Firebrand (2 page)

Gisparry, Ireland – sometime later

Marcus Drake rubbed his wife’s burnished curls, then rested his hand on her slim shoulder. “Erin, I won’t be gone long, I promise. Two days at the most.”

She didn’t look at him, but continued to stare out the bedroom window of the Harrigan Abbey Bed and Breakfast. Raising her hand, she rested her palm on his fingers, her touch feeling to him more reciprocal than affectionate. He waited. Still, she said nothing. Then gathering his gear, he walked to the door and with a last look, left.

In the parlor of the converted abbey, a man in jeans and old tweed coated waited for him. “Top ’o the morning Mr. Drake.” He extended his hand. “I’m Sean McTavish. I’ll be yer guide for the next few days. I trust you slept well.”

“Like a baby.” Rawness gripped his heart with the implication in the simple metaphor, but he ignored it. “Please call me Marcus.”

“Ah, ’tis the clear air comin’ down from the mountains that does it, and Marcus it is.”

“Shall we get started then?”

“That we shall.”

Another type of vibration gripped Marcus as slid into the passenger’s seat of Sean’s jeep, a feeling that told Marcus his decision to work for Eric G. Sinclair might not have been the right one.

Eric Sinclair was an American real estate magnate whose goal was to have at least one luxury resort in every country in the world. Marcus had signed on as a surveyor in Sinclair’s conglomerate a year ago. While the money was exceptional, something about Sinclair set his nerves on edge, something Marcus could not quite put into words, something that made his skin prickle with uneasiness. He ignored it best he could, the money coming in handy to help Erin.

Sean shut the automobile door behind Marcus then got into the driver’s seat. He turned the key and the car roared to life.

They drove for twenty minutes before Sean spoke. “You’ve been with us nearly a week and your Missus has hardly been seen.”

The muscle in Marcus’ jaw twitched. “Erin is… not feeling very well,” He whispered.

“Perhaps if she spent a little time in the countryside of her ancestors her strength would return.”

“It goes a little deeper than that.”

“May I inquire as to the nature of her illness?”

“She isn’t ill, exactly. More heartsick than anything.”

Sean’s eyes never left the road, but his bushy auburn eyebrows lifted with interest. “I don’t mean to pry, but those brown eyes of hers are tinged with a sadness ’tis hard to miss, but easy to recognize. Could it be a child she’s wanting?”

Marcus looked at Sean and then quickly looked away. “We were hoping to visit some of the orphanages here, but I think she’s afraid of failing again.” He heard his voice crack and pressed his lips together in frustration.

It wasn’t easy for Marcus to talk about the inability for Erin to have a child. After more than three years of trying and testing, when the doctors told Erin that she would probably never be able to get pregnant, she refused to give up. But after another five years of trying to adopt Erin retreated into a world she created for herself, a world in which he had no place.

“There’s many a bairn in this world that could use a good home. Moira, that’s me wife, has a cousin who works in Dublin. I’ll have her make some inquiries if you like,” McTavish continued.

Marcus shifted in his seat. He saw a strength in the older man’s profile that comforted him somehow. “I’d appreciate that Sean. We’re willing to pay whatever necessary…” He stopped when he saw Sean’s mouth furrow with a frown.

“Children are not brought and sold like cattle, laddie. If it’s the will of the Almighty, you’ll get what’s due ya.”

“I meant no insult,” Marcus replied softly before training his eyes on the road ahead. It seemed as barren and empty as his wife’s womb and for a moment he thought of turning back. “I just want Erin to come back to me.”

“Aye, I can see that.” Sean let out a loud sigh.

“I was hoping this trip would be the start, but it’s turned into more work than I had expected.”

Sean nodded. “So it’s a fine hotel you’re wantin’ to build here in County Down,” he said trying to find the middle ground.

“Not me. I’m just on the advance team.”

“The gentlemen what come before ye took the mayor by storm with his fancy promises, but the people around here aren’t so sure. Tradition is what’s important. And we like the quiet.”

“I can understand why you wouldn’t want this land invaded by tourists and the like, but I have a job to do.”

“We’ll see. The Mountains of Mourne don’t give up their secrets easily,” Sean replied. “It is said the mountains sweep down to the sea so they cin rid themselves of destructive sprites during cleansin’ rains. Sweeps them right out to ocean, they say.”

Marcus nodded his acknowledgement, but said nothing. He was more interested in the countryside. The road had been skirting between the foothills and the Irish Sea for some fifty kilometers now. Marcus had seen fishing villages and historic and crumbling castles, but no place for the high-end resort he’d been sent to site.

“It’s been a long ride, Sean, and I still haven’t seen enough available acreage for what my employer has in mind.”

“A little farther. ’Tis worth the wait.”

Sean followed the road inland and soon the vista gave way to a flatter landscape of moorland, purple with heather. Abundant lush pastures, the result of plentiful rainfall, seemed to stroll near a forest. The rounded peaks of the Mountains of Mourne now rose behind them.

Sean brought the car to a stop. “From here we go on foot.”

Marcus could hear the calls of rooks and wheatear as they flew from tree to tree-seeking worms and flies common in the grasslands. Meadow vetchling with its clusters of paled yellow flowers climbed up tall grasses and purple Marsh Thistle marked the wet spots but nothing substantial on which to build.

“Which way?” he said, hoisting up his backpack shoulders.

“There, through the rock wall.”

They hiked in silence through the tall grass, the occasional scampering of a normally nocturnal pine marten startling Marcus. In the distance a corncrake rose, disturbed by the movement of the two men nearing her nest and a red deer ducked into the safety of a small clump of trees. The pathway suddenly split and Marcus began to head down the left fork.

“No laddie not that way, there’s nothing there but the Dolmens. Not a place for your hotel. The Portal Tombs go back to 2000 BC. I won’t be having American graffiti on those megaliths. We go this way.” With a toss of his chin, he started down the right path.

They walked until the sky began to darken in twilight and came to dense hedges with seemingly nothing beyond. Marcus pushed through the last thicket and ran out of land. Sean grabbed the back of his coat as he teetered on the edge of a limestone cliff. Below, slowly flowing clear blue water divided the ridge from a magnificent tree-lined meadow with hedgerows scoring it like a patchwork quilt.

“Easy, laddie,” Sean cautioned pulling Marcus away from the edge, “Lest ya fall into the Boyne Lough.”

Marcus could not move. He had never seen anything like it. It was perfect. He could see Eden.

Sean ringed an area on the ridge with rocks and built a fire inside. It soon drew flickering fireflies and fluttering moths. He spooned some stew onto his plate. “Are you sure you di’na want some?”

“No thanks.” Marcus watched the moths and fireflies dance around the undulating flames.

“It is said that these fireflies are really fairies spying on us,” Sean quipped. “Me, I do believe it. Me grandmother told tales about these woods. About how they are filled with magic.” He held out a chipped mug. “Here, this tea’ll set ya to rights.”

A chill had crept up his body, so Marcus welcomed the cup. After taking a sip, he pulled it away from his lips and furrowed his dark brows.

Sean winked at him. “Just a nip of good Old Irish Johnny I added. To take the chill off.”

Marcus grinned and took another drink. Warmth slid down his throat to his belly and soon warmed even his toes. He set the blue enamelware cup on a nearby rock. “I think the magic is in the whiskey.”

Sean leaned closer and whispered. “And more. Me grandfather told us that his great grandfather saw one once.”

“One what?”

“A fairy. A beautiful one.”

Marcus smiled. “I’m sure she was. Tall, slim with white hair and impossibly large eyes, the color of this forest.”

“How’d ya know?” Sean leaned forward.

“Because she lives in every fairy tale book ever written.”

“Perhaps you are right, but he swears that he saw her just the same.”

“More Irish Johnny perhaps.” Marcus slapped his knees with the palms of his hands and rose. “I think it’s time for a little nature walk. I’d like to get down to that meadow while I still have the light of the full moon.” He smiled. “Maybe I’ll even find one of those fairies for myself.”

Sean settled back. “Every tale has its own bit of the truth laddie, ye best never forget that. Now if ye don’t mind I’ll be catchin’ forty winks before we start back.” Sean hunkered down on the ground with his head on a thick fallen branch and pulled his wool tweed cap down over his face.

Marcus walked to edge of the cliff and looked down. He realized he could zigzag his way down to the water by using the small ledges cut in the limestone layers over time by the water. Slowly he descended until he found sound footing on a small clearing next to the Lough. As he foot touched the soft soil, a breeze rose and tingled through his hair.

Downstream he could see what was left of a stonewall bridge snaking its way across the water. Although he was losing the moonlight, he crossed.

On the ridge above, Sean watched Marcus negotiate the boulders, a smile on his face. “My part is done.” He turned back to the trees and waited.

The light first appeared as a tiny star suspended a few feet above the ground. It gradually grew until a blue bell-shaped aura formed around the core, which now shimmered with the flickering of an assortment of light orbs. The form gelled, the light now concentrated in leaf-shaped adjuncts with shooting arcs along veined pathways. Then he was there.

“I am Baig, the Retriever, Keeper of Available Wishes. You have done well. One wish given, one to give; one duty done, one yet to come.”

The moment he parted the brush on the other side Marcus froze mid-step. He didn’t dare move, mostly because he was sure he had lost his mind. Before him sat a woman, with forest green eyes that shimmered and sparkled even in the darkness of the night, and as beautiful as anything he could ever have imagined. With wings. He looked more closely. And a baby.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. It couldn’t be true, not this apparition. But it was a fairy, something that, only moments before, he dismissed as invention of Sean’s imagination. When he opened his eyes, he was sure she would disappear in a swirl of his own fatigue, but she remained

A sound came up behind her, a sound like nothing Marcus had ever heard before, or ever wanted to hear again. Fear darkened the small creature’s eyes and she gently withdrew the babe her breast and held it out to him.

“Azoazo zrto voh!”

The sound of what had to be her voice slid over his mind like fine silk. “I can’t understand you,” he said to her.

“
Azoazo, koclho wyz yll zryo
!” She glanced above her, fear deepening in her eyes. She pulled the baby back and held it close to her.

“Is something wrong with your child?” He tried to communicate to her with his hands. He might not be able to understand her, but he knew sorrow when he saw it, and this lovely creature’s face was filled with it. She held the baby out to him again and everything inside him urged him to take it.

Suddenly, a male figure stepped out of the wood and the delicate fairy relaxed and cuddled the child back to her bosom. The man was tall, his hair as white as snow and although his face was smooth with not even a hint of a wrinkle, Marcus somehow felt that the being was ancient. When he looked back at the fairy woman, he saw a single tear slide down her cheek.

“
Ko zyhlkg, si ermgvyoh.”
The woodland man spoke gently to her then looked at Marcus.

Still frozen on the moment, Marcus found the courage to speak. “My name is Marcus Drake.”

The being took a step closer. “I am Tolhram, High Mage of the fairies of Gilsparry. We know of you Drakeman. You are the killer of Everwood.”

Marcus took a step back. “You speak English?”

“I have made it so you can understand us.”

“This woman, is she your wife?” he asked.

The woodland man’s eyes held a sadness that Marcus had seen in Erin’s. “My daughter, Alara.”

“Is she hurt?” Marcus asked.

“No, but her heart is in turmoil, for the life of this child is in peril.”

A shadow passed over them and the small woman stiffened. For a moment the specter seemed to take over casting an evil blackness over them.

“Dullahan!” she whispered gazing at the sky and pulling the baby closer to her. The Mage held his palm skyward. The darkness held a moment then seemed to lighten.

Marcus pressed the heels of both hands to his eyes. “I must be dreaming.”

“Not a dream. Your coming here has been foretold.”

A thousand questions sprung into Marcus’ mind, but he asked none of them. “I don’t understand any of this,” Her said.

“For over 6000 years, the Rowan has told of the coming.”

Marcus’ head began to pound as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. “Must be the whiskey, “ he muttered.

The Mage continued. “The Rowan lives in the wood of an ancient tree whose roots are not in the ground, but in the branches of another tree. In exchange for use of some of the wood, the Druids gave Rowan the gift of long life and prophecy.” Tolhram reached into the pouch he had secured on his belt. He turned his hand palm up and blew across it toward Marcus. “Behold.”

Marcus felt a stinging dust cover his face and closed his eyes against the burning. When he opened them, it was as though he saw the world in a glass orb. He could make out an old man with hooded eyes set close to a large nose. A generous mouth centered beneath. Lines of age and wisdom crossed his face in a grainy pattern. He seemed cloaked in the gnarled bark of a large tree with branches spread over a great distance. Around him tiny creatures danced. Looking more closely, Marcus could see they appeared human although they were neither male nor female. From time to time one or another would lean and speak to the old man, then unfurl wings of dancing starlight and fly away.