Dragons over england, p.21
Dragons Over England, page 21
"What?" Falen squawked, "What did you say?" The alarm in her voice brought Hasifar to full attention.
"What is it?" the centaur asked.
Spheros looked back and forth between them. "I was jus' tellin' how the leader o' the group signalled 'em t'use the nets —"
"No, no," Falen snapped impatiently, "describe th' leader for Hass."
"Okee. 'E was a biggun, mebbe 5'10", an' about two hundred pounds. Havin' a long cloak-an-coat, I couldna tell for sure."
"Tell him what the human was wearing," Falen prodded.
"'E had this long gray scarf. It were almost alive, twistin' in th' wind. An' he waved this short staff around like a maniac. I don' think the 'umans knew it, but it was a magic staff — all gnarled an' twisted wi' spells."
Hasifar went rigid. "That man matches the description o' the spaleen what ran Hasifar outta 'is village," Falen explained to the confused faery.
"Ah! But 'ow is that possible? Ye were only run out a fortnight or so ago weren't ye?" Spheros queried. "Me people were enslaved months agone."
"But what about th' scarfed man? Has he been there all the time?"
The cyprium thought. He looked at Hasifar. The centaur looked like he'd been caught by a will-o'-the-wisp, the faery thought; all starin' an gone ...
"Yeah . yeah," Falen looked intensely at Spheros, and he relented, "well, no, I guess not. It seemed like it, though. 'E were the one that enchanted the cages weekly, though; he couldna hae been gone for more than a week at a time."
"An' a human couldna hae gotten from Edinburgh to Hasifar's village an' back wi'in a week." Falen looked puzzled.
"Unless he were one'a them Earthers — an' went outside Aysle." Spheros provided. But he still looked troubled, "But e'en then, 'e'd have difficulty."
"Not if he was a wizard." Both Spheros and Falen looked up. Hasifar had spoken, but he was still rigid, and his voice reflected the hollowness within him.
"A wizard could do it. A wizard could do it all."
***
A little more discussion, and the centaur, the harpy, and the faery came to a decision. "We'll have to join the Warrior," Falen said, "if there's a wizard behind both yuir outcastings, there must be somethin' evil afoot."
"But what?" Spheros, originally strongly for the sea-crossing, now was in doubt. "Why would a wizard do all this? I mean, I kin almost see the mess in Edinburgh — we were 'elpin' the people there resist the Invasion — but what about Hasifar? Sounds t'me 'e was all for sittin' out th' war."
Hasifar, having decided to cross the water, took no part in the discussion. He was readying the trio's meager supplies.
Falen, however, was still debating. "Kin y'not figure it?" Spheros shook his head, and Falen continued in a very low voice, "'e's a stormer."
"A what?"
"I fergot; y'weren't involved much in the Invasion," Falen explained. "When we were gearin' t'come over— e'en though I wasn't with 'em, I heard — the parties were t'keep their eyes peeled for those that did the . near impossible." Falen glanced over her wing at Hasifar. "I think Hass moved hisself inta that category when he saved you."
Spheros looked first surprised, then shocked, and then a little ill — at least Falen interpreted the paleness of his silvery-blue skin as discomfort. "I were that close?"
Falen nodded, "Not only that," she continued, almost whispering now, "but 'e used a spell 'e was certain couldna work. It was a general 'ealing spell — not a surgery spell. But it did. Yuir breathin' 'ere 'cause that centaur is a stormer!"
Just then, Hasifar came up, and both dissembled into a discussion of the best way to cross the water to Europe.
"If either o' us could fly," Falen put forward, "we could go across an' get help."
"As it is now, I don't think either of you will be flying for quite a while." If at all. His mental voice added cynically.
Both the former fliers looked uncomfortable, and, for a moment, Hasifar wondered whether they sensed his unspoken thought.
No. They don't know.
They put together the rest of their things in silence and Hasifar helped the two onto his back.
"We'll have to make for the shoreline, and hope to find a boat we can ... acquire." Hasifar's voice sounded strange, even to himself. Stronger than ever before, but also . somehow sinister.
No, I'm just worried.
Hasifar walked carefully through the woods, listening for any noise. He heard nothing except the gentle clop of his hooves and the occasional crunch of a branch or dried leaves. He was filled with an eerie sensation. He became very aware of the weight — however little it was — of his two companions.
Leave them.
He stopped. "Did you hear something?" Hasifar asked.
Spheros said, "Nothing. What as it?" His voice was scratchy in the centaur's sensitive ears.
"It sounded like ." what business is it of yours? "No ... it was nothing."
The woods seemed endless, and there were so many irritations. Hasifar's back was growing stiff, keeping it level for his passengers. Occasionally, he would misstep, and he could feel the harpy's claws and the cyprium's fingers grope for balance.
"'Ow much farther, Hass? It didna seem this far goin' in."
The harpy's voice broke the silence and irritated Hasifar. "Shut up. I'm listening." He said sharply.
"Well, excuse me, laddie."
A long pause followed.
"I think we're almost there, Falen."
"Thanks, Hass."
"Sorry." Then, "I'm feeling a little worried."
"Why?" Broke in Spheros. His voice is like squeaky chalk, Hasifar thought. Why'd I have to save him?
"Hass," Falen said, her voice concerned, "you've stopped. What's wrong?"
The centaur's torso pivoted to face his two passengers. "Get off my back." He said coldly.
Falen looked up into her friend's face, and what she saw was not pleasant. It was still his face, but not friendly or even worried. It looked like the face he wore back when he saved her from the stoning—but the one he turned towards his victims. Quickly, she slid off his back.
But Spheros was not moved. "'Ere, now, Hasifar; what's goin' on? We been walkin' for less than an hour — it canna be time for a break yet."
"'We been walkin''?" Hasifar mocked, "Well, since 'we've' been walking, I guess 'we' won't mind sitting." And with that, Hasifar bucked strongly, trying to shake the little pest off his back.
But Spheros held on tenaciously. "What're you doin', y'mulehead? Y'wanna kill me?!"
Falen screamed, "Jump off, Spheros! He means it!"
But the cyprium was adamant, "No, Falen; we've got t'get goin' before any more mischief is made on our behalf, an' I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some horse-flies' dinner slow us down 'cause his back's tired!"
That did it. Hasifar saw again the red mist come across his eyes, "All right," he yelled, "I've had enough! Be damned, will you?! All right!"
Hasifar lowered his human torso and performed a maneuver known to his tribe as the "centaur's roll." It was a deadly buck that no horse could even duplicate. He bent almost to the ground and then flipped his horse's body over, sending it crashing to the ground. Using his muscular human arms, he was barely able to continue the motion that would leave him upright.
The maneuver worked. The troublesome faery had to jump or be squashed. And it turned out to be a combination of both. The faery jumped as the centaur's lower half flipped around, but he was unable to get away from the crashing bulk entirely.
"Yaaah!" Spheros screamed as his leg was crushed under the centaur. Falen screamed also, half-running, half-flying to the faery's side.
"What th' 'ell didya do that for, Hass?" she yelled as the centaur righted himself.
Hasifar looked down at the little beings below, and an urge to strike out with his hooves became almost overwhelming.
No, that isn't right.
The thought was like a cold bucket of water in his face. The red mist cleared, and he saw his two friends, one in great pain, on the turf below.
"Spheros! Falen . are you all right?"
Spheros continued to writhe, muttering curses in his native tongue, but Falen looked up accusingly.
"Ye coulda killed him, y'horse's ass!"
Her anger was a flame, but Hasifar fought the inferno that threatened to consume him again.
"I . I didn't mean to, Falen," his voice trembled, "I don't know what came over me."
She studied his face, and then, as if reserving judgement, said, "Well, help me with 'im now — if ye can."
"I can."
Hasifar went and found two dried sticks, each about the size of Spheros' broken leg. Then, despite the faery's curses — at least he didn't shoot lightning bolts — the centaur studied the wound.
"It's as I thought; a clean break."
"'Ow bleeding considerate of you, zurchus dra!" The cyprium cursed.
I deserve that, Hasifar thought, but he continued, "I think I can fix this. I know a spell we use to bind legbones together — but it takes two to cast it."
"What do I do?" Falen asked. Her voice was carefully neutral, but it still stung.
"I'll actually cast the spell, but I need you to hold one stick against his lower leg — the unbroken one."
She gripped the stick in her left claw and hopped over. "Like this?"
"Yes. Now — whatever happens, don't move that stick! I'll do the rest."
Hasifar tried to put all the strange anger and pain out of his mind as he worked himself up to the spell. He'd never done it before — it was a difficulty procedure, and if he didn't do it right, he would be worse off than before.
After a few mumbled phrases, Hasifar touched the end of his stick to Falen's, then to Spheros' whole leg, then the broken one. Then he placed it beside the leg like a splint. Over the next hour, he repeated the procedure many times. By the end of the process, he was exhausted.
Spheros' eyes opened. "Th' pain's gone!" He looked down at his leg. Aside from a few purplish-silver bruises, it looked whole.
"You can stop holding the other stick now, Falen," the exhausted centaur breathed. He felt like he'd run for days and been put away wet. His irrational anger at his companions had totally blown away like it had never existed, leaving only a hollow ache.
"Spheros," he said haltingly, "I'm so —"
The cyprium jumped up, his eyes bright and his grin wide, "Ne'er you mind, horse- ... Has. Ne'er you mind. Y'made it better; that's all I need t'know!" The cyprium hopped off, presumably to stretch his leg out.
Hasifar turned to Falen, "I really don't know what happened, Falen. Honest."
She looked him over again and stretched her wings. "I dunno, Hass. Seein' y'put him back together . that was the most sincere hard work I ever saw anyone do. But before . y'looked so —"
"I know," he broke in bitterly. "From my side, it looked to me like you were parasites — little loafers taking advantage of me. I ... I felt like I had to be rid of you."
Falen considered, and then nodded. "I think I understand — better than you do."
Hasifar was confused, "What? What's going on, Falen?"
"Hae ye ever been prone to wild fits, Hass?" She asked bluntly.
"Huh? No . at least, not 'til now."
"An' yuir friends in th' village? Were any o' them irrational?"
It hurt to remember, but, "No. Not to speak of."
Falen stared at him, "Yet, one day, this stranger shows up, an' all the town goes wild an' tries t'kill ye. Isna that suspicious?"
Hasifar felt a sinking feeling in his stomachs. "I . I've tried to block it out, Falen." Then he crumbled under her stare, "Yes. I guess so," he concluded in a small voice.
"The way I figure it, Hass, this wizard cast a spell on the town — bringin' up in 'em the prejudice an' hatred they already had . but only in a little quantity. Then, he used his powers to focus it all onto you — the most 'different' one in th' village."
"So they don't really hate me?" Hope flared in the centaur's breast.
But Falen looked troubled. "I canna say. Spheros tells us that the Edinburghs' — if I hae th' name right — kept right on hatin' an' usin' the fairies right after the Scarfed Man disappeared — sometimes for days. If that's true — an' I don't think it's not — the mage must have some sort o' long-term spell that makes 'em ..."
"That makes them blame us for what happened!" Hasifar said when Falen ran down, "That would be the easiest! Alter their memories a little, focus on the hate they're feeling — it could be done."
Falen nodded.
"Oh, those poor people!" Hasifar put his head in his hands.
"Now, remember laddie; they are na completely innocent — they had th' grain in 'em afore he arrived."
"But we all have some anger in us! Some prejudice!" A light dawned in Hasifar's mind, "Even me! When I hurt Spheros! That was the wizard."
Falen gulped. "We've got to get out of here — if he's nearby —" Her voice trailed off.
***
The trio got their things together again, and, this time, Hasifar took off as fast as he could. Apparently, the Scarfed Man, as Falen called him, had cast a spell on them to go 'round in circles, so as not to leave the forest. But it had, apparently, worn off. Hasifar ran for clear daylight and then on to the sea.
When they broke through the trees, they were of one mind: they would get across the water, somehow, and meet with the Warrior. She would know what to do about this wizard who plagued half-folk and fairies. She could help them save their friends from his spell.
Back under the eaves, a figure stepped out from the trunk of a tree. It was wrapped in a whirlwind of living cloth, and, in its left hand, it held a short, gnarled stick.
It spoke: "Well, that wen' well, I ken." The voice was gravelly.
Another voice answered from a nearby tree, "Yes." This was a clear woman's voice — strong and powerful. "But he did not kill the faery. That would have made him completely ours."
The shape with the gravelly voice waved its stick, and another figure stepped out of a tree. This one was tall and thin, and had either a dragon's head or a helm made to look like a dragon's. It wore a long, black cloak.
"He will be ours," the gravelly voice said. "He shall join the Dark, whether he will or nil. The harpy can be lost in the passage, and the cyprium . I have plans for it." The voice chuckled evilly.
The wind hissed through the trees, and the clear voice spoke, "You'd better get them a boat — we wouldn't want them to give up looking. And get me back across — I want to be there to meet . them."
"Of course, Warrior."
"Of the Dark," the clear voice reminded.
"Of the Dark."
Evil laughter rang out and was suddenly hushed.
Myth Reality
Lisa Stevens
Culann shifted his body to give him a better view of the sidhe. His muscles, stiffened with disuse, strained as he moved. Around him, his people lay quiet, their pale-skinned bodies disturbed only by the breathing of deep sleep. Dust lay thick over the sleeping forms. Culann searched through his mind, sorting through the jumble of thoughts there as he slowly came to full consciousness — he had been forced to use magic to preserve his people. It had been — how long?
His eyes swept across the sleeping form of his soul-mate, Fionna. Time had not aged her handsome features. Culann remembered the moment he had first laid eyes on her at the Grove of Durne. They had both been sent there to meditate with Danu. He had tried to talk with Fionna, but she had fled at his approach. For weeks, he haunted the Grove, waiting for her. Then one day, she returned. Eventually, they had become friends, and then something more — more like one than two. When they had been declared soul-mates, it was the happiest day of his life. Gazing back toward her, he let his eyes roam over her sleeping form, taking in every detail. Culann's eyes misted over. He ached to touch her. It had been too long.
With awkward movements, Culann swung into a sitting position, dust falling from his clothing. He filled his lungs with air. What had awakened him? Letting his powers fill him, Culann allowed his awareness to wander for a moment. Ah, he could sense the magic! Since the days of Cath Maige Tuired, he had not felt so invigorated. It seemed that all was not lost: the humans had obviously lost ground in the battle to take Hibernia. The other Tuatha tribes must have resisted their advances. The humans would pay. But how long had it been?
With multitudes as numerous as blades of grass, the humans had come. And with them, they brought their religion — a religion that left little room for the beliefs and magic of the people of Hibernia. The Tuatha-de-Dannan had fought, but for every human they had slain, three more sprang up. They had swept the Tuatha before them, until finally the Children of Danu had been forced to take refuge in their sidhes, magical shelters built by their mother and goddess, Danu.
Living under the ground, the Tuatha had learned to exist without the fresh air and warm sounds of the surface world. A truce had been made and so the Tuatha-de-Dannan learned to coexist with the humans — one below the earth and the other above. Occasionally, the Tuatha aided those humans they deemed worthy, but mostly they harbored ill will toward those who had shut them off from the surface world.
Then the magic had faded. Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, the force that kept the Tuatha alive was drained from the world. As a final measure, the goddess Danu had given her children a powerful spell which would keep them alive until the day the magic returned to the world. But how long?
As his senses became more acute, Culann felt something. Anger. It roiled up inside of him. Instinctively, he knew it wasn't his own anger, yet it threatened to overwhelm him, forcing reason to retreat beneath its barrage. Somebody must pay! Then he felt something else — much more subtle, almost unnoticeable: fear. It wasn't the simple fear of losing a friend or of being caught doing something wrong, but rather the fear of dying, of being extinguished. Suddenly, Culann bent over, clutching at his stomach. Pain!
Something was dying and Culann felt the anguish of its death-throes. But what could possibly be so powerful? In a burst of insight, Culann recognized the voice that cried out to him in anger, fear and pain. How could he not? Next to his Fionna, it was the voice he, and all Tuatha, most cherished. It was the Earth. She was calling out to her people.
