pot, or is it the kettle?"

"Huh?"

Liadan frowned at him. "I hear tell that - as one of a long list - ye don't like crowds. Some might say ye'd be complex as well."

"It's not crowds - it's all the people in 'em I ain't fond of."

Sliding her tiny hands in the pockets of her apron, Liadan cocked her head to the side and asked, "And what of just one person? Take the lass that just marched away, for example. Is it that ye can't fathom Miss Quinn, or that mayhap she touched a tender spot?"

Simon looked away with a shake of his head. "Sometimes I don't get her at all, but maybe that's some game you women play. And, what did you say - tender spot? It's not that I don't... It's been a while for me, and I - I've never had a way..."

"Just speak the heart of it, Mister Rike," Liadan cut in.

After two mute, open-mouthed attempts in trying to explain his feelings - something he had rare practice with - Simon finally blurted, "Blue hell, she makes me nervous, alright?"

"Ye might need to clear that up a wee bit, if ye would; nervous in what way?"

"That's what's stumpin' me - it's both ways, good and bad! This whole damn thing's got me chasin' my own tail." He took a deep breath while gripping his hands tightly together. He then explained in a calmer tone of voice. "The good part is what ya might expect; quick-witted, sharp tongue, easy on the eyes and a top-notch roll in the hay. I never know what she's gonna say or do next, but you can bet your hat that it ain't gonna be boring. She's makin' me more interested in her than I ever been with a gal before, and I ain't too sure how to play my hand. The other thing is I'm not sure if I'm the only one sparkin' that filly. If she's got other courters, that ain't none of my affair. At least not yet, it ain't."

Liadan did her best not to let her confusion of his figures of speech show; she caught the general intent, and reading his aura helped. "Fair enough; Miss Quinn catches your fancy in many ways, although ye can't be sure how to properly court in these modern times - and with a feisty Irish lass, no less."

"Yeah, but then there's the other side of the coin. Brody says there's a fight comin'. From what he and Kate \- and you - say, it's between your kind, but some of us regular folks ain't gonna be left out of it. I'm includin' myself in that; if trouble is comin' for my cousin and his lady, I'm right there with 'em. I got some things in the works that might lend a hand, but that keeps me busy - well, busier. Thing is, knowin' that someone's on the shoot for Brody - who ain't done nothin' to earn it - keeps my temper kinda hot, ya know?"

"I think I can understand," Liadan said thoughtfully.

Simon finished his thought. "Alana makes me forget all that when she's around, and I can't afford to get caught unawares. It makes me jumpy, and honestly, it tuckers me out. And it sure as hell ain't fair to Alana, but I can't go tellin' her all that."

After venting his thoughts and feelings in a rush, Simon looked intently at the tiny fae for her reaction. Liadan looked back at him with an odd grin and let it linger for a few seconds. "How pleasant," she finally said.

Simon's eyes narrowed. "That sounded pleasant to you?"

"Ah, for the most part, no; I'd only be referring to a couple of fine points, if ye will. I'll be finding it pleasant to hear of the loyalty ye and Mister Brody hold for one another; with fae, loyalty without compensation be a rare thing. It gladdens me to know ye will be there as well, standing with them and me self. Both your temper and your knives will be welcome, to be sure."

Simon's surprise could be heard in his voice. "You're joining in? Brody said you wouldn't run, but I didn't expect..."

"I be knowin' that ye have grudges with me kind, but don't think so little of some, if ye would. Me greatest treasures here in this realm be those I call friends, and I'll be adding a few humans to that short list, I will. Grown quick fond of Miss Kate and Mister Brody, I have; not unlike ye, those humans be full of spirit." She smiled at Simon's small nod of appreciation for the compliment. "As for the other point of pleasantry, I also be finding it a comfort to hear ye speak your mind with me. Most often, ye choose to say little my way, or naught when you're of the mood."

Simon's discomfort showed on his careworn face. "Hey, cut me some slack on that. Since I've been here, I've seen little fairi - uh, fae - people, ugly bat monsters, and giants doing all sorts of weird shit. Regular folks just don't go takin' that in with the time of day. The only reasons we're havin' a chat is because Brody trusts you, and if I didn't get this out I'd go do somethin' stupid. Just get over yourself."

Liadan didn't have to read the man's aura to see through his weak bluster. That they were speaking at all was a big step forward, so she didn't push it. "Me original purpose for speaking up, Mister Rike, was this: let yourself go to enjoy what you're fighting for."

"Meanin' what, exactly?"

"Miss Quinn did have a point. Your anger's a dog on a thin rope, and ye make sure it be stayin' riled. It's hot for the fight that no longer be lookin' for ye. It's expecting it - hoping for it, even. Whether ye be knowin' it or not, Mister Brody's learned a lesson or two from ye; learn one from him as well. He takes no time for granted and looks to enjoy each moment if he can. Mayhap you've earned just as much."

"Easier said than done," Simon muttered with a frown. "Did you already forget that demon I killed just over there by the barn not long ago? And, because of shit like that and the fae-fight comin' up, I can't let my guard slip. All my projects in the shop yonder keep me busy and sharp for whatever's next. That angry dog you spoke of might be the only thing that's kept me alive."

Liadan stared off absently in contemplation before studying him a moment. "Would ye entertain the offer of a pact with me, Mister Rike? There'd be nothing unseemly to it; no twisted meanings, no penalties for failure to live up to any part of it."

Simon studied her solemn face as well before saying, "Let's hear your terms."

"Here's everything I'd be requestin', to begin. Being a farrier and an artist - I'd be knowin' ye take pride in all your grand work. Let it show. Try a smile or a warm word now and again for your clients. Ye have special projects. Fine, finish them now and put them aside until called for; whatever they be, they apparently make ye think foul thoughts that won't serve a purpose until autumn. And lastly, ye have a new life here but you're not living it. Go out, often if ye can, and see what this new life of yours has to offer. There'll still be plenty of time for your pets, for your land, and mostly for yourself."

"That all sounds well and good," Simon replied with a grimace, "but I don't think I could pull off some of those requests. And anyway, there's no time to go livin' high on the hog when I got work to do around here. Don't think it ain't crossed my mind, but there just ain't no way I can do it."

"Mister Rike," Liadan said calmly, "if it were to be easy, ye wouldn't need to be pressed to try. Now, ye have responsibilities to be sure, but not so many as ye might think. Here's me offer in return. Being of the race of brownie, I'll be quite skilled at tinkerin', if ye will. Ask Mister Brody if ye hold doubt on that. If allowed, I'll keep most simple things on your property in fine order; housecleaning, bushes and garden tended, fences mended, stalls mucked, and the like. What's more, at least until autumn ye can rest easy about foul fae pests on your land; I'll see to it me self that you'll not have so much as the sight of one anywhere near here. Ye have me word on it."

Simon's scowl was borne of confusion. "What's in it f - uh, I mean, why are you makin' me such a good offer? No offense, little lady, but what's the rub? To be honest, I ain't done you no favors." He took a moment to lighten his tone. "It sounds like a sweet deal, but only on my end. So... I don't get it."

"All it might cost ye is getting accustomed to seein' me regular sure enough when I be seein' to chores. As for what I get in return... Ye may not understand yet, Mister Rike, but the more contentment and goodwill the area around Ballaghadaere has, the better off we all might fare come autumn. Me pact is to make ye a truly worthy and invested member of the community, for all our sakes. Will that answer be holdin' ye for the now?"

"And no tricks?" he asked, cautiously hopeful.

"On me honor, it'll be no more or less than me words. If efforts be made but satisfaction cannot be met, then the pact is dissolved with no ill will. Would ye not at least try, if for no one else but yourself? Let that dog sleep until he'd be needed."

Simon's answer came slowly with a nod. "I'm not sure what all that goodwill talk is about, but... alright, it's a deal. Ya got my word that I'll try to be more sociable, or at least ease off the trigger some."

"And I'll be meeting your expectations of chores, if not more so." Liadan nodded once as a sign of finality. "This'll be a bound pact, then. Let it be done and so."

"Uh, hold on a second. Is cooking anywhere in your part of the bargain?"

Liadan shrugged as she began to float slowly away from the table. "I may make a trifle now and again if the mood strikes, but don't ye go expectin' full meals." Her dimples made one more appearance before she simply vanished like a popped soap bubble.
Simon glanced around the empty yard before muttering, "Alright, toast it is." He called Gunnar to him and carried the coffee mugs inside with an unexpectedly positive attitude.

Nearly two hours later, he was on his couch making sketches for final designs on a few projects. With the radio playing mellow music in the background and his focus set on visualizing details, Simon didn't hear the car pull up out front. The knock on his front screen door therefore surprised him. Gunnar beat him there, his tail wagging wildly. The dog's happy and silent reaction narrowed who the visitor might be to a very few.

Brody stood just outside with a goofy grin on his face. He was dressed in a normal style of sweater and jeans, but the huge wool top hat on his head was a ridiculous new look for him. It was vertically striped in Ireland's colors, nearly two feet tall, and drooping from its own weight. "Hey there, cuz - happy Saint Paddy's Day," he said in greeting.

Simon couldn't help but laugh out loud and then pushed the door open. "Are you sure you don't mean 'happy silly-ass hat day'? You look like an overgrown Irish moron."

Brody didn't step in, so Simon followed Gunnar out onto the lawn. "Yeah, I know, but what the hell. So anyway, I can't stick around too long. After Mass, Kate went over to Jack and Fiona's and I'm supposed to meet up with all of 'em in front of the shop before the parade starts up. I'm a little early so I swung by to make sure you didn't want to hang out and watch it with us. I knew you said you didn't wanna the other day, and I get why. I'm just throwin' it out there again in case you changed your mind. It's no big deal if you didn't."

Heartened by Brody's offer of inclusion, Simon had no proper reaction and so just stuck his hands in his pockets. He had deliberated seeing the parade after his talk with Liadan, despite his original choice not to and his aversion to crowds. Still, he gave his word to finish his special projects up and prioritize his time. But then a counter-offer came to mind. "I'm actually kinda tempted now, but I really wanna finish up on a thing or two around here."

"Oh, okay; like I said - no big deal."

But I tell ya what," he said quickly before Brody could try to hide his disappointment, "how about you and Kate save me a seat at the bingo games tomorrow night?"

"No shit?" Brody blurted with raised eyebrows.

"No shit, cuz," Simon repeated him, but with a grin. "You don't mind, do ya?"

"Hell no, I don't mind. Hey, come over for dinner tomorrow and we'll all go together."

"Sounds great," he answered while glancing up at the green, white, and orange monstrosity on his cousin's head. "Now get that stupid hat away from me. Go have a good time, take a bunch of pictures, and tell everyone I said hey."

Brody frowned at his cousin's uncharacteristic pleasantry, but it quickly turned back into a grin. "You got it." He began walking back to his car. "See ya at the store in the morning." Removing the big silly hat, he got back into his SUV and drove off with a wave.

Simon swore that he'd try to be more sociable, to take a chance and deny all the fears and anxieties that had been thrust upon him. And if this wasn't trying, he didn't know what was. "Bingo..." he muttered to himself as he and Gunnar went back inside, "I must be outta my damn mind."

9

The latter part of March was a whirlwind of activities and emotions for Jane. She had many matters and subjects that needed tending to, but managed her time well. Sometimes, the effort of juggling the various activities taxed her reserves and left her drained at the end of a day. At other times, she felt buoyed by all those things that required her attention and met them with energetic zeal. The only thing that both extremes had in common was her smile that usually accompanied them.

Outside of school, Jane could usually be found in the company of her fella, Mac O'Malley. He'd been introduced to her few close friends who took a liking to his fresh perspectives. Jane also liked to see the envy in their eyes of her landing such a fine thing. She explained Mac's absence of otherwise being seen around the village by saying that he was in the employ of Brody Lynch, who kept him busy.

Being unused to be able to offer falsehoods \- as the Lore itself imposed severe penalties for them while in that realm - Mac let Jane tell the cover story when asked. The lies were simple and Jane had no difficulty or remorse in telling them. That same story was told to Jane's mam and da when they first invited the young courter over to their home for a meal. Jane knew her mam had the truth of it, but played right along with the ruse.

When Jane fumbled with the lie of Mac being allergic to metal, Cora reinforced the story by mentioning someone she knew who had the same aversion. During the second invitation for Mac to visit the family, Jane began to feel uncomfortable; continuing to lie to her dear da felt like a betrayal of his love and trust. When the next suggestion came to have Mac back over came from Liam, she made the excuse of her fella having a busy schedule to avoid more guilt.

Back on the evening of Flinn Sweeney's wake, Jane's da and Father Doyle asked if she might sing a tune or two at the Requiem Mass. She was proud to do so, but not because she knew Mister Sweeney; Jane was happy to do a simple favor for men she loved and respected. Jane was surprised how full the church was, but even more so at Father Doyle's announcement after the last scripture was recited.

Auld Sweeney had asked that a party be thrown with his savings; it was apparently enough that a huge festival was possible. The priest said more information was available at a new website listed in the funeral bulletin, and volunteers were requested to make it a grand affair. Jane thought it odd to see so many smiling faces during a time of mourning, although she was just as thrilled with the news.

After Flinn Sweeney was finally laid to rest in the village cemetery, Jane and Mac were approached by Brody and Kate. After complimenting Jane's singing, the couple kept their voices hushed when they asked Macklin a number of questions about banshees.

Jane's fae fella explained that banshees were creatures of the ether, and therefore were mostly unknowable. Banshees did make appearances in both realms, but it was a rare thing. If drawn to an individual for some reason, their wails might be heard just before or at the time of that individual's passing. When asked, Macklin assured everyone present that he'd never known of a banshee to in any way cause a death. Reassured, Jane's sister and her big fella thanked him and moved on.

It was a handful of days after the funeral that Jane and Macklin sat in one of the village cafes, where she was trying to explain the adverse effects of the contaminated water line for the area. From their window seat, they could see repair crews resealing pavement that had been ripped up to get to a broken section of pipe. Macklin had difficulty understanding the concept of pollutants, so Jane outlined the concept in simple terms before moving on to a different subject.

Near the end of that luncheon date, Jane received a call from her newest friend, Megan Gorski. The normally calm and soft-spoken girl spoke in a distressed tone and with hurried words. On the verge of panic, Megan explained that her little brother had surprisingly slipped out of their house - something he never did - and couldn't be found. Jane had been told before that Michael's autism left him vulnerable to accidental injury if not in a controlled environment.

Within ten minutes, she and Mac were at the Gorski home. Less than an hour later, over thirty people were combing the wild fields and woods far behind the house, calling for the boy. Soon enough, Mac picked up a trail no one else noticed and found Michael unharmed down on a creek bed.

As he was led back to the house, the boy kept pointing behind him and repeated the words, "Play with the lights". It made Jane shiver.

A few days before Brody and Kate were to fly off to the States, Jane received numerous bulky parcels in the post; her CDs had come from the studio. Since Brody had made it possible, it only made sense to Jane to let him hear it first. Macklin, who had just sent Mix back to guard his Lore holdings, went with her out to the Lynch cottage.

Kate marveled at the music Jane had made, but pointed out that she sounded even better in live performances. Brody raved over it, promising to have the CD played in the craft shop all the time. He even made mention of looking into having a track or two played on local radio stations, and sending copies off to Dublin and Cork stations that had bigger audiences.

Sporting a sly grin, Brody also mentioned that Father Doyle would be asking Jane and Mac that night at the pub to perform at the Flinn Festival. She was thrilled and then anxious. Kate gave Jane a reassuring smile, saying that they'd hire the studio musicians from the CD for the event and practices beforehand. During the live show, Mac could simply huddle behind the other players to avoid unexplainably distorted photos. Jane saw the logic in it but thought it was a shame, what with Macklin being so fine.

On the afternoon of All Fool's Day, Jane went to Hammerworks after school let out to wait for Macklin. He was off bow hunting and agreed to meet her there. Brody and Kate had left that morning to catch their flight out of Shannon, so she only expected Mary Clarke at the shop to visit with.

Besides a number of tourists fawning over the stone and metal items and art, Mister Rike was there as well. Jane was a little surprised when he greeted her with a smile - she didn't think she'd ever seen him smile before - and called attention to her music softly playing over the sound system.

Simon, as he asked Jane to call him, also showed her the basket of her CDs that was on sale at the counter. Mary informed her that her singing voice had sparked the interest of many visitors, and that all of the locals were eager for her show at the festival. From the praise given by family and friends, and then Mary's information, Jane began to realize she was becoming a local celebrity. She felt both gratified and humbled by it.

Apart from all of Jane's activities - school, writing and rehearsing music, helping with the Flinn Fest decorations, and choir practice - there was Macklin. Their time together wasn't like in romance novels, where everything she did was with him in mind. She simply felt more complete in his company. There was obvious attraction, but it was more than that; whereas Jane might think herself as strange for her gift, she felt normal and relaxed with him. Of course, she had friendships and was comfortable with them, but never was able to be completely open and honest. With Macklin there was a freedom - and desire - that held her fascination.

Despite her infatuation, Jane was also beginning to realize the disparity between herself and Macklin. In some regards, there were vast differences in what each generally knew and what they wanted. While Jane had plans and attainable goals, albeit vague thus far, Macklin had no driving ambitions whatsoever other than staying true to his oaths. She had hopes and dreams; his world _was_ a dream, but not necessarily one she'd envisioned being a part of. The situation was far from perfect, but both agreed that they had youth and optimism on their sides. Time would tell.

Jane spent her weekends and most afternoons with her refreshing Fair fae, whether playing music, discussing the Lore and his life there, or losing track of time while snogging. There were intimate and steamy moments when she nearly gave into temptation. The intimacy between Jane and Macklin was growing incrementally more passionate, but he was patient with her anxiety of going further. Her virginity was still intact, although she was forming plans for that to change. That Jane's first time would be with a savage sidhe was something she had no way to anticipate.

The day after Jane visited Hammerworks, her focus on her classes suffered from all the ideas for lyrics that kept coming to mind. It was nothing new, but she knew she'd have to buckle down soon enough for her leaving cert in June. She told herself that after she spent an hour or two with Macklin that day, she'd compile all her current scribbles and then focus on her lessons... probably.

As her last class was nearest to the exit doors for the car park, Jane nearly sprinted - as she always did lately - and was out of the building well ahead of any other student when the last bell sounded. She expected to see her fella out across the school grounds leaning against her little Fiat as he usually was, and he didn't disappoint.

However, this time Macklin had no visual manifestation, only able to be seen by her Lore-touched eyes and thus invisible to anyone else. The handsome fae was dressed in his high boots, blue and black tartan, and dark medieval shirt. His black hair was thicker and longer, and his ocean eyes were vivid even from a distance. Instead of those eyes gazing in her direction, though, they were scanning the threatening clouds above.

Jane, confused and worried all at once, faltered and stopped to look up as well. She was both interested and afraid of what he might be searching for, but her curiosity won out and she kept her place. She immediately saw an avian shape coming in low and alarmingly fast over the trees behind Macklin. It looked to be a large crow or huge magpie, and carried something big, dark and bulky with its talons. She'd never seen the like of it.

Transfixed by the sudden events in play, Jane had no time to call a warning to Macklin. The huge bird zoomed over his head, releasing its package like a war plane dropping a bomb. She cried out just as her fella was craning his view up, too late to react. The bulky object - a large rock, by the way it bounced afterwards - struck Macklin in the head with dreadful impact.

Jane's attention was diverted from Macklin's long hair flying as he crumpled to the pavement, to the huge bird - a magpie, from its white neck plumage - that made a hasty landing much closer to her on the school lawn. She stood transfixed as the bird changed its form before her eyes.

In a mere blink, a short but very powerful-looking male fae stood in the magpie's place, less than ten paces from her. His only clothing was a pair of faded black trousers; the rest of his thickly muscled body was pale under dark body hair. The fae's hands and feet were large; each digit ended with a black claw. The thick hair on his wedge-shaped head was striped white and black, his black eyes were fixed on her, and his piranha-tooth smile was a promise of pain. "You must be the one," he said in raspy Irish. "Let's be quick about it, shall we?"

The feral-looking fae began to approach; Jane was frozen with fear, unable to make a noise or force her feet to move. The squat fae suddenly stopped only a few steps away; his long, broad nose sniffed and twitched, as if taking her scent. He appeared to have discovered an odor he wasn't expecting, which made him pause with a puzzled frown.

Acting on instinct, Jane released a focused scream that blasted forth out of terror and fury. She couldn't hear it herself, but saw the air ripple with its power. Her enemy reeled back a number of steps before he fell backwards onto the lawn. He sat up instantly, his wide nose and small pointed ears gushing violet blood. The bulky fae's look of surprise quickly curled into a wicked grin. The blood flow stopped as he sprang back to his feet.

Before the bestial fae could take a step, an arrow suddenly pierced him from behind, slicing through his flesh and lodging between his ribs. He grunted from the impact and looked down at the bloody stone arrowhead that protruded out of the side of his heavy torso. He looked more irritated than injured.

Jane could see past her assailant to Macklin, forty paces away in the car park. He was up on one knee, holding out his bow with one hand while the other shakily nocked another arrow. Some of his hair lay dark and wet against his face and neck. His right eye was closed from the ribbons of blood that ran down that side of his face. With a grim visage, he steadied himself for another shot.

The bulky fae turned halfway in Macklin's direction; he flicked his oversized hand in that direction and then turned his head to leer at Jane once more. Just as Macklin pulled his weapon taut, the bowstring broke with a twang. A hissing chuckle came from the sinister fae while he faced Jane again.

Without hesitation, Macklin yelled, "Jane, run! Use a door!"

The bulky fae turned his dark, predatory eyes back toward Macklin, a bewildered look on his feral face. "Door?" he asked, still speaking in Irish. "What -" He stopped short, seeing that the bloody Fair fae was getting to his feet with the assistance of the spear in his hand. Sighing, he casually pulled the arrow out of his side and turned to face him. "I suppose you'll have to be dealt with first. Good - it'll make taking the girl more enjoyable."

Jane didn't wait to see what happened next. If the short but powerful fae defeated Macklin, then she'd be on the run anyway. If her savage Macklin was to win out, he'd still want her safe and hidden away until he knew it was safe. Just as she turned and began to run, other students started leisurely coming out of the exit doors.

Jane thought that what she'd just witnessed took minutes, but in reality must have been only seconds. She jostled through the growing stream of exiting students, holding back her scream for them to get out of her way. Another moment of dodging bodies and then she ran at full speed toward the back of the school building.

Jane turned a corner while hastily unslinging her backpack from her shoulder. With no one in sight, she reached into a small inner pocket and pulled out a piece of sidewalk chalk. Macklin had asked early on that she keep some with her, just in case. Panting, she drew a hasty circle on the cinderblock school wall, and added a slash for a hinge. Nearly sobbing, she closed her eyes and forced herself to think only of the door. When Jane opened her eyes, the oblong door awaited her. She shoved it open, threw her backpack in first, and then scrambled through.

As soon as Jane was in her room, she regretted running. But what could she do? Her scream was enough to knock the bastard down, but he looked like he enjoyed it. Then again, with her and Macklin together, she thought they could easily handle the brawny little fuck. She suddenly remembered her little friend Gideon, and how she hadn't seen him in her play room for quite a long time. If only he was there, he might have a better idea of what to do. But he wasn't, and fruitless hopes only wasted precious time.

Resolved, Jane turned back to the round door and went to push it open to go help her fella. Nothing happened. Suddenly panicked, she slammed her fists and then a shoulder against it, but to no avail. Out back of the school was where the teachers parked; one or more of them had to have just come out for her door not to open.

She and Macklin had discussed her doors - portals - in the past. While Jane was afraid to use one again to reach the Lore because of chaotic time variables, Macklin had an interesting and encouraging opinion. He thought that because fae paid little heed to time, the ether adapted that lack of concern. But because Jane was human, her portals might have the ether somewhat conforming to her embrace of time's importance. They hadn't tested the theory yet, but Jane was out of options other than to wait. With Macklin in danger, Jane made her choice... but she wasn't going to the Lore.

The chalk was still in her hand; it was tacky from her sweaty palms, but still served its purpose. Jane raced to the other end of her room and drew another slapdash door, common and basically rectangular that time, on the uncluttered wall. Grabbing the knob, she thought only of Macklin and prayed to get back in time and as near to him as she could get.

The door opened, revealing a dimmed school classroom; it closely resembled the one Jane had left just a few minutes before. The noise of students could be heard just outside the closed door. She was at St. Niall's, during or just after classes. Fear made her wonder if it was the same day, or even the same year. With the specific mind-fog on her still in effect, all memories of Gideon were instantly forgotten.

Closing her door behind her, Jane glanced out the windows; moody clouds hung low, keeping the unlit classroom in vague shadows. It was no clear indicator, but at least the weather wasn't vastly different. She hurried from the room and out into the hall where some students were still making their way to the exits. Only one room away from her last class, she nervously jogged through the thin crowd and outside once more.

Standing where she had not five minutes past, Jane could only gawk at the scene out on the school lawn near the curb. There was a large group of fae out there. The students walking to their cars unconsciously made wide detours around the assembled Other Crowd. One fae stood apart from the others - it was the brute with striped hair. He had bloody slashes across his hairy torso and one shoulder was blackened from a burn, but looked to be angry rather than in pain. He made a quick gesture with one clawed hand and stepped backward into a portal, careful not to turn his back on the group.

As soon as the brute disappeared, Jane turned her attention to the others. Macklin was among them and the tallest by far. Part of his face was coated in violet blood, his shirt was nearly in tatters, but he was on his feet. Jane's heart swelled with relief and joy. He looked in her direction as if sensing her; even though he looked to be in desperate shape, he still managed a smile for her. His attention was brought back to the little fae next to him, who said something Jane couldn't hear from that distance.

That little fae was only half Macklin's height, on the plump side and wearing old-fashioned work clothes. He didn't appear old, but his curly hair and long chin beard was vanilla white, like a sheep. Strangest of all was the set of goat horns that curved back over his head. Rather than menacing, Jane thought those horns made the little fae appear unassuming and rural.

Unlike the one with the horns, though, the others around him all looked serious and shrewd. Those remaining fae creatures - Jane counted eight of them - were all diminutive, beautiful women with large feathered wings for arms and talons instead of feet. Their shifts were drab, which seemed only to accentuate the vibrant colors of their hair and plumage. Ranging from three to four feet tall, they stood proud and alert like sentries.

Jane walked slowly and cautiously toward the group, wanting to be near Macklin - not that there was anything she could do for his injuries. The situation seemed safe enough at the moment; her fella had no weapons out and held a casual stance while talking to the little goat-sheep-fae. Seeing Macklin battered and bloody but standing there chatting made the surreal scene all the more strange. The pretty bird-women were somewhat intimidating, which was the only reason she wasn't running to him; she didn't want to cause another incident after one had just ended. Walking slowly also gave Jane time to gather her wits and calm her breathing.

While many of the female sentries watched the handful of students passing obliviously around them, two of those bird-women kept their eyes directly on Jane while she came closer. Coming within range, she was able to start picking up on the conversation between Macklin and the little, horned fae.

"... actually your brother, was he?" Macklin was asking.

"Nay, I be without true siblings," the little fae replied in a soft, melodic voice. "It just be the way me morpher kin be addressin' one another, it is. For Fergal, though, I might be makin' an exception if he'll not be comin' around to a proper way of thinkin', says I."

"You honestly believe he'll change? Is that why you let him go?"

'Aye, forgive me soft heart," the little fae replied with a grimace. "I'd just be offerin' the one chance for redemption. Mayhap it was in folly, sad to say."

One of the bird-women who kept her wary gaze on Jane stepped backwards, closer to Macklin and the little fae. "Pardon the intrusion, high-borne..."

Macklin glanced at the sentry and then his eyes turned to Jane, who had just stopped at a respectable distance. Smiling, he said, "Jane, I am so glad to see you safe. There is nothing more to fear here."

Jane matched his smile but still came no closer, wary of any reactions the intimidating bird-women might have for her. She was also hesitant about being any closer to the little fae fellow, who was plainly gawking at her. Pulling her eyes away from him, she looked at Macklin's battered appearance. "I was so worried for you! Is there something I can do to help? You look a tara mess."

Keeping his grin, Macklin shook his head; his body language and expression showed little to no discomfort. "All is well. My new friend here," he gestured to the little fae next to him, who was still staring at Jane, "is strong in the gift of restoration, and was quite lenient in the debt I now owe him. I still show the results of being attacked, but my wounds are mostly healed." He looked down to the little fae and touched him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Merciful Gideon, may my fair lady approach? We are plain to her view; her beautiful eyes have seen the Lore."

Jane saw that Gideon, as Macklin had called him, only gave a fleeting glance up to her fella before turning his big brown eyes to her once more. He stammered before softly uttering, "Lil' Jane?"

Most of the bird-women turned to her and then back to him. One of the female sentries - a gorgeous creature with silvery white hair and wings - leaned down to the horned fae and asked, "This is the McCarthy lass, guide Gideon?"

Jane and Macklin exchanged surprised glances. She continued to look at her fella with a baffled expression on her pretty face when she asked, "How is it every feckin' fae knows who I am?"

10

The final days of March had passed by slowly for Kate, as excited as she was for the trip to the States. With Brody's assistance, the reservations for the flight, hotel, and car rental were made well in advance. All she could do after the plans were set was to wait with growing anticipation.

Other than two weekend trips to London by ferry and train in her college years, Kate had never been out of Ireland. Never having flown in a plane before, the beginning of her vacation was going to begin with thrilling anxiety. The nervous energy she amassed from anticipation was expended on Brody, who had no complaints.

Kate had asked Alana if she'd check in on the cottage while they were gone. Her friend happily agreed, saying she'd house-sit once she and Brody were out of the way, adding that they might have trouble getting her to leave.

Brody didn't even have to ask Simon to check up on the dogs and donkeys; his cousin offered early on to do just that. Kate noted that it was also a viable excuse for him and Alana to cross paths. Jane was also asked to set out some cream and butter for Liadan on the night before they returned. Even with friends and family lending a hand and assuring her that everything was well in hand, Kate knew she was going to be heartsick from missing her pets.

The morning of their flight finally arrived, early and active. Brody had asked her not to drink much coffee before their flight; a nap on the plane would help against jet-lag. Kate didn't see how she was going to be able to sleep, but complied. With the luggage loaded and the pets given last-minute attention, they began the lengthy drive down to Shannon Airport under wet skies. Kate used the drive time to send texts and emails, promising that she'd take more pictures than anyone would care to look at.

At Brody's insistence, their seats were business class; he wanted Kate to be quite comfortable on her first flight. Since first class offered only a few other amenities they wouldn't use, and it came at an exorbitant cost, it was easily dismissed. Kate was very impressed with what was provided: individual flat-screens with a selection of movies, seats that stretched out to near horizontal, and of course the free drinks. The take-off was a rush for her already-pounding heart, but less than an hour later she was in a deep slumber.

The only stop before their final destination was in Newark. Since the layover was only for an hour, they stayed within the sprawling airport. Kate thought to at least take a quick look around outside, but Brody made the comment, "It's Newark, darlin' - you aren't missing anything." Since she wasn't familiar with the stigma, he had to explain that the city - and most of New Jersey, really - had a poor reputation, and was for the most part warranted. With that information, Kate assumed it'd be comparable to a vast traveler campsite, except with smog-belching factories. She was therefore content to wait inside.

After landing in Kansas City and retrieving their luggage, Kate and Brody stepped out into a cool and sunny afternoon. She'd been on planes and in airport terminals for well over thirteen hours and felt as though it should be well dark. The long nap on the first leg of their trip and the invigoration of travel left her wide awake for the rest of that extended day.

Kate was impressed with the size of their rented vehicle; Brody had chosen a full-size SUV to give his big, muscular form plenty of room. They had reserved a penthouse suite at an elegant hotel in the city's trendy - to her, meaning posh - shopping district. On the drive into the city, Kate had her phone camera clicking in all directions.

Brody grinned at her fascination, watched her taking photos almost frantically, and casually asked, "What are you doin'?"

"I'm trying to capture all of the obvious differences from home," she answered while clicking another shot. "Take this motorway, for example. Look at how wide the lanes are! And there are three or four of them at a time, just on our side alone! It's like Dublin, except there's so much room here."

"Darlin', it's just a highway. I'm pretty sure there are better things to sprain your thumb taking pictures of, okay?" She grinned in response and then took a hasty photo of him.

As the hotel brochure promised, their suite was sumptuous. Large windows gave western views of the posh area that Brody called 'the Plaza', and a small balcony faced the city's downtown skyline to the north. Kate lay back onto the soft pillows of the king-sized bed and made a promised call to Alana. Brody likewise called Jamal, even after a few phone chats while still in Ireland. Once off their phones, the couple unpacked a few items before searching out the rooftop bar for a cocktail.

Over dinner in the hotel's fancy Italian restaurant, they discussed plans and itineraries. Other than a few ideas, Brody wanted to play things by ear. Kate, ever the organizer, had a list and timetables she wanted to keep to in order to see everything she found on the net that caught her interest.

Kate finally got to meet Jamal and Carla in person the next day for a lunch of what she considered to be large cuts of steak and pampered service; she'd soon learn that that was the norm. To Kate, the engaged couple seemed a good fit; they both were quite tall, well-educated and level-headed. They both worked in the financial field and kept well within their affluent means - wedding excluded. Because of those pragmatic qualities and educational backgrounds that were akin to her own, it set her at ease with Brody's friends.

Since Kate wanted to find new outfits for the rehearsal dinner and wedding, and because Carla had to see to last minute details, they all finished their oversized meals and said their farewells like old friends.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of shopping. Brody only wanted a new suit and some sports apparel while Kate seemingly found deals and new styles in every clothing store he brought her to. She even gathered a cart full of sale items and shoes - too many shoes - from a Walmart, a store of daunting proportion. She ignored the strange looks, and Brody's chuckles, when she began taking photos of it. She could only imagine what the lass at the check-out thought at seeing the bushel of American candies that would be going back home with them for friends and family. Well, most of it.

To Kate's delight, Brody's hometown had an amusement park that easily dwarfed the Funderland she'd visited in Galway a few years back. After hours of screaming on rollercoasters and strolling hand in hand throughout the expansive grounds, she was then entertained with a sight-seeing tour around specific areas of the widespread city.

Besides Brody's parents' old home and the apartment complex he lived in before moving to Ireland, Kate was shown both the high and low ends of residential living there. Brody drove slowly through manicured neighborhoods of mansions, but then hurriedly through perturbing slums. She was glad for both speeds, although her camera stayed busy throughout.

During that tour, Brody made a slight alteration to his driving plans and brought Kate to a tidy suburban cemetery. A short walk around other grave markers brought them to the headstone of his parents. The names of Jeremiah (Jerry) Edward and Rosalie (Rose) Anne Lynch were carved into one wide piece of dark marble. Brody said that it was the only type of introduction he could make, but they would have been thrilled to meet Kate.

As they stood there, Kate listened quietly while Brody told a few wistfully funny stories about his parents. All the while, she glanced from him to the headstone and ached for his loss. After a long hug, Kate said that she felt honored to be brought there and be allowed to share that special place.

Although Kate had forgotten about her own birthday, Brody hadn't. She was first taken to a boutique where a beautiful green dress caught her eye; it was elegant enough for formal events, yet modest enough for church. Next was a reservation at a spa, an experience she'd never had before. Kate was treated like royalty while she received hot stone massage, exfoliating facial, a light spray tan, manicure, pedicure, and a hair styling at the adjacent salon. Afterwards, she felt blissfully mellow; the decadent indulgence was beyond what she could have expected.

Brody met Kate in the spa's lobby and complimented her refreshed look and new hair style. He then gave her a set of emerald stud earrings to match her new dress; he'd gotten them while she was cosseted for the last few hours. While she stared adoringly at the jewelry, Brody light-heartedly mentioned that from then on she was getting home-made gifts. While elated with the pampering and lavish items, Kate didn't mention that she would have enjoyed his hand-crafted presents even more.

The rehearsal dinner was a lavish affair, held in a huge banquet hall to accommodate Jamal's small family and Carla's large one. It was professionally catered with a wide array of foods, from filet mignon to chicken strips. The atmosphere was like a loud, informal party, and all of the guests were in good spirits; the hall was filled with bright nimbuses, but thankfully none that sparkled.

It was obvious that Kate and Brody were the minority at the event, which she should have expected. Kate whispered to Brody that she'd never seen so many black folks all at once before; he was discreetly mortified at her comment. She didn't mean to come off as racist - to her, it was simply an observation.

That evening continued to be festive for a good long while. Simple games of introduction were played, speeches were made, and there was romantic music to slow-dance to after the buffet meal. At one point, Kate found herself sat at a table of older ladies who loved her accent and wanted to know more about her homeland. When Brody came over to say hello, those ladies turned their questions on him. One of them was Jamal's mother, and remembered her son's big friend from the boys' high school days. She and the other ladies were warm and funny and very outspoken.

When the evening began to wind down, the couple said their goodbyes and headed back to their hotel. Kate came away from the dinner with many more pictures, memories of some charming people, and a love for Kansas City barbeque.

The next day was all about the wedding. Kate thought her new green dress, emerald earrings, medium-heeled pumps and clutch purse - plus other jewelry she'd been given at Christmas \- made a fetching ensemble. Brody, with that hunger in his eyes that she knew well, said she looked gorgeous. He looked rather dapper and sexy himself in his new tailored suit. Finally ready, they drove out of the covered parking garage into another beautiful day. She felt all this - from notable urban surroundings to fine attire and posh settings - placed her in an invigorating new world.

While nowhere matching the grandeur of the Ballaghadaere cathedral, the church for the ceremony was inviting and tastefully decorated. Kate didn't note the name of the church, but it certainly wasn't a Catholic wedding - there were songs she wasn't familiar with, no communion offered, and the ceremony didn't last as long. Brody told her later that both Jamal and Carla were Baptists. The bride looked stunning in her flowing dress and the groom looked nervous but happy. Even though the old gent next to Kate wore far too much cologne, she thought it was a lovely wedding.

Jamal and Carla's reception started much the same as the rehearsal dinner, except with a number of homemade dishes added to the food selection. Kate and Brody ignored the gift registry list and instead brought engraved Waterford glassware with a decanter, all well-padded for the journey. The couple was made to feel welcome by all the strangers they met, interacting as much as keeping their own company.

While dancing with Jamal's father, Kate once again appreciated how far she'd come along socially since realizing her nimbus sight, and especially having Brody. There was so much laughter and joy and love she would have been completely unaware of otherwise.

For Kate and Brody's last day of vacation, they tried to keep to her itinerary. The morning was spent at the zoo; Dublin's own was nearly as nice but only one third the size. At Kate's request, more barbeque was had for lunch. After the meal, Brody made a huge order of ribs and sauce to be packed for mailing.

Afterwards was more sight-seeing and shopping; they had to buy additional luggage to carry all of the unexpected purchases of clothing, souvenirs, and food. By that evening, the couple agreed that they were ready to go home.

The returning flight to Ireland was early in the morning; Kate and Brody were getting used to sleeping in, so their departure was a drowsy one. They had a layover in Chicago for an hour and a half, wanting to venture no further than to find a café open for breakfast. On the long flight back over the Atlantic, they reset their watches to Ireland time with frowns; it would be past midnight when they landed, followed by a two-hour drive home. Wanting to be back at their country cottage with their pets gave Kate and Brody the energy to stay awake.

On the drive home, Kate realized that she hadn't seen any rain in a week; every day in Kansas City was sunny and comfortable. She wondered if her grandfather Aldritch had anything to do with that. On that note, she never saw one glittering nimbus while in the States. She imagined that the cities were too big, too modern, for the fae's liking. Perhaps it was a lack of old beliefs in the relatively young nation that kept the Other Crowd scarce there. Then again, it could be all three or none of the above; Kate wasn't concerned about it. She'd just had near a week of normalcy and was going to miss it.

Having known their flight schedule, Alana left the cottage in top form and left the dogs to their own devices for a few hours until their masters finally returned. Seeing that a few lights had been left burning and meals waiting to be reheated, Kate felt lucky to have such a good friend. The dogs remained excited for some time and it took a session of wrestling to calm them.

On the last trip to bring the luggage in, Kate noticed two small sparkling nimbuses moving about in the nearest paddock over by Brody's workshop. While she couldn't see their forms, she could see their bright emotional colors glowing in the darkness. It seemed only natural to her to smile and wave in their direction before closing the front door.

11

Catching the admiring eyes of nearby fae, Saraid Moon Maiden strolled through the mercenary camp. In the light of small campfires and the glow from many present wisps, her snug emerald gown sparkled and accentuated her curvaceous figure. Reflections from the fires and the full peach moon in the black night sky above gave her long green-and-white streaked hair further radiance.

She stopped near the communal dance fire, belonging to no particular tent, and waited for her small entourage to gather close and hear her words.

The broad-shouldered troll Cadell Arms-Caller stood next to Saraid, a head and a half taller than her and three times her girth. He looked formidable with his chin spikes, topknot and stern mien, but Saraid was of the guarded opinion that he was simply a greedy fae who exploited the loopholes in his race's code of honor. Still, he brought a sense of order and structure to the encampment; she wondered how firm of a grip he would have on the reins of the warriors once they were loosed on the Verden village. Not that she cared overmuch, as long as they were enough distraction for her prize to be easily claimed.

On the other side of Saraid was her newest lover, Tobias. He was a dryad like herself, but nowhere near worthy of elder status. He stood a head taller than her, with skin the color of dark wheat. His brown hair shone with highlights of bronze, and had alluring eyes resembling glazed caramel. He either had or adopted the appearance of youth, free of facial hair and the wear of age. Dressed simply in a green brocade robe at Saraid's request, Tobias was fit and vigorous, but his mind was weak.

Saraid found it laughably easy to reassign Tobias's emotional priorities - so much so that his brazen subservience to her matched any low-borne she commanded.

Along with Saraid and her two escorts were numerous servants. Her own nymphs hovered close by, lest they catch some amorous warrior's attention; to be taken to a tent without their Mistress's consent was not allowed. Cadell's own gruff spriggan guards kept to the rear of the group, ready to defend him at his mental command. Not that the troll was in danger; it was all a matter of posturing.

Saraid turned to Tobias and ran a finger delicately down his toned arm. "I have felt the presence of Oriana Solemn Sight just returning to my lands. Her tent sits apart from the camp, just there." She pointed between nearby tents to a small, dark renaissance pavilion pitched further out in a field of large wild mushrooms. "Politely bring her to me." Tobias silently took her hand, kissed it, and then jogged off into the night to do her bidding.

Cadell rolled his piercing light blue eyes. "It is a shame what you've reduced that one to."

Saraid turned to him with one thin eyebrow cocked high. "And you would have him follow his former dream of glorious battle? He would be fodder, and we both know it."

The troll replied with a shrug, "All wars must unfortunately have their casualties. The cause is stronger for their sacrifice."

"Save your gallant drama for the mercenaries, Cadell. Tobias is enthusiastic, but on a warrior's field is not where his talents lie. I've saved him from his own delusions."

"And have given him new ones." Cadell shook his head in disgust. "You've rescued that young fae from a painful fate, but only to have him licking your feet - and everything else \- like a groveling pet. I would run my own heart through from the dishonor and indignity of it, were I in his place."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of my gift," Saraid said with a wicked grin. "With the finesse I can achieve, poor Tobias has no idea he's humiliating himself, and won't listen to others who might point that out. And before you wonder - no, I am not manipulating you as well... as far as you know."

Cadell scowled down at her. "You overestimate yourself, Saraid. Stay content with corruptible fools."

"Foolish, but euphoric; most males secretly wish it. Now stop your sour musings - Oriana comes."

Saraid, Cadell, and their respective retainers waited a short time in silence as they watched the petite sprite being escorted to them. In the meantime, Saraid nodded to any warrior who gave a passing greeting; Cadell waved off two mercenaries who approached with questions. Tobias walked next to Oriana until she stood before the group; he was then kindly ordered back to Saraid's tree haven in the distance to wait for her there. The young dryad obeyed without question and jogged off once more. Cadell shook his head but said nothing.

Oriana glanced at the young fae as melded into the night; it was not her place to mention the strong colors of his aura. She looked slightly up to meet the green eyes of Saraid and then over and further up to Cadell's supercilious gaze. A small curtsy was offered to them but nothing more; Lore etiquette was followed, letting the host speak first.

"Elder Solemn Sight," Saraid began with a dazzling smile, "it is good to have you amongst us again. While your title is certainly apt, it also lengthens a chat, don't you agree?" She went on without waiting for any response. "Since you are to be one of the members of my 'gate party', as I like to call it, let's dispense with formalities, shall we? May I call you Oriana?"

"Please do, elder." Oriana felt that Saraid's strong mental defenses were up; she couldn't glean even a passing thought. Despite that, the colors of her aura were light enough, which helped to set the returning sprite at ease.

"You may call me Saraid in return, of course. I hope the travels and toils that took you away from us fared well?"

Oriana clasped her small hands behind her back. "As well as I could expect." Her huge amber eyes quickly took in the part of the encampment she could see without turning her back on Saraid and Cadell. "Are the other members of our 'gate party' not yet prepared? I do not see them."

Cadell, with his smooth baritone voice, answered, "Elder Fergal of the Twisted Path is currently tending to other actions which aid our cause, but makes periodic returns. Elder Gregori the Glut is preparing for a duty of a tactical nature. Is this of some concern to you?"

His aura told Oriana that it wasn't suspicion, but rather conceit, that formed his vague and curt response. "Their activities are none of my affair, elder Arms-Caller, save that of our combined effort. I merely wondered about the status of that event."

"So, you have harvested enough glamour to meet our needs and have it at hand, yes?" he asked with a tone that wouldn't be appeased with whatever answer she might give.

"Yes, I am prepared." As a form of subtle rebuke, Oriana turned her head away from Cadell to make it apparent she was finished conversing with him. Before addressing Saraid once more, she made a show of hesitating when catching sight of a particular fae back among the tents. She already knew the fae in question was still in camp, but wanted to make the situation appear spontaneous.

"Has a warrior caught your eye, Oriana?" Saraid asked with a lopsided grin.

"A fae, yes," she answered distractedly, still looking toward the shadowy tents, "although he is no warrior." Turning to face Saraid, she said, "For your agreement to claim a seat at a Circle of Prudence, and for further casting your vote in favor of me gaining title, I owe you a minor debt, do I not?"

"That you do," Saraid slowly answered, curious as to where the soft-spoken sprite's question might lead.

"Then if you will allow it, I would like to repay your favor. An infiltrator loiters in your camp."

Saraid and Cadell shared a glance. "If your claim can be proven," Saraid said quietly, "then I will consider that debt paid. Who is the spy you speak of?

Keeping her hands casually behind her back, Oriana nodded toward a tent on the far side of the communal dance fire behind them. Both Saraid and Cadell turned just as the accused fae strolled back into the campfire light from the stark shadows.

"Lorcan," Cadell called out, "we would have a word with you."

The little redcap froze for a moment at the unexpected command. His dark eyes darted about warily before walking slowly toward them. Lorcan's long orange hair shone like luminous snakes in the firelight, flowing out from under a battered porkpie hat. Coming closer, his unnaturally wide mouth curled into a sneer when he Saw Oriana. Stopping a few strides away, he growled, "You."

Being on Saraid's land, Cadell stepped aside to let her oversee the matter. With his spriggan guards around him, the troll crossed his thick arms and watched. He noticed that the activity was getting the attention of a few other milling fae.

Saraid quickly gestured for her nymph servants to fly off, and then looked from the calm but serious Oriana to the seething Lorcan. "It seems you two have formerly met. Know this, both of you: I will not wait for the elements to bestow damning curses should either of you offer falsehoods. Being quite versed in them, I know a lie when I hear one. Whosoever gives fictions to condemn the other will have me and the full power of my vast holdings bringing you low."

"Understood, Saraid," Oriana replied while keeping her eyes on the one she referred to as the scoundrel. Lorcan stared right back at her, only nodding his acknowledgement of Saraid's warning.

"Very well," Saraid said, glancing from one to the other. "Oriana, make your claim."

"My first of three accusations is that Lorcan openly and personally attacked humans. While he did not break the law of Mortality and didn't cause enough damage to kill them, he used his gift of suggestion to have one human attempt murder on another."

Saraid turned with narrowed eyes toward the redcap. "Defend," she hissed.

Lorcan noticed that warriors were beginning to gather. He glared once again at the sprite he'd nicknamed 'Goldie' for her big, bright eyes. "I had a game afoot, and she stepped in. I gave no nudge for anyone to murder; I only gave a nudge of aggression and let the humans decide from there. In further defense," he pointed a little finger at Oriana, "she somehow forced me into mundane sight. Isn't that like her breaking the law of Enigma, but just using me to do it?"

Saraid's glare turned into a frown. "Many fae can make another show themselves - it is no rare trick. But the target's defenses must be quite weak to allow it. You do yourself no service with that claim, Lorcan. If you allowed yourself to be seen, it then becomes your responsibility to fog all minds present." She turned to Oriana. "You may defend, if you choose."

"I will explain, so that all may understand," Oriana replied while looking around at the gathering crowd. "It was for no mean or petty reason I did this. I was collecting glamour from a lively party of humans at a public establishment when Lorcan interjected the suggestion of violence. It has always been held that to disrupt another fae's harvesting is considered extremely rude." There were nods of silent agreement throughout the crowd.

Saraid let the tension linger before stating, "You mentioned three accusations, Oriana. The first was valid, but defended enough that no external action is required. Continue."

Oriana nodded. "I further accuse Lorcan of causing the formation of this righteous mission in the first place. When he later attacked humans, he broke the law of Enigma; he did not fog their minds afterwards. That other fae of the area did not intercede on his behalf - letting the knowledge and memories of us persist - is secondary to his criminal actions."

There was a murmur from the encircling crowd of fae; many of them were looking at Lorcan accusingly.

His dark, beady eyes shot around nervously and then locked on Saraid. "That was beyond my control!" he shouted. "She forced me to be seen again! Another fae attacked me while this bitch kept me occupied. I was taken from the scene without a chance to modify any memories. It wasn't my fault!"

Keeping a composed expression, Saraid let her glare linger on the whining redcap before turning to Oriana. "You did not or were unable to fog memories in his stead?"

Continuing to look directly at Lorcan, Oriana calmly answered, "And clean up his mess, especially after he attacked me? No, I am under no obligation to do so. I had no desire to rectify this one's illegal activities and let him avoid fault. As I understand it, it is the duty of a magistrate to correct such situations and impose punishment on the wayward offender. I had heard that one was sent, but he was headstrong and foolish and never completed his mission." Oriana intentionally didn't mention that at least one of the humans was immune to memory alteration. She knew that such information would not deter Saraid's campaign at this stage; it could even make Brody Lynch more of a target.

Saraid was silent for a moment, letting her gaze lock on nothing in particular. She took no personal insult at her former paramour Devlin being an incompetent magistrate. She might, however, lose some respect when word spread that it was she who sent him. There was little to be done for it. She looked back to the fidgeting little redcap and asked, "Did the magistrate meet with you?"

"No, elder, he never called for me." Lorcan went on in a louder voice, "But the same one who attacked me was also the same fae who took the life of the magistrate in grisly fashion! I saw it myself!"

"Your words lead to my third and most critical accusation," Oriana said. "Under whom are you held by a debt of favors? Which fae is your current liege?" She let the questions linger a fleeting moment before answering them. "It is the powerful dryad elder Aldritch of the Old Wood. He is one of the rebellious fae to be held accountable for the breach of Enigma, and you, Lorcan, currently do his bidding. You have infiltrated this righteous war party on his behalf. You are the enemy's spy."

The wide ring of onlookers growled or shouted their outrage. They then began to slowly close in around Lorcan, snarling with their dark intent. When Saraid raised her hand, signaling for everyone to halt as she turned in a slow circle, the warriors reluctantly complied with their hostess's silent command.

Saraid finished her revolution, lowered her arm, and gazed at Lorcan once more. He looked pathetic and terrified, and more than likely preparing to escape by means of some gift.

"Lorcan," Saraid called to him, catching the attention of the frightened redcap. "Know this: if you manage to flee, I will make it my next great mission to have you hunted down. Even if you manage to evade me and my hunters until the Lore fades from existence, I will make sure you are an outcast from fae society. Now," she continued in a less threatening tone, "you are allowed to defend against this serious accusation. I suggest you make the attempt."

Fearful of the angry fae all around him and furious at the sprite bitch that exposed him yet again, Lorcan was left only with Saraid to make a reasonable plea. He stammered before saying in a groveling voice, "Elder Moon Maiden, I have no allegiance to the lord of the Old Wood. He holds debt over me, true, but he's abusive to me at best, and then cruel and sadistic in his darker moods. My loyalty lies here, as always. Didn't I supply you and your council with his activities, and of a few other fae bastards I know of from near that village?"

Saraid nodded. "That you did, and the information was useful. For that alone have you been given this opportunity to defend yourself. But now I wonder what information you have been giving to Aldritch as well during your infrequent absences."

"Nothing useful, I swear it!" Lorcan yelled in a panic. "I am pressed to serve and report, but I only give scraps of worthless details!" His dark eyes reflected the flickering dance fire as they focused on Oriana. "Maybe it's this bitch that's in league with him! She points her finger at me to take any suspicion away from her!"

Oriana released her hands and held them to her sides in clenched fists. She took a step forward and replied, "That is a wild claim, without basis or merit. I take severe offense to it, redcap. While our hostess might show you compassion or mercy, I will not. By my right, and to defend my good name, I challenge you to combat - right here, right now."

Lorcan's mood altered; he was still scared of what his eventual fate might be, but at least he could exact some revenge first. His wide mouth stretched in an evil grin, curling up at the ends. "My, oh my," he murmured, "this is going to be fun." While he took a few steps further away from the communal fire, he saw Saraid backing up. 'Goldie' simply stood in place. He searched and felt that her mental defenses were up, and they were strong; throwing nudges at her would be useless. Still, she had no little Verden beasts to throw at him here. His confidence grew with his grin. Lorcan crouched in a ready stance and sneered, "Go ahead, bitch - make your move."

Oriana unclenched her fists and softly said, "I already have."

In her recent travels through various lands of the Lore, Oriana noticed a creature known as a sky serpent in its natural habitat of dark forests. It was a black snake no more than four feet long with a crimson underbelly and lava slit eyes, but unlike mundane snakes it had black feathered wings with red edging. Sky serpents were known for their sudden aerial strikes and potent paralyzing venom; those fae that knew of the rare creatures knew to avoid disturbing them.

When the latest message from Enochia found Oriana, it mentioned her getting an 'assistant'; such a creature would fit her needs nicely. Returning to those dark woods in a neutral land just before returning to Saraid, Oriana used her potent gift of fauna to befriend and tame the elusive creature. The poison from either the sky serpent's bite or tail would prevent the 'scoundrel' from using his lightning speed against her. The devious little fae would finally have the fate he deserved.

Lorcan narrowed his eyes in confusion at the stationary sprite. He then thought she was trying to confuse him and put him off guard. He scoffed at her poor attempt; the weak bluff only stalled her pain.

Just as Lorcan was about to use his great speed for a charge, he heard calls of alarm from behind. Before he even had a chance to turn, there was a quick stab of pain in his right shoulder blade.

Instantly dizzy, Lorcan could barely focus on the slim, dark creature that flew past him and melded into the night sky. His eyes swam with vertigo setting in. Stumbling, he could no longer feel his feet or make them work properly. Suddenly, he was looking up at the black sky above; he didn't even feel the impact of falling backwards. His jaw tried to obey his command to speak; all his efforts only made him look like a fish out of water, making feeble grunts instead of words. Even his mind was jumbled; Lorcan felt fear, anger and confusion but couldn't focus on their source. That is, until a face came into his blurry view.

Oriana stood over the fallen little fae, looking down on him without remorse. "Look at you now, Lorcan," she said to him almost gently. "You have reached your end with no one who cares enough to avenge your downfall. You are surrounded by nothing but darkness and distain and hatred; can you not feel it?"

Lorcan could only stare up at her; he wanted to at least offer the sneaky bitch a hate-filled glare, but his muscles betrayed him. Gone were his plans and aspirations. All that the helpless redcap was left with was bitterness and fear and those big amber eyes staring down at him.

Oriana felt the closing proximity of her new pet - which she'd fittingly named Justice - just before it landed on her shoulder and curled around the back of her slim neck. She waited until it settled before unsheathing a roughly-hewn stone dagger from inside her open coat. She stood to the side of Lorcan's prone body and pushed his arm further away from his body with her small bare foot, and then knelt on one knee next to him. Holding the stone blade over his chest, she prepared herself to finish it.

To the militant onlookers, the petite fae appeared to be hesitating, attempting to gather resolve and send her traitorous foe to the elements. They could see that she was no warrior; a few spectators whispered quick offers to each other, betting that she either couldn't follow through or would simply banish him. The mercenaries otherwise waited with silent anticipation. If the newly-titled sprite elder couldn't commit to cause the redcap's final death, a number of them were willing to do it for her.

Oriana was not vacillating on Lorcan's fate, nor steeling her resolve to do so. She simply gave herself a few moments to gather glamour in order to force a message into his mind. 'You will not be missed or mourned,' she pushed into his fevered thoughts with enough power that he could not ignore it. 'You will soon be forgotten. No fae will care enough to squabble over your pitiful holdings.'

The blade was placed with careful position over Lorcan's chest _._ His panicked eyes glanced at it, and then back up at her.

'For the peril you may have placed my friend Aldritch into with your treacherous bartering, I send you to the elements on his behalf.' Leaning into her thrust, Oriana drove the long dagger down into him, skewering his heart. In a matter of moments, Lorcan's body reduced to a pile of ash. Festive fae would later trample the last of his remains underfoot while they danced and celebrated his death.

12

Propping his large light blue feet up on a padded stool, Cadell Arms-Caller reclined into a chair of equal comfort. His tent, while a modest green and tan affair from the outside, held a cavernous space within. Near the back of the well-appointed interior was where he had his 'seat of respite' placed, affording a long view of any visitors. The named chair was in fact the only proper seat in the tent. Visitors could sit on pillows if they wished, and the table with his maps - the topmost being a rough topographic sketch of Ballaghadaere - was only stood at. The troll wanted no one else in his tent to be truly comfortable.

Near to where Cadell lounged were a handful of his spriggan guards who stood at attention while holding stone-bladed halberds or bone-tipped spears. He gestured for one to step closer and told him, "Find the one called Renard. He is a sprite who wields a crude morning star. Escort him here to me. Go."

Among only a few others, Renard was known to Cadell from past campaigns. The sprite was considered a fine warrior, quick with his gifts, and could read the tempo of a battle. Outside of combat, he was just as prized for keeping troop morale up by means of a dry wit and gregarious demeanor. True, Renard had sharp wits and charisma, but was no leader - nor would he choose to be. It was because of all those traits that Cadell wanted him for a mission.

The spriggan escort eventually returned and announced Renard's presence, as was custom. Cadell thought some might consider the sprite handsome with his wild mop of light brown hair, clean face, and of a robust build for his race. It was said that neither Renard's overlarge cream-colored eyes nor his near-constant grin betrayed his true intentions, for he could offer a hand of friendship or crush a skull with the same sociable expression.

Dressed in a long coat of black-and-tan squared lamellar armor with a brown tunic underneath, Renard seemed already prepared for activity. His large spiked club was not at hand, but Cadell was sure its token stayed with him at all times. The sprite kept his crooked smile as he approached and gave a simple bow of his head to the lounging elder.

"Renard, your acceptance of my invitation is appreciated," Cadell said as he was handed a stone goblet of wine from one of his servants.

"Did I honestly have a choice, elder?" Renard asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"One always has a choice, warrior, although I've never taken you for a fool. I can have cushions gathered if you care to sit."

Renard looked down at his own armor and then back up to Cadell with a smirk. "My current attire is not the best fit for socialization. Had I thought you were calling for me to join you in a revel of singing and dancing I would have simply kept my robe on."

Cadell nearly smiled in appreciation of the sprite's light-hearted candor, but not quite. "Your assumption was correct; I wish you to perform a duty for the benefit of our cause." He took a sip of his Lore wine and then asked, "Have you ever used a neutral passage before?"

Frowning, the sprite awkwardly replied, "In all truth, elder, I am quite unfamiliar with them."

"How disappointing," Cadell casually remarked.

Suppressing a snarl, Renard pressed on. "I am aware that they are found in various neutral lands, cost little or no glamour to use, and that they are portals to a fixed Verden location much like a permanent bridge. Beyond that, I have no further knowledge; I've never had the need or want to put one to use."

"True on all counts, but those are the simple workings - they are slightly more complicated than that. Neutral passages are gaps in the ether... I suppose the analogy of a rodent tunnel would suffice to explain them. They give off a small but constant flow of glamour; whether that glamour seeps in from the mundane realm or is the product of nearby Lore holdings, no one can say with confidence."

Renard wondered aloud, "Then why are fae not tapping this resource?"

"A good question," Cadell said. He gestured for a goblet to be offered to his guest. After Renard took a sip and nodded his thanks, the troll supplied the answer, "There are two reasons. The first is that a majority of these rare neutral passages are in dangerous locations - in or near dragon lairs, hydra valleys, and the like. Secondly, the rest are connected to Verden locations that offer little immediate appeal for us. Here in the Lore, those latter passages are usually the hub of communal fae villages or low-borne communities, not unlike a Verden village surrounding a well."

"How quaint," Renard remarked with a grin, "and it explains why they gather where they do - a mystery revealed that I've never been interested enough to ask about to anyone, ever."

Cadell let his glare linger before saying, "Perhaps your lack of curiosity will soon be remedied; I'm sending you through one."

Renard's normally jovial expression soured. "You mean to send me to some pathetic low-caste village of crude huts and odd smells? Having feebleminded faelings either cowing in corners or groveling at my feet is not my idea of fun."

"I didn't say this mission would be 'fun', nor would I ever consider saying so. Yet, to put you at ease, the only low-caste you'll need to bother yourself with are servile but disciplined spriggans." Cadell paused to sip from his goblet. "But before I go further, I would wish you to know all pertinent facts of neutral passages so that you are fully aware; the unexpected can always be used as an excuse for poor results." He glared at Renard and added, "Poor results are dangerous things in war."

Fighting back a sarcastic retort, Renard simply replied, "Very generous of you; I'll keep that in mind" and then took a long drink of his wine.

Cadell spoke further without concern that he'd offended his guest. He considered the sprite beneath him in all aspects that mattered and therefore not yet worthy of sympathy. "Passages are usually in the shape of an underground tunnel of natural origin. Various aspiring low-borne are known to sometimes inhabit them, hoping to catch the attention of any true fae that might use it. They do so for the purpose of garnering a master. I am told that these low-borne supplicants sometime wait for centuries between visits of high-borne travelers, let alone being accepted into service. While they wait, they expand parts of the passage to suit their needs; this is presumably possible from extended attunement to their surroundings. From this, specified rooms and large halls are said to exist."

"Interesting," Renard admitted, "And yet it must be a lonely existence for those who choose little-used passages. By chance, do you tell me this because the one I am to use is so inhabited?"

"It is, but by meek gnomes from the report given. How you deal with them, if you even choose to acknowledge their presence, is entirely your affair. When you arrive into the mundane realm, you will initially be in diminutive form because of the size of the exit, and then expand to your full form as you see fit. If you choose to return by the same passage, you would have to reduce your size once more to enter from the Verden side. Since all high-borne have that ability, it is of little import; I mention it now for the sake of detail. Verily, it is why some of the smaller races use neutral passages on greater occasion; they need not bother to alter their size."

"An advantage for them," Renard said. "If I remember correctly, altering proportions to that degree consumes glamour. In your case," he gestured to his host with his goblet, "or for fae of even larger size, it would surely be costly. Ah, the price you pay for stature."

Cadell leaned slightly forward and said cryptically, "You don't know the half of it."

"Did I miss something?" Renard asked. "What did that mean?"

Leaning back into the chair's cushions, Cadell casually replied, "It means that I have found a neutral passage that is claimed, but not by a filthy village of low-borne or the two gnomes burrowed within it."

It took Renard only a split second to realize what the troll elder was alluding to. Eyes wide with surprise, the warrior sprite loudly said, "You mean to send me into the territory of some foul beast! You think too much of my prowess and daring if you expect me to charge heedless through a forest of sky serpents, into a den of leucrottas, or to face a cave full of fog bears. I will walk away from this whole affair first."

"Calm yourself, Renard - it is none of those things."

"Truly? Then who claims this passage?"

"Her name is Zyamell. She is a dragon."

"A dragon?!" Renard shouted with a half-laugh of disbelief. "You must have lost your wits to think a dragon is somehow a better option!"

Cadell shrugged. "As dragons go, we could fare much worse. She is no colossal beast such as the one called Serafeim, who mindlessly devours anything within reach. Zyamell is of much higher intellect, capable of speech and deliberation."

"Oh, since you put it that way, Cadell, I'll just skip merrily on my way and serenade her with a sonnet, shall I? And since she can talk, she'll be able to tell me what a tasty snack I'll make before she chews me up. What a delight!" Renard said with scathing sarcasm.

"Quit being so dramatic, Renard," Cadell said off-handedly.

"You must be a fool to think I'm one as well, elder. Did you honestly believe that a nonchalant attitude to explain this would work?"

"If you're through being offended, I will explain. Because of her comprehension, this dragon can be reasoned with, bartered with. I already have an agreement in place, as a matter of fact. If my blunt demeanor can obtain a bound pact with such a beast, then your comparatively silver tongue should serve you well."

"With a dragon..." Renard muttered incredulously.

"Zyamell even has a set of beliefs," Cadell commented while holding his goblet out to be refilled. "Not that I fully understand it, but I thought it best not to question her philosophies."

"Since you've met her, what am I to expect?"

"With your eye for aesthetics, Zyamell might fascinate you with her opalescent scales and exotic facial structure that's more feline than reptile. Her build is more serpentine than bulky, but she still had the size to devour me in two bites. For reasons I can only speculate on, she tries to avoid harming low-borne - with the possible exception of ogres. The fact that I was surrounded by my guards kept she and I in a state of temporary truce; as I've mentioned, she has strange theories. But I'll get back to that soon enough - I will finish informing you on neutral passages first."

Renard took a deep breath and crossed his arms, mentally perusing the elder troll's words for any vague or misleading words. "So be it; let's be done with the simplicities," he replied with wary acceptance. "Tell me of the other end of neutral passages, if you would."

"Very well," Cadell said, peeved at the sprite's informal and brusque request. "On the Verden side, a few of the passage gates are located in fissures or caves, and thus are unobtrusive. The majority, however, are physically apparent. They take the shape of abrupt knolls or hillocks of various sizes, made either by ancient mundane burial practices or by ruptures in the ether. The majority of these are found in the lands of the old Celts, Saxons and Danes, although other such anomalous gates can be found throughout their realm. The humans refer to them as fairy mounds."

"Fairy mounds?" Renard repeated with arched eyebrows while a spriggan servant offered him another small cup of wine. "Do they mean to insult us?"

Cadell shook his head. "I believe the term is used as a generalized label. From their old beliefs, these mounds still hold a superstitious respect - to some, even a reverence or fear. Some humans still keep to the folklore that to offend any fae is to incur our wrath. While we may have become more cautious and passive in the autumn of our existence, the creed still holds merit."

Renard shrugged and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "I'll take your word for it, elder. Unlike many sprites, I spend little time in the mundane realm." He drained his cup and handed it to one of Cadell's servants for a refill. "It's not that I don't appreciate the lesson, but I would rather know of the matters that concern me - besides a dragon. For example, you agreed that these neutral passages were comparable to permanent bridges; does the ether affect them in the same manner in terms of time? I'd hate to make a journey through one and miss the cleansing altogether."

"From the evidence I've gathered, they are much more akin to temporary bridges in that respect - the variation of time is negligible. I would even postulate that they are better shielded against the effects of the ether than any fae-made bridge. Worry not, Renard, you'll have your chance to plunder."

"Ah, good," the sprite said, the corners of his mouth curling up with anticipation. "Another question that comes to mind is who will accompany me; you certainly won't send me out alone."

Cadell answered while Renard received another cup of wine. "No, of course not; I have a small party in mind, and you shall lead them. Take your Fair friend Uther. But to balance his wild and impulsive tendencies, the troll Valka will also be asked to join you."

Renard sighed and planted one hand on his hip. "So much for a merry occasion," he commented, gesturing with his cup and spilling a bit of wine in the process.

Putting a hand to his spiked chin, Cadell asked, "You are at odds with that warrior?"

"Not odds as such, elder. Valka's high and unwavering honor is on the verge of cloying, and she hasn't allowed anyone between her long legs since she's been here. To make it plain, she's fine to gaze upon but a dreadful bore."

"Then I am correct - she is a fine choice to keep your 'merry' band focused on the tasks at hand. And, while I assume you have practiced the gift of sight that your race is known for, a detector fae will nonetheless accompany your group to act as your scout. We have a few of them in camp; I'd like to test at least one's worth. Take the one called Perrine. Oh," he added casually, "you'll need the dryad named Tobias to join you."

"Elder Saraid's latest bed pet? I'd think he'd be more hindrance than help on this sort of adventure."

"Have faith; he will be valuable." Cadell wanted the young dryad out of the way so as not to give Saraid any excuses to delay her duties. If she were to find another lapdog lover, the wily troll could easily create another mission to send that one on. If the war party was to be controlled, then so was she.

"So you say," Renard replied skeptically. He quickly drained his cup again and tossed it to a nearby servant. He crossed his arms again and said, "Now that your choices have been named, I have two more - and rather obvious - questions about this mission: where is this neutral passage of yours and what is the objective?"

Cadell finally did smile, and it wasn't pleasant. "I suppose you remember that traitorous redcap that met his end recently. Directly after that incident transpired, I travelled to his unclaimed holdings to add them to my own. Dark swamps and dirty caves is all he owned, and a small tract at that. However, adjacent to one section of that dismal holding was a neutral land of burnt forest, baked hilltops, and valleys of fog. From my vantage, a neutral passage was within plain sight at the top of a near hill. The entry was evident in the base of a huge, broken stump. More importantly, at least for our current purposes, is where it leads to. The Verden gate of this passage exits to an abandoned field that is only a few hours' casual march from Ballaghadaere."

"So why don't we simply use that neutral passage to -"

"At this juncture," Cadell interjected without concern for social graces, "more needs to be said about Zyamell. I surmise that she has the belief that what she consumes is more than mere sustenance. Meaning, to digest a low-borne would adversely affect her strength and intellect, whereas a high-borne meal would add to her power and wisdom. As far as I can tell, size equals power to her - except for ogres, whom she kills without digesting. When I unknowingly went out onto her territory, two of my guards were allowed to scout the passage. That alone cost me two fine weapon tokens, some of my armor, and whatever baubles I carried at that point."

"Seems a fair trade for the destination you found, but that doesn't explain why the entire war party can't bribe this Zyamell for the passage's use. It would save you elders from expending all that glamour for some huge portal."

"Then I'll explain." Cadell relaxed further into his chair, inwardly enjoying Renard's discomfort of standing in his armor and occasionally glancing about for a chair. "I struck a bargain with that sleek dragon for any future use of her neutral passage. While free low-borne may pass as they please, any kept servants would have to pay her toll with a gift of some sort. Small groups of high-borne wishing to use the passage would have to sacrifice one of their own numbers to meet that toll. For a large party such as has been gathered, Zyamell would demand a high number of warriors to dine upon. Our forces would be dwindled past the point of being effective for our purposes."

Renard considered for a moment before suggesting, "But, considering the current number of willing warriors and zealots of our laws, could we not slay her instead?"

"I had pondered that as well," Cadell replied, absently looking into his stone goblet. "But then I recalled seeing Zyamell breathing white fire to herald her own approach. A direct hit of that intense blast would incinerate any fae; anything less might still cause banishment from such intense heat. We could theoretically defeat her, although the war party would be decimated. More warriors would be lost in combat than in payment."

Renard nodded and thought for a moment. "Those tactics are best left to you, I suppose. As long as she agreed to a bound pact, I am satisfied. Now, back to my immediate concerns, such as the purpose for the Verden visit and how my party and I will find this neutral passage. It would be easiest if you made two temporary portals -"

Cadell cut the sprite's suggestion off with an abrupt hand. "While I normally like the general concept of 'easy', my time and glamour are needed elsewhere. Three of my guards will lead you to the location, and mounts will be lent for the reasonably short journey - but only near to the passage, and certainly not beyond. Now, as for the mission itself: first, the morpher elder Fergus is overdue on his own mission. Find out why. Secondly, if you come across any of the humans on this list," he signaled a servant, who then handed Renard a scroll, "bring them back to me alive. Any other fae you might come across in the midst of your duties may be dealt with at your discretion."

A grin was back on the sprite's face. "Perhaps this might be a merry event after all. I might even gain some profit from this little endeavor alone, yes?"

Cadell sighed and gave the warrior a bored stare. "You apparently don't know this about me, Renard, but I do not suffer idle banter after I've spoken my mind and given my orders. If you need it so much, I will give public accolades when you return with answers, hostages, and a good story to tell. Until then, we both have things to do."

From the blunt and arrogant dismissal, a scathing retort was on Renard's tongue. He took a moment to choke those words down, kept his teeth together, and then turned to leave the tent with haste.

"And, Renard," Cadell called out, making the warrior stop and turn to show the scowl on his handsome face, "make sure to take Tobias along, as I've said."

"You never did explain how that pathetic dryad is of value, especially on a mission of this nature."

Cadell once again smiled coldly. "Zyamell requires a toll to be paid, remember?"

13

Brody woke abruptly from a disturbing dream. The imagery of the nightmare was already vague, although the distressing feeling of his loved ones being in danger stayed with him after he woke. There was some distant memory of being on unsteady ground and the need to get to solid footing in order to defend them.

The dream was reminiscent of some disturbing contemplations he'd been having lately when his mind wandered. He thought they were most likely brought on by the anxiety of a danger to come that he couldn't fit into understandable limits.

The war party of fae was sure to come, and would probably have him and Kate on their 'to do' list. As Brody laid back into his pillow, he wondered once again how many fae made up a war party; for all he knew, it could be under twenty or over fifty. Any larger number was something he didn't even want to think about. And chances were that most of the fae that cherished Ballaghadaere would cut and run like spooked animals.

Other than Liadan, he and his normal - well, sort of normal - loved ones would then be on their own. He didn't like his odds.

Resigned to the fact that falling back to sleep was futile, Brody sat on his side of the bed and absently greeted his happy dogs. Noticing the colors of a dawn sky through the window sheers, he quickly thought of his plans for the day before the subject that plagued him came back to mind. Brody once again felt the muted exasperation that fae could be such... fairies. From what Mac told him a while back, the two that were found wanted nothing to do with gathering for a defense.

Letting out a deep sigh, he hoped that one of the many fae that hung out around the village would soon decide to rally the others to take a stand. But, given their liberated and self-preserving natures, Brody wouldn't put money on it.

Kate blinked her sleepy eyes and saw the silhouette of Brody's big form standing at the foot of the bed. While he buttoned his jeans, she groggily asked, "Why are you up so early, love?"

Brody reached for a sweatshirt he'd set out on a chair and whispered, "Don't worry about it, darlin'. Get some more sleep, okay?"

She let her eyes adjust to the shadowy room; her gift inadvertently noticed his swirling nimbus of intense and dark colors. "What has you so anxious? Sorry, I couldn't help but notice."

Brody finished tying a shoe before replying. He wanted to be open and honest as they always were with each other, but didn't want to go too far into it and ruin her mood as well. "That problem coming in the fall has got me a little jumpy. I thought I'd go work it off or sweat it out before you got up. I didn't want to bother you with it just yet. Really, Kate, I'm fine. Get a few more winks and I'll wake you for breakfast, how does that sound?"

Kate sat up, still sounding sleepy when she answered, "It sounds like you're trying not to burden me with your worries."

"Yep, that's exactly what I'm doing," he said with forced glib while tying his other shoe.

After a yawn, Kate commented, "Not too long ago, I gave Jane some advice when she was all aflutter. I told her not to go mental over something that she had no control over; give a situation its due attention when it arises."

Brody turned to her, trying to see her expression in the softening darkness. "No offense, darlin', but are you kidding me? This isn't like shutting a window when it starts to rain. It's nowhere near that fucking easy."

"And what would you have us do - have Janie take us to the Lore and attack them first? Since we can't know what to expect, we have no way to plan. There's nothing to be done until they come."

Brody heard some fire behind her words but wasn't going to relent, not about this. "I didn't wanna get into this to start our day, but it's too late now." He blew out a harsh sigh and said, "I gotta wonder, Kate: are you living in denial or something? It's like you just said, 'you can only hope to avoid a fist when it's coming at your face'. Sorry, but there's a lot of shit you can do before it gets to that."

Kate was fully awake now; Brody's impotent anger was grating and useless, except for bringing out her sarcasm. "And just what 'shit' would that be? You could somehow fae-proof the property, I suppose, or maybe build us an impregnable castle. Why don't we all just drape ourselves with raw iron and hope no one else notices. Is that what you had in mind?"

"I don't know yet," he was almost shouting, "but I plan on finding out! I can't just sit and wait and pray for the best! We can't just offer 'em cookies and tea and hope they'll change their minds! They're not coming here to make new fucking friends, Kate! I've gotta..." Brody clenched his fists and looked away. "Fuck it, I shoulda just said, 'bad dream' and left it at that, if you and your nimbus would've let me." In a quieter but still angry tone, he muttered, "I got the dogs nervous; now they really need out." He left the bedroom. Kate called his name once; he ignored it and stomped out of the cottage.

For the next two hours or so, Brody didn't go back inside and Kate didn't step out. Sensing the edgy mood of their master, the dogs stayed near to him for reassurance. Their attention and unconditional adoration calmed him somewhat, but he still had a lot of angry energy to burn off.

After seeing to the donkeys, Brody completed the stonework for the boat dock and took a hard run along the lake shore. Sweaty in the cool, sunny morning, he decided not to go back in before leaving; he and Kate pissed each other off and maybe she was still fuming. He only went so far as to open the front door, ushered the dogs in, and grab his keys off the peg before stepping out again and driving off.

Brody decided that focusing on something else - anything else - would put him in a better mood, at least for a while. After a short drive, he finally chose to go to the storage garage behind Hammerworks, which was being refitted as a secondary workspace. He was there just long enough to realize that he was doing some pretty poor work and making a lot of simple mistakes, when Simon stepped inside. Brody made eye contact with his cousin, expected that his scowl would explain his mood, and then returned his attention to the big block of Connemara marble in front of him.

Simon calmly shut the door behind him and gave Brody a closer look. His cousin's thick arms were tensed with flexing muscles and bulging veins while he manhandled the two-foot square block. What was more unsettling was that those big arms were stone gray all the way up into his sweat-stained short sleeve t-shirt. "So, you gonna tell me what's got you so hot under the collar," he said while pulling out a pre-rolled quirley and lighting it, "or did you just wanna keep makin' a ruckus out here?"

After casting a quick glare at Simon, Brody shifted the block with a push. "Maybe now isn't the best time, cuz. I don't feel like talking."

"Don't feel like talking, huh?" Simon took a short puff and let it out. "Well, since me and Robbie Kelly can hear you from the back of the store cussing it up out here, I'd say you're more in the mood for hollerin'."

Brody slammed down a chisel on a table. "What do you want, Simon!"

"A couple things, actually," Simon replied casually, leaning against the door. "First, I came to tell ya that Kate just called; seems you forgot your phone." He took another pull of his quirley. "I reckon you don't wanna talk to her right now either, right?"

"Right," Brody growled without looking up.

"Alright, then; just ignore the best thing in your life, that's your call. The other reason I came out is to get my good tools outta here before you tore the place apart. I don't wanna go diggin' through the rubble for 'em."

"I'll try and keep it down," Brody said through gritted teeth. "Now if you can't get the hint, leave me alone; I wanna get some work done."

"Then you might be here a while, because what you're doin' right now looks like shit."

Brody's eyes flashed up and saw Simon smirking at him. "Goddammit, Simon, are you trying to pick a fight or something?"

Simon shrugged. "Sorta, cuz - you sure as shootin' need to haul off on somethin'. I reckon slammin' things around and actin' like a fussy baby ain't doin' the trick, is it?"

"Don't push it, don't make me... lose my temper," Brody growled.

Simon didn't look concerned. "Hell, Brody, ya lost your temper way before I walked in. Go ahead and take a swing at me if you reckon it'll do ya any good. You're so off-kilter right now, you couldn't stomp on the ground without missin'."

"Seriously, Simon..."

"What're ya gonna do instead? Carve up a big stone sad face because you're feelin' sorry for yourself? I'm surprised you ain't cryin' yet."

Brody reached the limit of his frustration. With a roar, he swung his rock-hard fist like a hammer. There was a loud clap of impact when it slammed into the marble block. Chunks and fragments of stone shot away, as well as chips of wood; his strike followed through into the tree stump pedestal below.

His quirley forgotten, Simon instinctively turned to the side and shielded his face. He glanced back to see Brody taking a deep breath as rock dust settled around him. "Feel better now?" Simon asked, trying to sound as if his composure wasn't shaken.

After Brody took another deep breath and blinked the dust out of his eyes, he answered evenly, "A little bit, yeah. Man, I... fucked this up." The statement was meant for the locally-cut marble, but he immediately realized that it also applied to how he'd handled the situation. After a moment of regret, he looked over and noticed Simon had a small oozing cut on the back of his hand. "You okay?"

"I'm good if you are, cuz."

"Damn, Simon, you took a risk there. I coulda done some real damage."

Dusting himself off, Simon replied, "Yep, you coulda, but I was bankin' on who you are. You're a good fella, Brody - a nice guy; the last choice on your list is hurtin' anybody. I reckon you'd punch a hundred walls before ya swung on someone, and then you'd feel bad for the walls."

Brody grinned at the comment. "That kinda makes me sound like a pussy."

"Only kinda? I'll try harder next time," Simon said with a smile. "You needed to let off some steam, and yelling at everyone wasn't gonna do the trick. I know all about that sorta thing. Why else do you think I got one of them heavy bags hung at the far end of my shop? Sometimes ya gotta just punch the anger out, or at least work up a good lather." Looking at the mess of green-and-white swirled chunks, he added, "I guess we could find an ugly ol' tree somewhere and let you wail on it when you need to."

"Yeah, I guess so," Brody said just as a reply. He stepped over to Simon and put a hand on his shoulder in thanks while opening the door next to him. They stepped outside into the alley and lingered, both of them thinking about what was done and said. "I didn't handle this too well, cuz," Brody muttered.

Simon shrugged. "You just ain't used to bein' mad for longer than five minutes at a time. Trust me, I've been pissed off for most of my life - I know what I'm talkin' about."

"Well, I can't just go busting up all my supplies, so what do I do?"

Simon gestured with a sideways nod of his head, suggesting they walk. "I reckon it's all gotta do with them Other Folks, Good Crowd, whatever they are, is that right?" Brody simply nodded, so Simon continued. "Yeah, it's been rollin' around my noggin, too, what with a scrap comin' and your womenfolk standin' in harm's way. You need to figure out where you stand and who's with ya, so go do it."

"That's the problem - how?" Brody realized that Simon was leading him the long way out of the alley and around other shops to go back to the front of theirs. It gave them a minute or two of privacy for their conversation.

"Easy, cousin; you fetch yourself one of 'them' as a go-between to talk to the others around here. Get Liadan or that Mac fella to help. Make a deal if ya have to. You go because you wanna know, you take Kate so she can read 'em or however she does it, and you take me or Kate's little sister along to keep an eye out. You go find out, for all our sakes, and we'll figure somethin' out after. In the meantime, you gotta just work it outta your system. And I don't mean anything that takes concentration or a skilled hand; I mean kinda mindless grunt work - that, or a punchin' bag."

"That's the trick?" Brody asked as they neared the front door to Hammerworks.

"It works for me, anyhow. Let's go see if you're cut from the same cloth." Simon opened the front door and said to Mary just inside, "Since it ain't nothin' but quiet right now, me and Brody are gonna head over to the festival grounds and put in some labor." He gave Mary a quick wink. "And no molestin' the help; Robbie ain't ready for you."

Brody's anger was gone by mid-morning, although guilt had rushed in to replace it. Even though the air was cool, he'd worked up a sweat; hauling lumber, constructing more booths with large overhangs in case of rain, and helping Simon unload delivery trucks for Father Doyle. Keeping himself busy with 'grunt work', as his cousin had put it, let him see his earlier attitudes and actions with a detached perspective. He decided that after a few more small projects were completed, he'd go back home and have a humble chat with Kate.

While Brody was making sturdy bench seating for the stage acts, Archie Walsh assisted him by holding the boards steady with his butt while drinking a beer. Between gulps, the elderly friend spoke of Father Doyle's and Liam McCarthy's tireless work to make the Flinn Festival a success.

Brody had received a few updates from that pair of organizers already; ads were running in regional newspapers and radio stations, sponsors were signing up, booth rentals were selling out, and there were reports of hotel rooms being reserved. With the updates Liam was supplying, Brody was already informed, so he only half-listened as his friend - still mourning the loss of Flinn - rambled on about events and details.

Two mid-morning shadows came up near Brody as he was cutting a board. Releasing the trigger on the circular saw, he heard Archie belch before he greeted the shadow's owners. "Ah, if it isn't the young O'Grady lads, come to lend a hand. How's your da of late? We haven't seen him liftin' a pint for some time now."

Brody turned to the young men as they answered, "Da's gettin' along, Mister Walsh - just busier with the fields and herds this season without us." They were identical twins; both with dark hair, ruddy cheeks, and average builds. They both kept glancing at Brody while Archie talked to them.

Archie nodded at their words. "Right, right; off at college now. Well done, lads - keep up with the marks. I take it your da was able to afford it after that unknown patron paid off the land debt last fall?"

Brody tried to give a subtle glare over to Archie, but the old man was blithely keeping his eyes on the O'Grady boys. It was known that Father Doyle let some of Brody's earlier activities slip to his old friends Archie and Flinn; he was just unsure how far the priest went with his gossip.

"That he was, and the blessing came right in time," one of the twins said. The other followed up with, "We were keepin' tight as a duck's arse for a long spell."

"Aye, and so it's said, 'Hardship is the plow the Irish have pulled through rocky fields for generations'." He followed the quote with another swig.

"Hey, that was a good one," Brody commented. "Who were you quoting, Archie?"

"Not a feckin' clue - I may have just made it up," the old man replied with a shrug. "Brody, this is Shane and Shawn O'Grady. Don't ask me which is which. You've shaken hands with their da, David, a few times over at Gil's. Lads, this is Mister Brody Lynch, who's taken permanent roost hereabouts. He's the bloke who panned out those Wagner bastards from across the water late last year; I'm sure you heard."

Brody sighed at Archie and then turned to the O'Grady twins. "I'd rather not be remembered for that, okay? How about, I'm the guy who just opened a shop in the village." He held out his big hand and shook theirs. "It's good to meet you both. So, which college are you going to?"

"Moyne, up in Ballina," the one on the left replied. The other added, "We're both in engineering programs; Shawn's in software and I'm in hardware. We'd heard of the festival even up at school; since we had breaks from classes, we thought we'd lend a hand while we have the time."

"A fine gesture," Archie said while opening another bottle. He waved his drink toward the expansive field and the nine or ten volunteers who were working on various projects. "There's still plenty to be seen to; take your pick, lads."

"That we will, Mister Walsh," Shane said. "Before we get to it, though, we, em, had a question for Mister Lynch here, if we're not being too bold."

Surprised at that, Brody still saw that they were polite and so wasn't apprehensive about their curiosity. "Sure, how can I help you guys?"

The twins glanced at each other before Shawn asked, "Do you play for one of the clubs in the RUC?"

"Yeah," Shane added, "I mean, like, you're a feckin' tank, mate. We'd keep an eye on the team you're with - you must knock 'em down like pins."

With a baffled expression, Brody slowly turned to Archie.

The old man grinned at him. "They're talkin' of the Rugby Union; it's a non-professional league."

"Oh, right," Brody said, turning back to the twins. "Well, I've got jerseys of some of the nearby teams, and I like watching the games when they're televised. But no; sorry, fellas, I don't play it. I did play American football for a few years in high school, but that's a very different game. I gotta admit, though, rugby looks like it'd be fun."

"You should give it a go," Shawn said. "You'd be brilliant. This season is almost over, so you could train up for September when they -"

"Let it be for now, lads," Archie said abruptly. When everyone looked at him, he pointed out to the far side of the field. Dressed in casual clothes that couldn't hide her naturally alluring form, Kate was walking toward them. "That'll be Kate McCarthy, older sister to Jane; you two might remember her from secondary. Mister Lynch here is courting the fine mare coming our way, and he's on well with her kin. I thought I'd mention that afore you lads say anything out of turn or otherwise fuckin' thick."

While Brody brushed the sawdust off of his hands and arms, he said to the O'Grady's, "See that guy off to the left - the tall one with blonde hair trying to put that booth up on rollers? His name's Simon. I bet he could use a hand right about now." He shook their hands again. "It was good to meet ya. Thanks for helping out." To Archie, he said, "Try to keep the lumber from running off, okay? I've gotta go have a few words with my lady."

By Brody's expression, Archie could tell that they were words he would have trouble saying. "Ah, difficulties, is it? Catch it early, lad; 'Even a small thorn causes festering', so it's said." He paused from taking another sip to let out a belch.

"Did you make that one up, too?"

Archie shook his head. "I can't recall who said it, but it was an Irishman and that's enough for me. Now get ye gone and say your words where no other ears can hear 'em. This town has enough gab as it is."

Brody walked toward Kate and met her near the middle of the field with no one else nearby. She seemed as nervous as him, which was unexpected; he thought she'd still be offended at his words. "What are you doing out here?" he asked gently.

"Mary told me where you were. I didn't feel like waiting at home for you."

Just then, Brody wished he had Kate's nimbus gift to know how to react properly. "Well, thanks for coming out - to see me, I mean. I would have headed back to the cottage, but being outside kinda helps me to think things through, ya know?"

Kate nodded with her eyes facing down. "I've learned that about you early on."

"Yeah, I forgot," Brody attempted a grin, "you've got me figured out." He looked down at her; he didn't need nimbus-sight to see how fretful she was. "Hey, unless you said something really harsh that I don't remember, there's no reason for you to be nervous. I actually thought you'd be mad. I'm the one who acted like a jackass; don't go tryin' to steal my thunder."

Kate only glanced up with a small smile for a split second and then averted her eyes. "I didn't know when you were coming back home. An hour, a day - I had no idea. We'd never fought like that before and I didn't know..."

Brody sensed that it was Kate's old insecurities that he'd made her revisit, and felt more like an ass with the realization. "Kate, look at me, please." When she lifted her eyes to his once more, he went on. "Take a good look. I bet the only colors you see are the ones that tell you that I'm not going anywhere but back to you, if you'd let me."

She gazed at him for a moment with those big brown eyes that always weakened him. "Yes, I see that," she said quietly. "Always, love - always come back to me."

He kissed her gently and then grinned. "There are a couple things I said that I guess you forgot."

"Oh?"

"Not too long ago, I said that you couldn't get rid of me so easily. The other thing I said was when we first got together. I told you that sooner or later I was gonna say or do something stupid - that I'd fuck up, because it's what guys do. Well, here we are."

"That you did," Kate said with a soft smile, "and you kept your word."

Brody nodded, pursed his lips, and then took a deep breath through his nose; he wanted his next words to sound as tactful as possible, and took a moment to mentally compose them. "I may have used all the wrong words and acted like a fool, but I still think my opinion is valid. I had some time - while I was smashing rocks and working up a sweat - to think about what you said. If there's a way to do things your way - diplomacy - then I'm all for it; the last thing I want is a fight. I just don't think that'll work this time; they're not calling it a war party for nothing."

Without losing eye contact, Kate reached out and took Brody's hand. "I know you're worried, and not just because you can't guess their actions. You feel responsible for defending not only me, but my family, your cousin, and any friends who might be in danger. That's a heavy load to bear, love, and you've placed it on your own shoulders. I happen to think it's simply unnecessary; I still hold firm that discussion and understanding can solve most issues. I believe that you've burdened yourself with a weight that doesn't need to be lifted. Violence is a last resort \- I would try for peace first, always."

"Darlin', just listen a sec," Brody said with all the patience he could muster. "Yes, I'm worried, and yes, I want to keep everyone I love safe. I respect your logic and wanting to keep everything peaceful, but I'm pretty sure these guys want the exact opposite. Remember what I told you, about what Mac and Liadan said to me? These fae thugs are coming to loot, and in the meantime they'll clean up their little Enigma problem - meaning us - any way they can."

Kate took a calming breath and then looked up at him. "When we first met Kazimir, it started badly but ended up on neutral terms at worst. In a way, the same could be said for when you confronted the one named Ragnar. Since then, have we seen either of them again? No, but if we do, I'd expect either of them to be civil to us. Admittedly, a horde of fae with bad intent is a daunting challenge, but I believe the same results could be reached."

Brody turned away so that she couldn't see him roll his eyes. Yes, she could read his emotions, but they wouldn't insult her like his expression would. He looked back at her, hoping she'd grasp his point. "Kate, you're putting human values on these aliens and expecting them to follow the same ethics and morals that we do. If that little bastard Lorcan taught us anything, it's that your expectations probably won't be met. And chances are, this war party is worse than him."

Frowning, Kate muttered, "Lorcan - there's a bad apple in every bunch. Didn't Mac and Liadan also tell you that they're coming here because one of their laws was broken and it must be remedied? That sounds like a reasonable and righteous cause to me. Surely, even fae on that type of mission would listen to reason. We can possibly make this better, not worse."

"And if you're wrong, they'll turn this whole area into a land of misery. Are you willing to risk that on your assumptions?"

Kate let out an exasperated sigh. "Love, we're going in circles." She stepped closer and craned her head up to look into his grey eyes. "Remember how it was when we went for Jamal and Carla's wedding? It was just you and I and not a care in the world. I know that was only temporary and that issues awaited us when we returned home, but I want us to strive for that peace of mind whenever possible. Bickering about 'what-ifs' is no help. As before, can we simply put it away for now and enjoy some time together? This festival starts soon enough; I'd rather we saw it hand in hand than from opposite sides of the field."

Brody rubbed his hands over his face and then combed his fingers through his damp hair. "Yeah, I would too. Your idea sounds good, but then most of 'em do." He actually thought she was being foolishly optimistic, but he made no comment of it. He was tired of being upset; there was time to discuss the fae threat later. "Wanna get away from here for a while? We can go for a drive or something."

"A drive sounds like a nice diversion," Kate replied with a pleasant smile, "although I'd request we keep the windows down; too much of your 'manly' odor could be the death of me."

14

Enochia was exhausted. She still hadn't allowed any time to replenish her low reserves of glamour, but had finally decided to do just that. No more lingering, waiting for the next vision to come. No more efforts of clairvoyance to form conclusions and foresee events - at least not for a short while.

Her servant Harkin was told to gather any books that interested him for their temporary return to her Lore holdings. Once at her comforting cliff-side sanctuary that overlooked a roiling sea, she planned to steadily regain her power. It was a necessity if she was to be of any further use in the troubles to come.

Out in the hall of Enochia's dilapidated Verden haven, her faithful harpy servant was heard shuffling and stacking old tomes, filling a satchel for the journey. Meanwhile, the seer was in her parlor, pulling a thick black sheet over her engraved alabaster table.

A whim struck her then, to draw one of her long blue fingers through the curved and spiral inlaid runes once more out of habit. Before her digit even touched the cool white stone, the grooves just below her touch flared with a momentary but intense orange light. "Curse the elements," she muttered to herself.

By the signs that the Drommen seer could discern, the brilliance of the table's light was unmistakable even in her present condition. She would place no further reliance on reading her visions beyond the simple signs. Danger and violence was coming; not to her, but to someone she knew - someone worthy of assistance. Who that was could not be discerned with any clarity, although the danger was in the very immediate future.

There were other glimpses of markers and locations that she was reasonably sure of. But as for who and why, she had no idea.

"Are you in distress, Mistress?" Harkin's excellent hearing caught her exasperated mumble. He stood at the doorway to the dim parlor, alert and ready to serve.

Enochia remained standing, although the desire to fall back into her thickly padded chair was tempting. She finished pulling the table cloth into place and placed one trembling hand on the table for support. "That may be one way to describe my present state, Harkin. Come, step forward." While he walked slowly into the room, she said, "A situation that requires urgent attention has come to me. I have a messenger's chore for you."

"Of course, Mistress," he replied in his soft, velvety voice. "Is our return to your holdings postponed?"

"Only for you, good servant; I am all but useless and will take my permanent bridge back there shortly. Once you have done my bidding, you may join me."

"Yes, Mistress, thank you."

"Now then," Enochia began, obviously fatigued, "you have probably had few dealings with undines, the undersized low-caste that keep to water. While many of them do not wish to serve a master, almost all that linger in this Verden area do. And they serve but one: the merrow Lochlan."

Harkin understood that his task was made simpler by that fact, although he had no idea how to properly initiate contact with them. "How should I carry out your wishes, Mistress?"

"Any shore of Lough Gaell would serve your needs best. Simply place a talon or wingtip in the water and whisper that there is a message for their master. Continue to do so until one of them greets you; they will convey your words." Enochia paused to stand straight and pull her shawl snugly around her. "As a word of caution, undines are proud and petulant faelings. They are also disproportionately strong, so choose your words carefully."

"Thank you for the warning, Mistress." Harkin then waited patiently for her to gather her words. He was eager to see to her task and be done with it quickly; his Mistress was weak and needed protection.

"My message for their master is thus," Enochia said with labored breath. "Not far to the east of Lough Gaell is a body of water large enough but too shallow to be named. Lochlan and his minions will know of where I speak. I ask that he take himself there with haste, and to keep watch. A struggle of some sort will take place in that vicinity. Should he decide to intercede in my favor, I will recognize a debt."

"Yes, Mistress, I shall deliver your message now." Harkin moved to leave but hesitated. "Mistress, I mean no disrespect to this master Lochlan, but will he know what to watch for?"

"I would hope so," she sighed. "There will be blood in the water."

15

Cora McCarthy busied herself with household chores to forget her worries, at least for a while. Those fretful thoughts would not be denied, though, and made it more of an effort than normal to keep her home presentable. Maintaining focus was a struggle, whether at home or at her part-time position at the village library; neither place offered refuge.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror attached to the closet door in her and Liam's bedroom. Allowing herself a moment of vanity - every woman's entitlement - Cora tolerably approved of her reflection. True, time had made itself known, but for a middle-aged woman she was still in reasonably good shape; Liam certainly had no complaints.

But then Cora noticed the wrinkles in her face. They were obviously known to her, especially when she chose to apply make-up, but now she noticed them from across the room. Creases in her brow from angry scowls, frown lines from years of misplaced disapproval - they were self-inflicted wounds from flawed bitterness; scars of regret.

Soon to be added to those accrued wrinkles would be new ones from worry if Cora couldn't find a solution to her distress. Trouble was coming, she knew - trouble and danger for her children. Concerns for her personal safety were a distant second. In fact, those thoughts were nonexistent with them in mind. Her girls knew more - much more - about what was to come, yet did not come to her for any council or comfort. What advice could she give them, anyway? What words of support would be any help? The McCarthy matriarch had no control or even influence in the supernatural matter; all that was left was mystification and fear for her children who weren't prepared.

Cora thought of Jane as a bright star, but blissfully unaware that stars could fall. Kate took after Liam's nature to be composed, although years of brow-beating turned it into meekness. Even though their relationship had mended, it was still a shameful pill for Cora to swallow. Her son Jack was like her in her youth, full of life and fire. Children and a good wife had dampened his reckless flame to embers, but that fire could still be seen in his eyes. It was a glimmer of spirit and barely-bridled emotions in his dark eyes, a spark that he shared with his actual grandfather.

Just as Cora finished putting fresh sheets on her bed, she heard a soft scratching at the screen of the open window facing the back garden. Sitting on the outer frame was a squirrel; it sat calmly on its furry haunches and seemed to be looking right at her. She stopped and stared at the little creature's odd behavior. It then used its tiny paws to scratch at the screen again, but gently. Cora started around the bed to approach it, unsure of her own intentions to either shoo it away or take a closer look.

She stopped when the squirrel darted off the window and out of sight. Before she could resume her chores, the squirrel was back in the same spot, this time with a bright red autumn leaf held in its mouth by the stem. "But it's spring," Cora whispered to herself. "How could..." Her eyes suddenly widened with realization. She turned and rushed out of the room toward the patio door in the kitchen, muttering her father's name as she hurried along.

Pulling the glass door open, Cora saw her true father. Standing in the late-morning sun, Aldritch of the Old Wood looked like a fantastical giant who casted an even larger shadow across her back garden. She had formerly applied the word 'unearthly' to him, but that was incorrect; the tremendously tall fae nearly personified nature and weather. He reminded her of a venerable oak - strong, stoic and proud, wearing the colors of fall but vibrant with life. He exuded the air of ancient secrets and time forgotten. His scent was of rich soil and ozone before a rain.

Cora expected that a literal force of nature such as he would be disappointed with an ungifted child; the notion made her feel contemptible in his presence.

"Daughter," Aldritch said, low and somber, "I would have words of consequence with you, if you are amenable."

"Y-yes, of course," Cora replied quietly. "You are welcome to come in, if you like."

"You have ever been gracious to offer your home to me. In truth, I prefer the sky above me. Would you rather join me here, where the warm sun and cool wind meet? If it is yet too brisk, I could gather some minor warmth for you..."

"Em, no - that is, I'll be warm enough, thank you."

Aldritch gestured to one of her lawn chairs and waited until she was seated before he sat cross-legged on the grass just off the patio. They looked at each other for an awkward moment; with his thick brows relaxed and his mouth pressed into a straight line, Cora thought that his expression was as close to a smile as her father could make. "Many are troubled with events to come," Aldritch began, "and as well they should. You, however, are my only current concern. If for no one else, I would attempt to assuage your fears."

"Oh, and I, em, I'm appreciative," Cora said, obviously unsettled. "If you've come to assist someone, though, I-I'd rather it be my children. It's them I fear for."

"A noble request, although it may be for naught. Your eldest has been kept unaware. The middle child, Kate, has a gifted champion, and young Jane has a powerful means of escape as well as a sworn defender. You, my daughter, stand in harm's way with what you know."

Cora sat straighter in her chair. "Do you mean to say that my Jack has no - he is ungifted? I was told otherwise... although I can't recall by whom or what gift he may have."

Aldritch nodded once. "The information you were given is correct, and his gift may draw interest. Nonetheless, few know of his abilities. He is not in breach of the Enigma; the chances of him being targeted are low."

"But there's still that chance," she replied fretfully. "I won't take chances with my children." The simple talk of danger for her children reminded Cora of her own harrowing experience of abduction.

"And unless you forbid it of me, neither shall I." Aldritch rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "Cora, forgive my candor, but if you endeavor to protect your progeny, you would be ineffectual. Moreover, your futile attempt on behalf of any of them would place you in grave danger."

"Do you think I honestly care about that?" There was a hint of temper behind her words. "If there was one chance - one in a million - that something I did helped them escape or won out, then that's exactly what I'd do."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Cora's tone held no scorn. It sounded more like lost hope.

Aldritch looked down at his hands and continued. "I come here fully aware of the discomfort I cause you. You had different - better - expectations of your sire, expectations of what the connection between father and daughter should be. I am a creature apart from you, of another realm, and therefore cannot fathom the relationship you would have preferred. In that, I can offer you no solace." He then raised his head and met her eyes. "In the matter of this cleansing of your village, however, I find myself of the same mind as your declaration of sacrifice for your children. I would see you out of harm's way so that I may better watch over your progeny... my grandchildren."

Cora held her head high when she said, "If I am able to help my children, then I will."

Aldritch's frown was from consternation, yet appeared to be one of stern disapproval. "As I have said, any intervention on your part would be a wasted effort and only put you in peril. Your children would not want that, nor would I." He peered up over her head, toward the high roof of her house. "There is another way," he said distractedly, still looking beyond her.

Cora turned to see what had caught her father's eye, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She turned back to him and said, "What other way?"

He looked back to her. "Were you aware your home was under watch?"

"Is that - what? Did you say under watch?" Cora asked, thoroughly confused.

Aldritch nodded. "When I arrived, there were two harpies - that is, low-borne fae - perched on your roof. Their presence was unexpected, and not of my doing; I currently have no harpies pressed into my service. That race is rarely seen in the mundane realm, save to act as messengers and scouts. They both left with haste at my coming, but one has bravely returned just a moment ago."

"Is - is that good or bad?" Cora asked nervously.

"We shall see soon enough; since they presumably went for reinforcements or to alert their master, I will learn the truth of it shortly. But not until we have finished our discussion - I would still have private words with you, Cora." He slowly stood and his huge, warped staff inexplicably appeared in his hand. Leaning on it, he said softly down to her, "Please avert your eyes; I am aware how distressing a display of fae ability is for you."

"Yes... em, thank you," Cora whispered as she dropped her head and studied her hands intently. Even with her eyes focused downward, the sudden disappearance of his giant form and accompanying shadow still registered in her peripheral vision. A gasp escaped before she clamped her lips together.

Removed from Verden awareness, Aldritch took a few steps backwards on the mown grass to have a better view of the harpy watcher perched up on the crest of the roof. Her strange and oddly attractive features did not brighten his darkening mood. "Know this, harpy," he called up to her with restrained ire, "I am Aldritch of the Old Wood. Your continued presence here tests my patience. I hope your wisdom matches your nerve, and you heed my words. If you do not leave my sight and this locale immediately, I will smite you from the sky with malicious intent. After you explode, I will gather your bright feathers and wear them around my neck as a warning to your cohorts."

The low-borne fae did not hesitate; giving no reply, she took wing and swiftly flew off to the north.

Aldritch returned to near the same spot he'd been sitting and crouched down, holding his staff for added balance. Allowing himself to be seen by mundane sight once more, he said to Cora, "All is well, daughter. If you hold no objection, I would like to resume our talk."

Cora raised her head slowly and looked at him. "Yes, em, you mentioned another option. If it doesn't put my children in further danger, I'm interested to hear it."

Thinking of no eloquent way to put it, Aldritch simply said, "I could fog your memories." From her look of confusion, he explained. "I could make you forget, taking all the memories of any fae meeting, sight, or knowledge. I would be unknown to you. Jane's suitor would be a mere human to you. Shared awareness of your children's gifts would be erased, including any conversations thereof. Most importantly, it would remove you from being in breach of the Enigma; you could continue your life without worries or alarm."

The hesitation could be heard in Cora's soft voice when she responded. "Not that your option doesn't hold some appeal, at least for my own safety, but what would happen to me if I was still in violation of your, em, Enigma law when the invaders come?"

"They would modify your memories as well, but without the discretion and specific care that I would. It is fair to assume that from your first memory of fae to that moment when they take your memories, everything in between would simply be erased. That is, of course, if they make it past me first."

Cora's mouth gaped open. "But - but, I was told by a stranger that my children would be gifted when Kate was just a baby! That - I can't... All of that time, all of those memories... gone? No, I..."

"Listen, child." Her father's words cut through her panic-ridden mind. "I offer a better way - the only other way, save one. And that last recourse is one I know you will reject."

"What - what is it!" Cora's fears were being realized; her desperation left her grasping at vain hope.

"I could take you to the Lore, once and for all time."

Cora looked away, lost in hectic thought. "But Liam... and the kids... I -" She looked back to her father with some resolve in her eyes. "You are correct; that option is out of the question." Her voice gained confidence as she went on. "So too is your offer to selectively remove my memories. Because of all this, I am finally the mother to my children that I always should have been. I am a better wife for my husband." She looked into Aldritch's mint green eyes. "I don't know that I would revert back to my bitter, resentful self, but I don't want to take the chance of the old Cora returning. I don't want her to be the woman that people think of when I'm gone."

"Selfish, and without sense," Aldritch sourly commented. "You would risk your faculties - perhaps your very existence - for a perception."

Cora rose from her chair and stood poised, making her father look up at her. "You really don't understand us mundane folk, do you?" she said calmly. "I suppose it should be no surprise since you've never truly made the effort, not even with your 'progeny'. I do not want this for selfish reasons. I could subject my family to many long years of a cynical woman, leaving them resentful after I'm gone. Or, I could hopefully give them a few memories of the woman they might have hoped for... that I hoped to be for them, letting their reminiscences cause them some joy. Even if my mind is reduced to a stupor from some fae's heavy-handed 'fogging', as you put it, I will still have done that much beforehand. So, you see, father, I don't decline your offer for the sake of my own memories. I do it for the memories of my family and loved ones. I owe them no less, especially my children."

Aldritch nodded, letting silence linger while he pondered her words. He finally said, "A fine speech, Cora, and very magnanimous of you. However, you are overlooking a very important fact."

Trepidation attempted to undermine Cora's determination at his words; it could be heard in her voice when she asked, "And what fact is that?"

"Whether it is some 'heavy-handed' fae - as _you_ put it - or me, your memories will be altered." He stood and looked down at her, fully aware of his looming presence. "Were you any other human, it would already be done. It is because you are my child that you have been given time and choices. It is already too late for me to avoid punishment for liberties that you take for granted - liberties given with my allowance and at my expense. As I admittedly have little comprehension of humans, you have no inkling of fae. We have laws that sustain our existence; I continue to break one of those laws for you." His shadow began to dull into a vague shape as storm clouds gathered overhead. "You reject my kind consideration out of hand, going heedless and proud into a dangerous future."

In looking up at Aldritch, she saw the result of his anger hastily gathering overhead; the swirling clouds were dark and foreboding. "Father," she began with a soothing tone, hoping to calm him, "I know that you came with honorable intentions; I am not tossing your offer out with the garbage. As much as I would like to, I cannot accept. What I didn't know was that you placed yourself in some sort of danger by letting me know the truth of things. It was a kindness on your part, but one I did not request of you. Even so, I'm glad you did. I can't help you with your dilemma, and I won't let you assist me with mine. I now have the relationships with my children I couldn't have dreamed of. Even if those relationships are only temporary, I plan to maintain them as long as possible."

The churning clouds above lost their angry bruising while Aldritch frowned down at his child. He sighed and said, "No matter the consequences?"

"Consequences be damned," she replied firmly. "Thank you for coming to see me once more, father, and for your heartfelt offer. But if you'll excuse me, I need to begin planning my vacation and then invite all of my children over for a family meal. You'd be welcome to attend, of course, but... you understand."

"Yes, of course," Aldritch replied as he glanced up at the parting clouds. "Cora, with your refusal, I will concern myself with watching over my grandson in your stead."

Cora said with a smile, "That pleases me more than you know, and you have my eternal gratitude for it."

Aldritch held his staff away from him and bowed to her. "I will leave you to your chores and festivities. Know that I wish only the best for you and give good fortune on your endeavors, my brave daughter; may the elements be kind."

From her fae father's bestowment of luck, a warm tingling sensation ran through Cora. She looked down and wiggled her slipper-covered toes as the feeling faded out from them. When she looked back up, her father was simply gone.

16

Brody reluctantly agreed that Kate was right \- he stank like a locker room. He also felt the kind of soiled that came from being slightly ashamed of himself, accounting for a morning of impulsive reactions and destructive outbursts. After they walked off the site of the Flinn Festival and got in her car, he asked if they could make a quick stop back at the cottage so he could clean up. He hoped a quick scrubbing would give him a fresh start to a day already half gone. Making the best of what was left of it was worth a try.

After a short shower, Brody found Kate at a computer in their office. While she checked her stock investments and the Rose Foundation status, he let her know he'd be ready to go in just a minute. While standing in the office doorway with wet hair and a towel around his waist, Brody inadvertently noticed the files of the two properties that he still hadn't visited personally. He'd planned to see them - obvious by how they sat in the center of his workspace - but was engrossed with prior responsibilities.

He wasn't sure why it was becoming a growing interest lately, but it seemed natural enough to want to go see those houses. They were his after all, so why not?

Stepping into the office and past Kate as she began closing her computer windows, Brody picked up the files and reminded himself the house's names; he'd looked at them repeatedly since returning from the states, but wanted to refresh his memory. Both only had a single photo each with their listings. The little house called Cranndarach looked aged and small, with a big oak tree in the front. It was a sad-looking place; other than that nice tree, it held no appeal whatsoever. No wonder it was such a steal.

The other listing, however, was strangely intriguing. The photo was a close-up of a two-story house built with local stone over one hundred years ago. None of the property could be seen from the picture, although the description said that it held nine acres of "sheep grazing" land. The house was named Stonemoor - Brody could only imagine because of the dark gray masonry. It was dilapidated and probably structurally unsound; he thought refurbishing wouldn't be worth it. There was absolutely nothing visually appealing to the crumbling old place, but it inexplicably had his interest nonetheless.

Kate drove while Brody navigated them around Lough Gaell and into the narrow lanes east of it. Following a simplified map, the couple eventually turned onto a dead-end lane that was only wide enough for one car and hemmed in on both sides by bushes and trees. Because there were only a few other homes on that constricted half-mile of gravel with a grassy center strip, they didn't have to worry about traffic.

The lane ended at a stack-stone wall with rusty wire fencing at the top. Just prior to it on their left was a wide, unadorned lawn - Stonemoor. They pulled into the half-circle drive and stepped out into the afternoon sunshine to look around.

South across the lane from the old stone house was a secondary rotation field for livestock that hadn't seen much use. To the east was the large paddock whose wall halted the lane. The surveyor's map showed that it was part of Stonemoor's acreage; the property itself formed a large reverse-L around the home and lawn. The nearest neighbor to the west was blocked from view by a line of mature evergreens which edged the lawn and continued toward the north field out back.

Stonemoor itself looked drab past its downtrodden state, with no colorful shutters or shrubbery. Father Doyle's work crew had visited, though; a pile of debris and rubbish had been piled in a corner of the recently-cut front lawn. Brody had to focus to see the potential for the large and level grounds, let alone the house. He and Kate quickly decided to look at the rest of the property before daring to look inside Stonemoor, hoping the rear of the house offered a nice view.

They strolled around to the left, on the wide swath between the evergreens and the derelict dwelling. They came to a stop on the small cobblestone patio connected to Stonemoor's back door and took their time to silently study the multi-acre parcel of land.

The ground was strewn with rocks and boulders on a terrain that dipped and swelled, all of it on a modest decline away from them to the north. In that direction, the property ended at a long stretch of gravel shore bordering a shallow lake. Brody guessed distances of a few hundred feet from house to the water, and three times that of shoreline which claimed the eastern end of the lake.

Some stones jutted from the ground while others seemed more gradual in their emergence. A particular section further out in the east field had rounded boulders protruding, like a herd of undulating whales breaking the ocean's surface. There was a small pond near where evergreens dotted the property line; on the far side of the pond, a gnarled tree had found purchase and hung partly over the water. A few small shelters and troughs dotted the property - all were in poor shape. There were large pockets of grassland and bare bedrock, but the rock formations dominated the acreage.

"Sheep grazing land, indeed," Kate quietly commented. "I'm not sure if I'd call this ruggedly beautiful or the perfect place to host an ankle-breaking contest. Everyone would win."

"Aw, it's not that bad." Brody glanced down and saw Kate's skeptical expression. "Well, you might have to watch your step here and there, but I think it looks pretty cool. It's like rock heaven; playing here as a kid would have been awesome."

Kate put her arm around his waist. "You must have been a wild child."

"Nah, not really," Brody answered while putting his arm around her shoulders. "I just mean stuff like hide and seek, or jumping in that pond off that boulder by the tree. Maybe the lake is good for fishing, or even swimming in the summer. C'mon, let's look around."

Holding hands as they walked across the short back lawn toward the field gate, Kate grinned up at him and said, "Found your inner child, have you?"

"Oh, he's always been there, I guess," Brody answered as they strolled into the field, meandering around large rocks and patches of wildflowers. "But there hasn't been many chances lately to stop and look at things like a kid would... like I used to."

"I think we should find the time to do that more often, love - both of us." Just after Kate made her suggestion, she spotted a boulder that looked easy enough to step up onto and which might offer a good view from its fairly level top. "I see a spot to get a better perspective. Follow me."

The five feet of higher elevation on that boulder gave them a surprisingly good panorama of the open, rocky field and the lake to the north. They first took in their immediate surroundings, and then turned this way and that to look out over Stonemoor's land. Brody swiveled to briefly study the old house from that angle and then turned back to gaze at a few rocks that inspired ideas for abstract sculptures.

Brody then noticed a mound out near the northeast corner that seemed unnatural; it was an abrupt lump in a relatively smooth area of thick turf. From ground level, it was partially hidden behind a craggy outcrop of bedrock, but from the higher angle he could see all of it. Stranger still, that grassy little hill had fencing encircling it. Frowning as he continued to stare at it, he asked Kate, "Darlin', see that weird lump out there? Is that a big-ass boulder covered in dirt and grass or somethin'?"

Kate's eyes followed his finger and saw it as well, partially obscured by a few overgrown bushes. Her tall fella had a better view, being a foot taller, but she could still see it for what it was. "Not quite, love. You'd learnt of them when we were so involved with our fae studies, if you'll recall. To most people, that'd be called a fairy mound. Most farmers fence them off from fear of collapse if their livestock stood on them."

"Wait a sec - are you saying they're hollow?"

"So it's said," Kate replied with a shrug. "Most folk have enough respect for the old tales not to go trifling with them. Barriers are also set because of superstition, out of respect for any fae who might be dwelling within. Those mounds go by other names as well - fairy hills, hollow hills, hill forts, raths, covered... cairns..."

When Kate's voice drifted off, Brody interpreted it as a rare lapse in her memory. "Don't worry about quoting every title, darlin'," he said while he gazed about the landscape. "We could call 'em land moles for all I care; Ireland's little melanomas."

"No," Kate replied quietly, ignoring his attempt at levity, "that one should definitely be called a fairy mound." She was unaware of Brody turning back to her and then following her stare out to the little hillock - she was fully intent on what she saw. "Two sparkling nimbuses just emerged from it."

"Well, hell," Brody muttered. "What do you think we -" He stopped his own question when he saw Kate stepping back to a lower elevation and hopping off the boulder. "I guess that answers that," he mumbled to himself. He jumped down from his spot, landing next to her as she strode forward. "Slow down there, darlin'. We don't know anything about these fae you see. I know you wanna make friends, but use a little caution, okay?"

Kate paused to look back at him. "I'm a bit surprised, love. This is your property, and two fae are on it. Moreover, I suspect they live on it... or in it, perhaps. I thought you'd be more curious."

"Yeah, it's mine, but I - we don't live here, Kate," he replied with a near-whisper, unsure if the invisible fae were within earshot. "Just read their colors from here for now, alright?"

Conceding to his request with a quick nod, she turned toward the fairy mound again. After a few moments she quietly said, "I still see two nimbuses - they're quite small and keeping near to each other. They're nervous, probably scared... I think only a small part of that is because they know I'm aware of them. Something else has them at their nerve's end. Maybe we should... oh, shit. Oh shit!"

*

"Everyone, stop," Renard commanded. He stood within the curving, packed-earth tunnel that within a handful of strides would lead them to the Verden realm. In his diminutive form, the armored sprite was of the same general height as the low-borne gnome couple that inhabited the passage. "You two," he pointed at the gnomes ahead of him, who had turned back at his order but kept their eyes down, "What were your names again?"

"I am Baird, good master sprite," said the male, "and this is me mate, Brynn."

Renard regarded the humble gnome, who had apparently just reached maturity because of his youthful appearance and short tawny beard. His mate was likewise meek with her head hung low, putting more of the bun of her honey-blonde hair on display. They were subservient enough, but that didn't mean he cared for them. "You may carry on, but wait just beyond the portal."

"Yes, sir," they both mumbled before scuttling up the tunnel and out of sight.

The sprite then turned to his small party behind him. "Uther," he said with a frown to his Fair fae comrade, " stop your sulking already, especially in front of the low-borne. We have to endure our diminutive forms for only a few more steps. As I've said twice before, your gifts aren't affected by your size \- not that you need them here."

The caramel-skinned fae tossed his long milky white hair over his shoulders in annoyance. "I do not sulk, Renard. It's just that being forced to fit into this tiny hovel makes me feel puny."

"If justification will ease your nerves," the tall troll Valka commented as she looked down at Uther, "you _are_ puny. However, I personally do not think of this expanded passage as a hovel. Those gnomes have shaped a fine subterranean dwelling from it."

"Which reminds me, Valka," Renard spoke again with his hands on his hips, "do us all the favor and stop being so proper and sensitive. You do not apologize for intruding on gnomes - this is a neutral passage and, last I checked, they serve us. And while we're taking a moment for discussion, I suspect you almost sided with the dragon when we paid her toll for use of this passage."

"By toll," Valka retorted, "you mean Tobias."

Renard sighed. "If you had known of the agreed price at the beginning of our journey, the rest of us would have never heard the end of it. That means Tobias wouldn't have been so willing to be part of the party. By the elements, you complained about his fate more than he did."

"His fate was being knocked senseless and callously sacrificed as a meal," she snarled.

"And?"

"There was no honor in it. You dented the back of his head with your club and handed him over!"

"Well of course I did," he responded with a grin, yet still with an inflection in his voice that implied he was speaking to a fool. "Did you expect that twit of a dryad to have the honor of a naïve troll and bravely hop into the dragon's mouth? Perhaps spouting poetry about bravery and sacrifice while offering himself up? Save your judgments, Valka - I merely simplified the situation. So, if you have the willpower, please refrain from any further complaints on the matter. And Perrine!" he barked suddenly at the party's scout, a robe-swathed bauchan female. "Stop pilfering anything that will fit into your pouches!"

From under her deep hood, Perrine's long, pointed nose twitched. After a tense pause, her long, thin fingers slowly slipped into one of her robe pockets and pulled out a hand-crafted flute that had just found its way there. She calmly commented in a high, grating voice, "I remember no such rules where I must abstain from liberating any bauble that interests me, Renard." She twirled the flute with her dexterous gray fingers, admiring it with large cat's eyes that shone from within the shadows of her heavy hood. "Your objection is noted." The small bauchan then slipped the instrument back into her pocket.

Renard rolled his eyes , exasperated. Without another word, he turned and took the last number of steps of the neutral passage. Uther, Valka, and Perrine followed after him. One by one, they all stepped through the stone-framed portal and into a sunny Verden afternoon. Almost immediately, each of the fae began to assume their normal proportions, but none as fast as Uther. Simultaneous with their emergence and re-expansion to their natural sizes, all of them heard a female voice utter, "...Oh shit. Oh shit!"

The fae party turned in the direction of the voice and saw an attractive woman with large, dark eyes staring at them from a short distance away. Next to her was a striking male of imposing size and brawn, but his light eyes darted about with wary confusion.

Renard glanced over to the gnome couple and was satisfied to see them off to one side, huddled next to each other next to a thick post of the rustic wooden fencing. All of the fae scouting party slowly stepped over a rotted fence board that had long ago given way, scanning their surroundings. Mostly, though, they kept keen eyes on the humans.

"You two," Renard said to the nervous gnomes, "who are these humans? And how is it that the maiden is aware of our arrival?"

"We don't know them, good sir sprite," Baird answered.

"Come now, I'll have none of that. I know that lies are easy to tell in this realm, so do not practice that liberty with me. That one," Renard pointed at Kate, who was whispering to Brody, "can see us. How have you made this so?" He knew by their auras that the gnomes were truthful in their ignorance of the humans. But unexpected company - one of which whom was 'aware' - made the sprite ill-tempered and edgy. To fae like Renard, low-borne were acceptable targets to relieve any sort of tension.

"Rather than persecute hapless gnomes," Perrine hissed at him, "perhaps you should direct your attention to where it belongs." She pointed a long gray finger at Brody and Kate. "I have already learned the given names of these humans from their surface thoughts. Check your list of names, for I sense the Lore about them both."

As Renard leered at the small bauchan scout, he reached into a pouch on his hip to retrieve the scroll of names that Cadell had given him. At the same time, Uther impulsively began walking toward the human couple.

"What are you doing?" Valka asked him as he passed her.

Pausing, the Fair fae looked back to her and replied, "On the list or not, the woman has an ability to sense us. They'll both need fogging in any event. And who knows, she might fetch a fine price from those willing to barter for her back at the camp. As for the male, what a servant he'd make." With a smile that held no humor, he turned and resumed his course.

"Uther, you reckless fool," she growled, taking a stride toward him. "We don't -" But her words were too late. The impetuous fae continued forward, allowing his form to be seen by mundane eyes as he walked.

*

"What, Kate? What's going on?" Brody whispered, alarmed.

"Four more fae just emerged," she answered quietly with a trembling voice, "and by the size of their nimbuses, three of them just... enlarged."

"Enlarged? How enlarged are we talkin' about?"

Kate huddled closer to him. "I'm guessing one is about my height, another might be average for a man, and the third is at least your height. The two little ones I first saw are off to the side, still afraid. The one my size is a mix of nervous and irritated, and the big one is curious and cautious. The last of the four, the short one, has no good intent... but not overly dark colors. The closest one, though - the one of a normal man's height \- he wants to have some fun, though only the kind that bad people would want."

Brody moved a half step in front of her and gazed out at the mound. Keeping his eyes forward, he leaned his head in Kate's direction and asked, "Okay, so what are they doing?"

"I can only see their nimbuses, love," she whispered up to him, "not what they look like. Unless they reveal themselves, we can't hear their words, either. But, as Liadan told us, fae would have to let themselves be seen to say or... do anything... to a human. So far, I suspect they're having a discussion with each other by the way their colors fluctuate."

"Okay," he said with a deep sigh, "if one of the dark ones comes, you run back to the -"

"No, I'm not leaving you," she whispered emphatically.

"Then at least get behind a boulder and do your blending trick. I know how to use my stone gift a lot better since the fight with Devlin, so I'll be okay. But otherwise, should we just say something first, or do you wanna... "

Thirty paces away, a figure began to take shape as if stepping out from a dense fog. It was walking toward them as its form hastily solidified.

"...Well, fuck it, never mind."

Straight, milky white hair that hung to his elbows dominated his not-quite-human features of the now fully-visible figure. The advancing fae wore a dark leather vest, with matching loose trousers tucked into archaic mid-calf boots. His bare arms - a smooth caramel color - matched the rest of his slender, athletic build. He looked to be of average height; Brody remembered Kate's words of their descriptions and correlating colors - this one was bad news. The smile on that long, alien face reminded Brody of his uncles' dark grins when they'd first shown up at his cottage.

Facing the approaching fae and stepping fully in front of Kate, Brody whispered to her, "Darlin', I love ya. Now run."

#####

Author's note: The fictional village of Ballaghadaere (pronounced Bala-dare) is closely based on Ballaghaderreen (pronounced by many as Bala-hadreen), a quaint little town in northern County Roscommon, Ireland. Lough Gaell (pronounced Gail) is actually Lough Gara, a lake near Ballaghaderreen. Names of locations have been changed for the hell of it; this is fiction, after all. Also, I didn't want to take the chance of stepping on any Irish toes, which I'm told is very bad luck.

Eire of Defiance, the fifth and final book of the Eire series, is set to be released whenever I finish it.

