Eire of Hostility

  Chapter 4

  Somewhere in the dreary fae land called the Forlorn Mists, Jane McCarthy fought through her fear and fascination to fully comprehend what she was staring at.

  At the edge of the gray clearing, where the dense woods thinned, was a monstrous bipedal creature. It was near eight feet tall, most of that being torso. It was inhumanly broad and thick, mostly muscle but with a rounded belly. Under its matted fur toga was reddish, hairless skin, evident even through the mist. Its ape-like face had various natural spikes and horns.

  The monster's wild cry showed a large mouth full of sharp, gapped teeth. Over a baboon-shaped snout were two small eyes set close together under an overlapping brow. Its short, thick tail swayed erratically behind it. In one gigantic hand it held a crude club. The other hand was just dropping a large stone because of the spear that was driven through the thick bicep above it, and out the back of its arm.

  Another spear came slicing through the air before the monster could take an advancing step. The stone blade plunged into the hollow of its neck. The reddish humanoid gurgled and dropped its club, vainly reaching for the second spear while its thick tail lashed and curled. As the monster stumbled and reeled to one side, Jane could see the length of bloody wood protruding out of its upper back, as well as the pierced arm that swung uselessly.

  After a few clumsy steps on short, stubby legs, the creature inadvertently turned their way once again. As soon as it did, yet another spear struck it in the center of its chest. As it gurgled out a final breath, the monster reached its good arm out and then toppled backward. The mist swirled in the creature's wake. Jane felt the jarring impact in her feet even from that distance.

  From her crouched stance, Jane spun to look at Macklin. She saw that he was slumped with relief. "Where in fuck were you hiding all those spears - up your kilt?" she barked.

  He frowned at her sarcasm, and then began walking toward the downed monster. Jane followed behind and was about to ask if it was safe when she noticed that the reddish creature was gone. When they came to the spot where it was, all she saw was three darkened spears resting on strewn ash. Macklin reached down and touched the weapons; each vanished in turn. He stood straight and took a deep breath.

  Jane placed a hand on his arm. When he turned to her, she said, "Would you mind explaining that whole brickin' thing to me now?"

  Macklin nodded with a grim expression. "The creature I attacked was an ogre, distant low kin to trolls. It either heard us or caught your unusual scent."

  With an indignant look, Jane said, "Pardon me?"

  "Please take no offense. Humans are never in the neutral lands, so your smell possibly caught his attention. Ogres have a good olfactory sense. Luckily, he was alone, so he must be either an outcast or was scouting for food for his clutch. It is possible he will soon be missed."

  Jane nodded and then pressed on. "So explain three spears instead of the one that would kill it. Were you toying with it, or torturing it? And why did it turn to ashes?"

  Macklin gazed off in the general direction that the ogre came from while he answered. "I had no good target for his heart at first; he was still mobile. I have good aim, but not that good, so I injured his throwing arm. I heated my spear so the wound would cauterize somewhat; ogre blood carries a strong scent."

  Jane sniffed the air. "Right, it smells of bad cabbage, like."

  "Then I took out his throat to stifle his loud yells," Macklin continued. "I knew ogres were very resilient and it probably wouldn't be enough to banish him, so I waited until he turned and held relatively steady. A fae weapon that pierces or destroys another fae's heart will mean final death, regardless if they are high borne or low caste. The ashes are all that remain."

  They both took a moment to look at the sooty remains of the monstrous ogre. Macklin got Jane's attention with a gentle touch to her forearm and looked into her forest green eyes before he said, "It is not safe here, Jane, especially not now. If you will accept, I will guide you to my holdings where your well-being is much more assured. From there, I'm sure we can find a way to return you home. Please accept; do not venture on alone."

  After Jane nodded her assent, Macklin wasted no time in departing the clearing. Their walk through the Forlorn Mists was mostly silent except for when Macklin quietly explained how fae weapons could be called for out of thin air.

  The actual weapon was pulverized by the owner to its essence, creating a token; easily carried and able to be called back into being by its owner. Unless a fae created their own weapons, they were exceedingly expensive to bargain from crafters, with higher quality going for higher rates. Verden press-forged blades were rare, and highly sought after.

  Macklin had reduced weapons of his making, taught by Cherokee warriors who revered him. Of spears, he had three tokens, which to Jane explained his sagging respite after his last weapon was thrown for the kill of the ogre. He only wished he had taken his bow tokens as well.

  As they made their way through thickets of slender trees and dense fog, Jane took the opportunity to openly admire Macklin's lithe form and graceful gait while she walked behind him. The muscles of his legs, from what she could see between his dark tartan kilt and mid-calf bog boots, were well-defined.

  He occasionally looked back to her to check on her progress, she assumed, and they would share quick, unspoken smiles. She felt secure with the brave, unearthly hunter leading the way, and the giant bear, Mix, close behind her; both moving with whispers of sound.

  As the land began to ascend and the mist began to thin, Jane saw azure blue skies in the distance. Once they reached higher ground, the sporadic patches of trees were of different, less ominous varieties. While twisted and gnarled, the trees beyond the foggy lowland had darker bark and offered leafy canopies.

  They soon came to a wall of sorts that stretched in either direction into the curving distance. It was made up of dense, thorny brambles as tall as Jane was. She noted with silent wonder that the brilliant blue sky began along the same line as the thorn wall, as if it somehow held the gloomy clouds at bay.

  Macklin simply gestured at the hedge barrier as he strolled toward it. A section compacted into itself, allowing their passage onto his holdings.

  Jane made only a few steps onto the short grass before she came to a standstill, staring in awe at the idyllic sylvan setting. Thick-bodied hickory trees were set randomly throughout the mostly level ground, their large golden leaves creating dappled shade in the warm, gentle breeze. Scattered bushes were full and vibrant, producing flowers of amazing colors. Butterflies with colors of even greater intensity than the foliage flitted throughout the sublime scenery.

  In the distance, a boulder-strewn brook ran lazily in front of a small wood cabin. The brook ran to her left, where it emptied into a large, sun-sparkled lake that curved away behind the cabin. Out on the horizon, a low range of purple, snow-capped mountains completed the tableau.

  After a few steps, Macklin looked back and saw Jane's reaction to his property. With a smile, he approached her and offered his hand. Jane silently accepted with a smile of her own. She felt a tingle run through her as his larger hand cupped hers. Macklin led her in the direction of the cabin by way of a winding flat-stone path.

  Jane looked for the source of the birdsong overhead, but only saw a handful of small creatures up in the trees. Those little animals were the size of squirrels, but resembled cats; that is, if a cat were to have six legs. She also noticed a few large hares that were striped like zebras, which boldly held their position as she, Macklin, and Mix passed by.

  The stone path curved to a wide stone bridge that arched over the clear-watered brook. Jane noticed the many mini-waterfalls the rocks made of the flowing water's course to the lake, their soft babble adding to the sense of tranquility.

  The cabin on the far side of the bridge was small, no larger than her play room, but had a deep wraparound porch. The roof was a low-angled A-frame design supported with thick logs and a stone chimney stack. There
was only one small window that Jane could see from her angle, centrally set on the side of the little place.

  Still gripping Macklin's warm hand, Jane followed him up the two stairs and onto the big porch. The medieval-style door was wide, framed by dark stone. He opened it with a push and let her enter first. Six feet beyond the threshold was a wall of river rock, forcing her to go left or right into the cabin proper. As Jane rounded the thick wall and peered beyond, she froze yet again.

  The interior of Macklin's home was vast, far beyond what its cozy exterior could contain. The wall she came around was actually a huge hearth, with another of equal size on the far end of the home, facing each other. Jane guessed it was over twenty strides between the two. The interior was open in a studio style with the pitched roof cresting at least thirty feet high overhead. On the far end was a rustic staircase that led to a loft, partly obscured by the fireplace wall. Jane took a few slow steps in, noting the eclectic variety of furnishings and décor.

  All of the chairs and both couches were mismatched, but in good shape. The thick-logged walls were adorned with weapons, banners, animal pelts, a tapestry of middle age design, various animal horns and racks, and a few colorful Indian blankets.

  The window, small from the outside, was a huge picture window inside, with its twin across from it in the expansive, rectangular cabin. The view to her left showed some of the grounds and a portion of the lake, but the treetops and sky were cut off by the porch's overhang. The opposite view showed more of the sylvan grounds, bordering an enormous fenced field that held oddly-colored cattle. The low, snowy mountains in the distance seemed less than a day's walk away.

  With a gentle hand, Macklin invited Jane to peruse at her leisure. Mix ambled around them and plopped down on a large section of green shag rug in front of the closest unlit hearth. She walked across the hardwood floor set with throw rugs and approached one section of wall decorations. There was a silken, black and tan heraldic banner from the renaissance period next to a felt pennant of a sports club called the Baltimore Orioles.

  Jane turned to him with a lopsided grin and said, "You have odd tastes, Macklin."

  He didn't try to hide his embarrassment. "Forgive my disparate decoration, Jane. Some items were found during Verden travels and hunts. The rest came from my sire; he deals in glamour-rich lost items. I obviously do not have an eye for design, but each item holds value to me."

  Jane nodded with an understanding smile, and then continued looking over all of the odd possessions. She brushed her hand over a hung blanket and considered its design. "What style of pattern is this? I don't recognize it."

  From somewhere behind her, Macklin said, "That's Native American, Cherokee to be specific, given to me in the Verden autumn of 1791." Jane turned to look at him with disbelief as he reminisced further. "A few of their braves showed me how to fashion a better bow and fine spearheads. Their tribe referred to me as 'Nunnehi'. For humans, they were a fine people."

  "But how can that be? This, as you say, is over two centuries old, yet it looks freshly woven."

  Macklin set down a ceramic bowl he was admiring and looked at her. "That is one of the many things that work differently here, Jane. In the Lore, items only age to disrepair if they have no lingering emotional response from their owner. That is, they retain their luster or resiliency if they are thought of fondly here. And, as you can see, I have a collection of cherished objects." He stepped over next to a bulky armchair and held up a pristine, mahogany Neapolitan mandolin by its short neck. "This, for example, is from the early 1700s. I truly enjoy its sound, and I've got a fair hand with it, if I do say so."

  Jane's forehead crinkled with a thoughtful frown. "So, does that mean that even Mix, who might have a shorter life otherwise, will live as long as you do as long as you treasure him?"

  "Exactly right; as I said, different rules apply in the Lore… and sometimes none at all."

  "Well, then," Jane wondered, avoiding any further talk of the incomprehensible Lore, "you've been to the Americas in its early days, sure, and you probably got that gorgeous mandolin from, like, Italy or somewhere. Where else have you been?"

  Setting the instrument back against the chair, Macklin answered, "I suppose I should clarify. When I was young, my sire took me with him to many locations so that I could later venture to them on my own. Once we fae go to a place, we can always call it back via bridge travel when we choose. If a fae attempts to bridge to a formerly unknown location, it usually leads to failure, and sometimes disaster. I am barely of the median age, and have not long ago claimed my holdings after enough glamour was accrued. My first lone gate, or portal - or door to you - was in your later 1700s to North America. As for the mandolin, my sire gifted me with it when I claimed my holdings."

  With her eyebrows pulled together as she tried to visualize the given information, Jane still pressed her original question. "Then you've only been to North America?"

  "No, no, I've visited many locations, but mostly by temporary bridges. I've only acquired enough glamour for two permanent bridges thus far. To answer your question, though, I have visited three locations in North America, one in Northern Rhodesia, if it still called that -"

  "I don't think so," Jane interrupted, "not for a while now."

  Macklin shrugged. "I'm not too surprised; it was a hectic land then. I've also spent some time in the black forest of Germany, some remote woods in the northwest of Ireland, once to central Australia, and my latest bridge was to Scotland. I visited a lonely old human on his deathbed, and he gifted me with one of his clan kilts before I eased his passing." He pulled at it to admire its weave. "This is the clan Ramsay hunting tartan; striking, is it not?"

  Jane took a moment to study it, and also the opportunity to admire his strong legs again. "Yes," she said softly, "quite fetching... and goes well with your hair and eyes." She tore her gaze away to distractedly look at some trinkets that lay on a table in front of her.

  Thinking nothing of her reaction, Macklin walked over to what Jane considered his kitchen, although it held no modern amenities other than cabinets and a simple sink. From a crystal decanter, he filled a plastic Christmas cup full of an orange liquid. "Pardon my manners," he said after a sip, "but if the stories are true and you partook of any Lore food or drink, then you could not return home. I'm not sure if that would work in your case, but I thought it best not to take the chance. Please don't think me rude."

  Jane hesitated before she replied. "That was thoughtful, cheers. Em, where's your bathroom? I must look a tara mess and hoped to freshen up quick-like."

  "Oh, well, that..." Macklin looked uncomfortable as he set his cup down on the wood counter. "You see, Jane, we fae... well, we expel waste in a different manner than humans if we choose. I have no need for a commode."

  Completely bewildered, Jane could only say, "Em, right. Do you at least have a mirror?"

  Macklin brightened and hastily walked toward a large desk with drawers. "Yes, yes, I certainly do. I even have a brush, if you desire." He dug through a low drawer and produced a small vanity mirror with a pink frame, followed by a fine oval brush with rubies set into the handle.

  Jane stepped closer to accept the items, but stopped short before she touched them. The mirror was the cheap variety she might find in a chemist's shop, while the brush looked like it belonged to royalty. Macklin continued to hold them out until she hesitantly took them.

  While Jane tried to fix her frayed hair, Macklin offered her a seat on a plush Victorian sofa. As she slowly sat, he took a seat opposite her on a tan leather couch. A shiny mahogany coffee table sat between them, holding a bowl of strange fruit and an archaic, golden music box. He sat on the edge of his seat, put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands.

  When she set the brush and mirror aside, he said, "I suppose you have many questions before you go, so I thought to answer at least a few of them. I also do this for selfish reasons, Jane. Although we met under strange circumstances, I am fond of your company. If y
our gate takes you back to an unwanted place and time, then only think of my home and another of your gates will return you to my holdings. You are welcome here."

  Jane was touched by Macklin's sincere words, and had to look away from his captivating ocean eyes. She focused on her own small, clasped hands and softly said, "Thank you, and that's a grand offer. I hope my bridge takes me home, to the right time, but I'd miss your pure savage property… and you, and even Mix, if it all works out. You've been kind and patient, not to mention saving my arse a time or two out there." She looked up at him with an impish grin. "You're not hard to look at, either, so it won't be as easy for me to leave as I first thought." Jane dipped her head again with a broad smile and red cheeks.

  Macklin grinned at the compliment and at Jane's reaction to her own admission. He then took a deep breath and said, "Let's get you some answers before you go, shall we? I wouldn't want you going home more confused than when you were in the Forlorn."

  Wondering where to begin, Macklin stared off in thought for a few moments. He finally turned his eyes back to her. "I suppose it is best to first explain how -" He stopped in mid-sentence and quickly turned his head up and away, as if catching a scent. While still looking off in the distance, he said, "There is someone on my land."

  "There is?" Jane asked. "How can you tell?"

  Ignoring the question, Macklin stood and marched with purpose toward the front door. As Mix got up to join him, he said over his shoulder, "You will be safe indoors, Jane. I hope not to be long." The hunter and his huge pet quickly walked around the hearth wall and out of sight.

  As soon as she heard the front door creak open, Jane ignored Macklin's words of caution and followed in his wake; she'd be more anxious to just sit there alone and would rather be near him, even if more danger came for them.

  Jane came to the open door and saw Macklin standing on the porch against the simple railing, while Mix was just beyond the stairs on the stone walkway. They both faced the small bridge, not ten yards distant.

  Jane looked along with them to the small figure that casually sat on one of the low retainer walls at the apex of the stone bridge's arch. He was roughly Gideon's size, although a bit taller and not as plump. He wore matching tweed slacks and vest without a coat, with a cuffed white shirt underneath. Under his brown bowler hat was unkempt tawny hair and a chin beard. The little man nonchalantly puffed on a cob pipe as he looked back in their direction.

  Macklin produced a spear, holding it in his hand like a staff, and called out to the stranger. "You have come unsolicited onto my holdings. State your business or be off."

  Seemingly undaunted and unconcerned, the uninvited fae replied with a smooth brogue, "And greetings back, ye haughty young prick. What kind of welcome is that for a poor leprechaun on a mission o' goodwill? Fuckin' tragic, that's what." He then took another deep puff of his pipe.

  From near the doorway, Jane mumbled, "Leprechaun?"

  Put off-guard by the fae's unexpected reply, Macklin readdressed the little fae with a more diplomatic tact. "I am Macklin of the Fair, progeny of Merrit Charm-monger. If your intention here is peaceful, then you are welcome on this occasion onto my land. To whom do I speak?"

  With a crooked grin, the leprechaun replied, "I thank ye fer the consideration, master Macklin. I'd be Vaughn, lately o' Cornwall, soon ta be titled and dream-crafter o' high renown, I am. I've done me a bit o' barter with yer pater in the past, and was a fair haggle, it was. Now that we've got the piss and pleasantries out o' the way, I didn't exactly be comin' here on yer account."

  With a frown, Macklin asked, "Then what is your errand of goodwill?"

  Vaughn inhaled from his pipe and then took it out from between his lips. Exhaling smoke through his nostrils, he used the pipe to point at Jane. "That young lass, Miss McCarthy; she be o' interest to a certain dryad elder, she is, and would be ta others if they'd be knowin' more about her, I'm sure. Do ya be havin' any idea what this human girl can do, lad?"

  "Does everyone in the Lore know my name?" Jane asked rhetorically.

  Macklin ignored Jane's comment and answered Vaughn. "I am aware of her gift, yes."

  "And what do ye think that makes her, pray tell?"

  "Among other good qualities," Macklin replied candidly, "it makes her special." Behind him, Jane blushed furiously.

  Vaughn shook his head with a sad, sour expression. "It be makin' her a commodity, ya dense, enamored pile o' shite. I swear," he said mostly to himself, "it's like I be tryin' ta talk to a dog about the stars above, and all he does is bark at the fuckin' sky." Vaughn then directed his words back to Macklin. "While ye've been eyein' up the fine mare and elements know what else, there be a powerful bitch out on the scout fer her, I tell ye true. Now get yer head out o' yer arse and think it through, ya daft boy."

  Macklin looked at Jane as she came to stand next to him at the porch railing. "The wisp... The pink one that lured you out," he said quietly. "It came out from your bridge, from behind you."

  Jane nodded up at him in agreement. She was growing concerned and afraid again; partly from the conversation between the two fae, and also from Macklin's worried expression.

  "I'd wager that'd be an informant, I would." Vaughn interjected. "Soon enough, yer likely ta be paid a visit by Saraid the Moon-floozy, or at least one o' her wick-dipped lackeys."

  Macklin asked with alarm, "You mean Saraid Moon Maiden!"

  Vaughn shrugged. "I'll be likin' my term better; it's more befittin' the harlot."

  Afraid of what the answer might be, Jane still looked up at Macklin and asked, "Who is this Saraid woman?"

  "She is a powerful and influential dryad elder. She'll want to use your gift for her own purposes; you'd be a slave, a tool," he answered, and then turned back to Vaughn. "And what is your role in all this, good messenger?" Macklin's question was laced with accusation.

  "Ah, what a fine and eloquent thanks I be gettin' fer me troubles." Vaughn said, and then pointed his pipe at Macklin. "Never ya be mindin' me motivation fer offerin' aid, ye ungrateful shit. I'd just be glad fer the counsel, if I be in yer place. I shoulda been expectin' a lack o' fuckin' appreciation from yer sort, I should." He then grunted with contempt and shook his head.

  Vaughn's words left Macklin feeling shamed and humbled; he'd been taught better, and knew by the leprechaun's aura that he wasn't misleading him. Accepting the blame for his disrespect, the Fair fae nodded once and said, "I apologize for my implied allegation, and was remiss to thank you for the warning. If you choose, I will recognize a debt owed."

  Vaughn stared at him for a few seconds, and then refused the offer with an irritated flick of his small hand as he looked away.

  Jane spoke up to soothe the offended leprechaun. "Please, mister lepre - em, Vaughn, don't take Macklin's defense of me as an insult. I've made him keep his guard up since he found me out in that tara foggy place. He's only looking out for my best interests just like you are... for some reason. I can't thank you both enough for that."

  Grudgingly placated, Vaughn looked back to Jane. "Well enough, I suppose, young miss. Now ye be sayin' yer farewells and get yerself gone afore trouble comes visitin'." He directed his next words to Macklin. "I'll be keepin' me place if it be allowed while ya see the lass off. I'd be havin' words with whoever might be comin' ta claim Jane as property, and a few other topics at that."

  Macklin nodded to Vaughn, and then ushered Jane back inside the cabin. Mix lingered to keep the ornery guest company. The leprechaun eyed the huge animal warily.

  Macklin turned to Jane as they stood in front of the nearest hearth. "How do you create your portals?" he asked.

  She fidgeted. "I just need to draw a door big enough to walk through, so I'll need something to draw with and a wall or something to draw it on."

  With a quick nod, Macklin hurried across the cabin to a tall chest of drawers near the loft stairs. As he began sifting through books, loose jewelry, and small boxes holding various items, Jane stood in place and looked around hi
s expansive home. While Macklin continued his search, she said, "No one is going to believe all this."

  Macklin looked up and said, "We fae rely on that, but perhaps I can part with a trinket." He gathered up a few items from the open drawers and came back over to Jane. He set an old leather carry-case and a small box down on a nearby director's chair, and then handed her a bulky instant camera. "I believe it still works," he said, "but when I once took a picture of Mix, his image came out blurry and warped. Try it out anyway, and take them with you."

  Jane accepted the camera with a cheerless smile. She moved around the cabin and took photos, setting the developing film images aside as she selected different angles and subjects. She studied the photos after a number of shots were taken, and saw that they were all closer to the appearance of detailed paintings rather than reality. The two images with Macklin in them showed him to be a vague, distorted shape against the background. Only seven shots were taken before the camera ran out of material.

  While Jane studied the photos, Macklin grabbed the other items from the chair. He first handed her the small, sturdy box and opened it. As Jane took it in her free hand, she noted its detail. The jewelry box, made of silver and lined with blue velvet, was encrusted with many small precious gems around the sides and lid in geometric patterns. She stared at it, slack-jawed.

  Macklin said, "Keep the photos in this."

  Jane looked up at him, shocked. "Macklin, I can't accept this! It must be feckin' priceless!"

  He grinned with arched eyebrows. "Not so priceless that someone set it aside and forgot about it. Keep it, please. I offer it freely."

  Jane set the photos inside of it, shut the lid, and then held the box with reverence and studied its jeweled designs. Macklin waited a moment and then handed her the leather pouch. She accepted it with a curious look on her face.

  "It has a few old tubes of paint and a brush or two in it," Macklin explained. "The human artist has passed on, so I'm sure he has no need of it. The name at the bottom is C. Monet, whoever that was."

  Jane looked back up at him. "Claude Monet? This belonged to Monet? Holy fuck, Macklin!"

  He shrugged. "It was one of the things my sire couldn't barter off, so he gave it to me. You can use the paint to draw your door." He walked over to a large tapestry that hung near to the floor. It was held by ropes at the top corners that rested on a hook above it. He pulled the lower end away from the wall and flipped it over to a blank, tan, ribbed canvas with hints of stitching showing through. He turned back and said, "I hope this will do."

  Jane approached and set the held items down on a nearby antique loo table. After applying black paint directly onto the brush, she drew a rudimentary door with lines for hinges. After setting the brush down and picking up her sparkling jewelry box, Jane turned to Macklin.

  "Although our time together has been short," Macklin said wistfully, looking down at her with a faint smile, "know that I will miss you, Jane McCarthy." He hesitated before continuing. "Perhaps, if you'd allow it, I could come visit you sometime?"

  Jane beamed a bright smile up at him. "I'd like that very much."

  There was an awkward silence as their eyes held each other's gaze. Finally, Macklin looked away and gestured to the drawing. "You'd best be off. Keep my offer in mind." Jane nodded as she turned toward the door. "Just think of home, Jane, and your bridge will take you there."

  Facing the back of the tapestry, Jane said, "Yes; I'll be going home." She looked over shoulder to him and said, "And just after, I'll think of Macklin of the Fair. Thank you for everything."

  Macklin lightly caressed her soft cheek in response. Jane leaned into his touch for a moment and then faced her door once more. After a few seconds of concentration, the simple lines formed into a tangible portal. Jane pushed the door open with her free hand and looked at the darkness beyond.

  In an unexpected move, she spun back to Macklin and used her free hand yet again, using it to grab him by his shirt collar. She kissed him sensuously and with quick intensity, and he responded in kind. Just as Macklin was about to place his arms around her in hopes to let the passionate moment linger, Jane broke the kiss and hopped through her gate.

  Macklin said a silent farewell as the door closed of its own volition. He stared at Jane's portal until it faded into lines of fresh paint.