Eire of Hostility

  Chapter 10

  The pre-dawn sky was decorated with low, puffy cumulus clouds, still mostly dull gray against the violet sky but flecked with a tangerine color from the sun's imminent arrival. It was under those lazy clouds that a shimmering portal appeared on the front lawn of the McCarthy residence. Dahlia stepped out onto the frosted lawn, her creamy pale complexion contrasting with dark roman-style armor and lavender hair in a long braid down her back.

  She studied the her darkened surroundings; a house with lights on in front of her, a group of winter-whipped bushes and trees off to her right, a low retainer wall a few paces behind her with a paved road just beyond, and a driveway to her left with rimed vehicles parked on it. The setting was dim and quiet; it would do for her purposes.

  Haas the bauchan stepped out of the portal behind her. While not having morpher gifts, the diminutive fae had the elongated, fuzzy ears somewhere between human and hare. Just under two feet tall, Haas had tousled, cherry red hair and mutton chops. His pug nose twitched, and his small, pale blue eyes shifted back and forth quickly. His oversized bare feet tested the ground and then relaxed. He readjusted his simple gray shirt that was tucked into black pantaloons for a more comfortable fit. Confident that no immediate danger awaited him, Haas snapped his red suspenders with his thumbs in a customary fashion and sighed with relief.

  Dahlia glanced down at her little travel companion, took mental note of his diminishing level of anxiety, and then scanned the McCarthy house and grounds once more. "And what do your 'expert' senses tell you, bauchan?"

  With a high, lilting Dutch accent, Haas replied, "My eyes say that there is one mobile human in the residence. My ears say that there is no one, our kind or theirs, besides us and two other humans inside or on the property; three humans total, but only one prepares for the day."

  "Only one of them awake… You're sure?"

  "Only one mobile," Haas corrected, and then continued. "My nose says that there are strange scents in the area, but nothing of a boar to be cautious of… as I happened to take from our liege's mind by mistake. My skin says that wet weather has passed, and humans will find the air cold. My mind says that there is an expectant tension here, although that could just be coming from you. My tongue says that I didn't get to eat before we left, so let's get this over with."

  Turning back to glare down at him, Dahlia said, "Interesting; I'll need clarification before we continue. For example, tell me more about this boar you 'accidentally' took from the Moon Maiden's thoughts."

  Haas looked up at her with a shrug. "Just that there was a large beast that she was wary of, and it was connected to this location. It seems an important piece of information considering our mission here; didn't she mention that to you?"

  Dahlia pursed her lips but didn't answer him. Instead, she asked, "What are the strange scents you noticed?"

  With a frown, Haas replied, "Without knowing what they are, I call them strange. If I knew what they were, then they wouldn't be strange now would they?"

  Leaning down a bit, Dahlia glowered at him. "Don't get snide with me; I'm not in the mood for a glib tongue." She stood straight and said with a wave of her armor-clad hand, "Let's be done with this place; I have more important matters to attend to. There is a teen girl here; go lure her out so that I can take possession of her, and we can be away."

  With an appeasing smile, Haas nervously nodded and walked past her. He had gone less than ten feet when he came to an abrupt halt; his strange, floppy ears sprung erect and he audibly sniffed the air.

  There was a sudden, hushed whistle; a black arrow embedded itself into the lawn less than a foot in front of Haas. The little bauchan froze. Dahlia automatically willed a shield onto her left arm and sword in her right hand, and then looked at the angle of the arrow's trajectory.

  Spinning to her left, Dahlia unintentionally caught an arrow with her shield as it buried itself in the thick wood with a thump. The next arrow immediately after sliced across the side of her neck as it passed by. She ignored the hot pain, crouched behind her large round shield, and peered over it for a look at her attacker.

  Not surprisingly, she saw the black-haired archer she'd met recently, standing in the road some fifty paces away. He was reaching for another arrow from his quiver while his enormous pet, the fog bear, began to amble forward in the beginning of a charge.

  Dahlia acted decisively. Knowing that if she banished the archer then his pet, by default of being bound to its master, would be returned to his holdings as well. Sprinting toward them with inhuman speed, she hoped to use the bear's accelerating momentum against it; she only had to dodge its swiping attack as they passed each other.

  Not five strides into her own attack, Dahlia was struck with a perfectly timed, precisely aimed arrow in her left shoulder when her shield arm was momentarily low. From the lancing impact and numbing pain, she dropped the shield. Without losing stride, she changed tactics. Dahlia corrected her angle to be directly in the path of the huge beast, using it as cover against the talented archer. Putting herself on a collision course with over a ton of fur, muscle, and claws, she raced forward with a snarl.

  With less than a second before impact, Dahlia put her secondary plan into play. With her weakened left hand, she directed a blast of searing heat directly onto the bear's snout. It immediately roared with pain, veered slightly to her right, and slowed its charge.

  Dahlia leapt forward and used the monstrous bear as a springboard. She vaulted high and far off the beast's back, aimed directly at her opponent. Using her aerial height, she performed a somersault to disorient the archer from having a clear target. He had another arrow nocked as she completed her spin.

  Just before Dahlia landed in front of him, the archer released his arrow. She felt searing pain in her right calf, and that leg buckled when she landed. Using her own momentum, she rolled to the side and performed a fluid, sweeping strike with her sword in the process. She felt the grimly satisfying resistance in her swing, knowing her slicing attack had succeeded. The archer stumbled back in surprise, his free hand clutching at the gaping wound in his thigh.

  Macklin gasped in shock and pain but quickly tried to retreat to create distance between himself and the pale warrior. He had falsely assumed that his own skill would be deterrent enough to make her depart; he didn't expect the opposite. The thin wound on her neck oozed violet blood, an arrow shaft was protruding from her left shoulder, and another ran through the leather and muscle of her right calf. Still, she was poised for another attack.

  In too close of quarters for a bow shot, and without Mix's assistance, he knew he was no match for her in melee. All Macklin could attempt was the unexpected.

  The warrior made a feint to one side, and then arced back in from the other. In a panicked defense, Macklin used his free hand to direct a thin, intense beam of heat. The exposed skin of her left upper arm instantly reddened and blistered, and her attack faltered.

  Taking advantage of the warrior's hesitation, Macklin swung his stout bow and clouted her in the face. Rather than stumble back, she rolled with the blow, spun with blurring speed, and sliced him again at an angle across his torso. Before the pain registered, the warrior reversed her swing and gashed open his right leg at the knee. Macklin fell to the pavement, his damaged legs unable to support him.

  Bloody and maimed, the female warrior stood over Macklin with a humorless grin of victory. While one of her eyes was swelling shut, the other had the wild look of bloodthirsty passion. She stepped next to him and placed the point of her ironwood sword in the center of his chest, resting her left hand on the pommel.

  Her wicked smile faltered when two things happened. First, rather than becoming brighter with the coming dawn, the area darkened; the cumulus clouds overhead had suddenly gathered and swelled with the bluish-gray of impending rain. Secondly, Mix roared nearby, somewhere behind the warrior. Dahlia looked over her shoulder to assess the danger.

  Macklin felt the heat gathering in the warrior's free hand
for another strike on his pet. He used Mix's distraction to use a different token, released his bow, and willed a spear into his hand. From his prone position Macklin had little leverage for a potent strike - not with a sword still pressed to his chest. Still, any attempt was better than laying there and waiting for the end.

  With a grunt, Macklin thrust the spear up at the warrior. While her sword tip simultaneously bit into his chest, he buried the half of the long spearhead into her exposed and tender armpit, nearly deep enough to lodge itself. The warrior screeched in pain and stumbled back. The sword, released, ripped at his flesh as it fell away.

  While the spear fell from the wounded fae and clattered on the pavement, Macklin grabbed his bow and rolled in the opposite direction. Because of his damaged legs, he quickly went into a sitting position and reached for another arrow. He stopped in surprise and tried to make sense of the unexpected sight before him.

  At the near end of the McCarthy lawn were a few dormant trees. They were all unnaturally contorted and had wrapped their many branches around Mix, holding him immobile. Further back, on the lawn, a towering fae in an overcoat and holding a long, warped staff stood over the bauchan that Macklin had first shot at with a warning arrow. Very localized rain was pouring all around the huge fae, and the low clouds belched trembling thunder.

  A small redcap with long orange hair and dirty clothes appeared, and moved even faster than he or the warrior could. The little fae zipped near, grabbed up the fallen sword and spear, and returned to stand just beyond the deluge near the tall fae before Macklin could think to target him. The pale warrior, a bloody mess, wavered at the end of her endurance as she too stared at the newcomers.

  The tall fae, evidently quite strong in the gifts of climate and flora, looked in Macklin's general direction. "You!" boomed the powerful fae with a deep, menacing voice. He pointed a long finger as he said it, aimed at the warrior. Macklin couldn't see her expression from his angle, but did notice her exhausted frame suddenly tense up. He almost felt scared for her.

  With only a split second of hesitation, the bloody, wounded warrior turned to her right, nearly facing Macklin again, and attempted to run. A thick, cracking bolt of lightning nearly struck him, close enough to slam his weary body flat onto the hard pavement from the sheer power of it. The bow sailed away from his slack hand.

  Stunned from the impact, crippled from leg injuries, weak from the wound across his stomach, temporarily deaf, and half blind from the lightning, Macklin laid there and let his mind swim. Jumbled thoughts of his cherished home in the Lore flickered and faded. At that moment, it seemed so far away.

  Hearing the roar of Mix once again helped Macklin regain his senses; he had to save his pet and companion, and was willing to perish in the effort without regret. However, when he opened his eyes, a towering figure was standing near his head. From his angle, upside-down, Macklin knew the fae to be a huge troll. He had dusty plum skin and a regal, if not somber, aspect on his rugged face.

  Ragnar looked down on the prone fae and said with a rumbling bass voice, "Now that your wits have returned, I caution you to keep your place, bowman."

  When Mix bellowed again, they both looked over to see the bear struggling against his branch-bindings. Macklin began to rise with his last reserve of energy, hot with anger at seeing his pet restrained. Ragnar placed a huge booted foot on his shoulder and slowly applied pressure. Pushed easily back down to the pavement, Macklin stared up at the troll and began thinking of a worthy curse to bestow.

  "As I said," Ragnar stated calmly, "rising would not be wise at this time. Your powerful pet will not come to harm as long as you keep your place. I give you my word on that." Feeling the tension from his foot release, he removed it from the Fair fae's shoulder. Ragnar then looked forward. "Ah, Aldritch, it seems we meet again, under another odd set of circumstances."

  Aldritch ignored the downed fae that separated him and Ragnar. He gave a small, formal bow to the troll. "I cannot say I am surprised to see you in the area, good Ragnar, but I must remain wary until I might learn where you have placed your allegiance in the troubles to come."

  Both elders turned when they heard the distant squeak of a door. Liam McCarthy stood on his porch stoop with a fresh coffee stain on his dress shirt, looking around and up at the sky with keen interest; fae were beyond his senses, but the lightning strike was all too real.

  They watched until then man went back inside. Both of the elder's attentions were brought back to Macklin's when he asked, "You are Aldritch of the Old Wood?" After a solemn nod from the tall dryad, Macklin craned his head back to regard the huge troll. "And you must be Ragnar, owner of the cave of portals. I offer an apology to you for not heeding your first words, good elder." Macklin cautiously lifted his head but nothing else. "My sire has spoken tales of you both during revels. I am honored."

  Ragnar casually walked over to the limp form of the pale warrior near the other side of the lane. He crouched next to her, but looked back to Macklin and asked, "You have us at a disadvantage, young fae; name your sire, and then yourself, if you would. And then," he said as he gestured to the warrior, "you might explain who this is."

  "My sire is Merrit Charm-monger, a Fair fae of some renown in the land of Aisling-maith. I am Macklin, recent holder of independent lands. As for her, we'd met before under unpleasant circumstances, although I never learned her name."

  Aldritch answered. "She is called Dahlia, a mercenary in the current employ of Saraid Moon Maiden." He then gestured nonchalantly behind him. "The bauchan who accompanied her here knew little else, save what their mission was." All three fae looked toward the McCarthy lawn, but Haas was nowhere to be seen. They turned back when Dahlia let out a soft moan and groggily turned her head. Aldritch went on in a low, measured tone. "The warrior was sent to confiscate a human under my protection for Saraid's unknown purposes."

  Ragnar waited until Dahlia had the presence of mind to lift her head. She soon found herself staring up at the composed troll. "Greetings," he said calmly. "You may not understand this yet, but your covert operation, and subsequent failure, has swayed my decision of who I'll favor."

  Dahlia rested her head on the pavement with a sigh; not for adversely swaying the troll's allegiance, but because she'd failed Saraid yet again.

  "Still, as befitting my race," Ragnar went on, "I'll honor you with choices. I could leave you to your own devices, meaning that you'll bleed out into banishment before you gather the strength to heal yourself. Another option is that I could squeeze your head like an egg in my fist, and make your banishment quick. Or, we could make a pact; I remove the arrows and heal you, and in return I will place you in a challenging locale. Essentially, I will place your fate back in your own hands. Lastly, I could leave you in the care of the fae who downed you; Macklin the Fair and the elder dryad Aldritch of the Old Wood."

  Dahlia's eyes widened with fear. She lifted her head to glance at the tall fae only a few strides away, and then back to Ragnar. "I - I will accept the offer of a pact."

  The troll stood and turned to Aldritch. "Is this acceptable to you, elder?"

  Aldritch leaned on his staff and regarded Ragnar for a moment. He then said to Dahlia, "Face me, warrior." She painfully rolled to her side and sat up. "Know this: the last fae who attempted aggression against my claim was given to Ragnar as a bowl of ashes."

  Dahlia hesitantly looked up at Ragnar. He nodded to confirm the statement.

  "Because of his lenient offer," Aldritch continued, "I will refrain from doing so again. However, I inflict upon you the curse of protection; if you ever take action against anything or anyone I place under my safety, whether known or not, your vassals shall turn on you and your peers will shun you. Your name will be driven to notoriety. As balance, if I act in aggression against anything you lay claim to, I will be rebuked. Let it be done and so."

  Immediately after, a silent wave of energy passed through both Aldritch and Dahlia as the elemental invocation placed a link between them, and t
hen ebbed into the ether. The tall dryad then looked up at Ragnar once more. "Please remove her from my sight."

  With a nod, Ragnar made a deft, complex gesture. A stone-lined portal appeared next to him. He then easily picked up Dahlia by the back plate of her cuirass and carried her punished body through it; she was too weak to protest her disrespectful treatment of being hauled like baggage. The portal gate immediately closed in on itself after their departure and disappeared with a soft pop.

  Macklin had propped himself onto his elbows but nothing more; he didn't want to test the limits of one elder's advice and another's patience. While Aldritch stared at the spot of the troll's portal, apparently deep in thought, Macklin began willing his wounds to slowly close and mend. He didn't accomplish much before the brooding dryad elder turned and looked down at him. Not knowing what reaction to expect, Macklin met his gaze and hoped his dread wasn't evident. He was therefore surprised when Aldritch bent and offered his large hand.

  They clasped at the wrists and Aldritch pulled him to his feet. "Here," the elder said as he offered his staff, "lean on this while you see to your wounds."

  Macklin nodded his appreciation and gripped it with both hands. Aldritch turned and, with a flick of his hand, released the bear from his confinement.

  "Thank you," Macklin said with labored breath. It seemed the act of healing his wounds was more painful than when he received them. He saw his pet jogging over in their direction with teeth bared, and so held up a hand and said, "All is well, Mix; he means no harm."

  Aldritch turned back and placed a firm hand on top of his staff to steady it as the Fair fae's wounds knitted. "Your pet's confinement was only done to ensure my own safety."

  Macklin nodded as his huge pet ambled next to him and huddled close. The young fae offered Aldritch his staff back and leaned against the bear for support as his strength returned.

  "Had I not restrained your curious pet," the elder said as he leaned on his reclaimed staff, "I believe you would have been victorious in your battle against the warrior. Without knowing the motives for either of you, I erred on the side of caution."

  Still leaning against Mix, Macklin said, "I understand, elder, and hope you now know my motives were ultimately in your favor, even though I was unaware that they might be. I came to warn one of the residents of impending danger, one that she was unaware of, anyway."

  "Odd behavior for a Fair…" Aldritch commented.

  Macklin shrugged. "I didn't expect combat to be necessary when I arrived. I now must admit my confusion; I don't know if I am in your debt or not. Your lightning saved me from a true death, but if Mix here weren't restrained, as you said, I wouldn't have been in such peril. I bow to your wisdom on the matter, good elder."

  Aldritch pondered Macklin's words for a moment. He then looked down to the redcap behind him and said, "Go retrieve this fae's weapon, and be slow about it." Lorcan, who had been hiding behind the elder's long coat, frowned at no one in particular and then began to trudge back to the McCarthy lawn.

  Regarding the young fae before him once more, Aldritch recognized admirable traits in Macklin in a very short period; courage, respect, humility. Still, it was best not to voice his opinion and foster vanity that was normally inherent in the Fair race. That aside, he thought compliments were best used in reaching a goal, and otherwise used by fawning fools and desperate lovers.

  "The facts you speak of negate each other in finding ground for a debt," Aldritch finally said. "However, your deference clouds you to another view of events." Macklin looked up at him with a confused expression, and so, with a deep breath of modesty, Aldritch explained. "Had you not intervened, the warrior and her cohort would have succeeded in their plan. I am therefore in your debt."

  Completely bewildered, Macklin hesitantly asked, "You are?"

  Aldritch glanced over his shoulder to check the redcap's progress, and then faced Macklin again. Sighing, the elder said, "As fae are attuned to their holdings, I also have chosen attunement with this location. And, as some fae are attuned to their servants - as possibly you are to your pet - I am attuned to the humans who reside here, and a few others besides. The reasons for that are my own, and I warn you not to attempt to glean them from my mind."

  "No, elder, of course not," Macklin said earnestly.

  Finding the next words that would not expose his secret, Aldritch let out a huff of breath and pressed on. "Those attunements I have are triggered by heightened emotions such as what violence emanates. Had you not caused those feelings of fear, rancor, and bloodlust, then something valuable would have been taken from me, and used for possible reasons that anger me to think of. For that, Macklin, I admit a debt to you."

  Macklin looked away with a stunned expression. "I didn't think... that is, that you -" He then looked up and met the elder's gaze. "I realize you didn't have to bring that to my attention and acknowledge it. I am honored to be placed in your confidence, elder. For that, I absolve any debt you feel is owed."

  "That is... generous of you."

  With a crooked grin, Macklin replied, "Generous had nothing to do with it; your offer scared the glamour out of me! I simply wanted nothing to do with it. Holding leverage over a powerful and eminent fae that I have the highest respect for is not a position I would be at ease with." Still grinning, he added, "No offense meant, elder."

  "No offense is taken, and I respect your candor. There is a question I must ask, and perhaps that candor will continue." Aldritch paused before asking, "Why exactly are you here? I understand that you came to give some warning to one of the McCarthy's, but why you; why one of them?" When he saw that Macklin was about to reply, he held up a hand and said, "Keep in mind that answering is a choice with no pressure set upon you. After all, I wasn't quite forthcoming with my own reasons."

  Macklin nodded and replied, "If I were not inclined to be forthcoming, I would simply say so, elder. But I will repay the honor you've shown me by giving an explanatory answer." He turned to give Mix a few pats on his furry back as the bear wandered off to investigate a scent. Facing Aldritch again, he said, "I suppose not all fae would view this in a positive light; some might call it unnatural or decadent..."

  "We are fae, Macklin," Aldritch said somberly. "Decadence is acceptable by many."

  Macklin nodded, and then stated, "I find myself attracted to the human female, Jane McCarthy, and feel no shame for it; quite the opposite, in fact. I know that she also tends to a flame with my name on it." After his bold declaration, Macklin tentatively asked, "Is she one that you're attuned to?"

  Aldritch had a higher respect for the Fair fae, mostly for the fact that he had no reservations about voicing his interest in a human. He himself had always felt a certain level of disgrace for his own relations with the human woman named Orla Gilroy, Cora's mother. The young fae's audacity was given merit. To answer Macklin, Aldritch simply said, "Among others, yes, she is."

  Macklin's expression turned troubled. "I am glad she has such a protector as you. Should you wish it, I will try to find solace in that circumstance and disturb her no further."

  Ignoring those words for the moment, Aldritch asked, "Since you made mention of her reciprocated feelings, has the girl simply become enamored of your manifestation? While in most cases that may seem acceptable, in this one I would take exception."

  Shaking his head in adamant denial, Macklin answered, "No! No, not at all, elder; Jane has only ever seen my true form. I would not deceive her."

  Looming over the nervous fae, Aldritch boomed, "You have broken the law of Enigma?"

  "No, elder Aldritch, I swear it! No manifestation is needed in the Lore, and so she saw me as I am. She was not led or abducted; it was her own gift that brought her there. That is how we met. I looked out for Jane and saw her safely returned."

  "What... gift might that be, good Macklin?"

  Macklin was about to reply when he and Aldritch noticed a middle-aged man come out of the McCarthy house with a fresh shirt and trousers on. The human
looked to the clearing sky and colorful dawn before getting into his vehicle. As he pulled out onto the lane, the man unconsciously swerved around the two fae, and then gathered speed as he drove away.

  Turning back to meet Aldritch's impatient stare, Macklin sighed. "I suppose you need to be told a tale."

  "I suppose I do."