The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance (30 page)

He nodded to himself as though he’d come to a decision, then turned those smal eyes upon her. “Very wel ,” he said, crossing the room to the cages. “Al three it is. And the octopus as wel . I can get another in a moment. You drive a hard bargain, daughter of Lir.” She stood, leaving the cape on the bench, and moved towards the door. He held the cages out to her. She took them, surprised to find that they were quite heavy.

“Careful not to free the souls before you reach the surface, or they’l sink back to the bottom and I’l capture them again,” he said, his tone merry once more. He threw the cape a glance. “I shal try it at once!”

“I should like to be home before you do,” she said.

He nodded as he threw the door open wide. “Then I wil wait a day, shal I? Your day, not ours, for ours are quite different.”

She nodded and passed through the doorway. “Thank you,” she said.

“No, thank you, daughter of Lir. This is a day I wil long remember.”

“I should think it wil be,” she said, stepping into the lane.

“Regards to your father,” he cal ed as he shut the door.

Muirin had hoped that the dolphin would stil be there, but the lane was very empty.

“One task accomplished,” she said.

She blew her breath out in a long sigh, hefted the cages, and hurried back towards the wide street. She had no idea where she should go next and she stood at the side of the street as she decided what to do, watching the colourful travel ers pass before her, each more astonishing than the last.

Except for one. The Princess, pale and with colourless hair, dressed in a misty gown, rode in an grey open coach pul ed by sea horses so pale that Muirin could almost see through them.

And there, on the other side of the street, two dolphins swam forwards to fol ow the coach. They nodded to her and made room between them for her and the cages.

Muirin smiled. This then was the Princess the woman of the fair folk had told her of, the one to whose life she must restore colour. She bent low over the cage that held the octopus, keeping her voice very low.

“I would like to free you, Sir octopus, but I have a favour to ask in return.”

“Ask away,” the octopus growled. “I am going nowhere but where you take me.”

“That wil no longer be the case if you grant me my favour.”

“Tel me what it is and I wil determine if it is possible.” He listened silently while Muirin told him what she needed. At the end of her explanation, he nodded. “A simple matter, daughter of man. I make my own colour.”

“But can you share it?” she asked.

“Why else have I so many arms? Take me there.”

And so Muirin and the dolphins, and the octopus, and the souls in the soul cages, al fol owed the Princess back to her castle, which seemed to be made of glass, for it had no colour at al . Nor did anything within the castle. The plantings in the garden were not green. The apples on the trees were not red, nor the roses on their bushes. The birds in the trees were neither blue nor brown.

The coal in her fire was transparent.

“You see my dreadful state,” the Princess said, wringing her hands. “I would so love to live in a colourful world again, but only a human can break my enchantment. Can you help me, daughter of man?”

“I wil try,” Muirin said, “with the help of my brother octopus.” The Princess looked at the octopus and frowned. “Your brother?”

“Al creatures are brothers and sisters in this world, Princess. No, he is not human, but he wil produce the colour and I wil apply it, and together we wil endeavour to break the enchantment placed on you and your home.”

The Princess nodded, watching at first with a sceptical expression, which changed to joy as Muirin and the octopus coated everything with the colour it required. Coal was returned to black, the roses to red and the trees to a fine green that made Muirin sigh with longing for her Conlan.

The Princess’ thanks were effusive, and she offered many gifts to Muirin to show her gratitude.

Muirin would take nothing until the Princess held out a magic sword.

“It wil only harm evil creatures,” she told Muirin. “Never one with a good heart.” Muirin took the sword and let the now three dolphins lead her back to the large square, the Princess’ praises stil ringing in her ears.

At the side of the square, Muirin opened the cage door wide and told the octopus he was free to go. The octopus, with that strange sidewards motion he used, slithered from the cage. He paused for a moment to thank her, then changed colour and blended in with the building behind him so wel that after a moment Muirin could not tel where the octopus left off and the building began.

“Two tasks accomplished,” she said.

Muirin blew her breath out in a long sigh, hefted the three remaining cages, and hurried away.

She had no idea where she should go next, but she had an idea where she might be needed.

She slowed her pace as she neared the lane where the merman lived, careful to look around her in case he had not waited to try the cape of swan feathers, for she was quite sure the only thing it would do would be to keep him warm.

She hurried past his lane, fol owing the sound of the mournful music she had heard at his house.

The music grew louder with every step she took, and it was not difficult to discover the house from which it came.

It was the saddest music she had ever heard, played on more than one instrument, the notes floating with sorrow then plunging to the depths of despair, taking her mood with it. How anyone could play such sadness and stil live was beyond her.

She soon found out, for the door was flung wide and in the lovely room revealed were three beautiful merrows, the mermaid sisters of whom the sidhe had told her. There was no sign of the ogre. But, Muirin realized, he must have opened the door, might even now be hiding behind it, waiting for her to enter, for the three merrows were chained to the wal and to their instruments – a lute, a lyre and a tril ing whistle. One of the mermaids nodded her head at the door and Muirin knew she had guessed correctly.

She threw a glance over her shoulder to see the three dolphins waiting far down the street, and the three souls in their soul cages watching her with mournful expressions. She put her foot on the threshold, scuffing it as though she had entered, then watched as the ogre leaped out.

He grabbed at the air, his visage so horrible that she stepped back in fright at first, then lifted the magical sword the Princess had given her and, with one mighty blow, severed his head from his body. A fish swam from his body and into his head. She stared at it in surprise, then with horror as the ogre calmly picked up his head, reattached it to his body and glared at her.

“You must capture his soul, then destroy it,” one of the merrows said.

“How am I to do that?” Muirin asked, raising her sword to strike him again.

“It wil take the form of a fish,” the second merrow told her.

“You must catch it and release it in the air, before he wil be truly dead,” the third merrow said.

The ogre rushed at her and, with another mighty swing, Muirin again severed his head from his body. This time, when the fish swam from his body, she whipped the net that held her hair from her head and tossed it over the fish.

At once the music stopped, then turned lively. The room was suddenly ful of merrows and merman – ugly as they were, they were stil less ugly than the ogre – who quickly removed the chains from the merrows and set them free. Muirin stepped back from their thanks and out into the street once more.

“Three tasks accomplished,” she said. “Almost.”

She looked at the fish stil writhing in her net, blew her breath out in a long sigh, hefted the cages, and hurried back towards the large square.

“We are going home,” she told the souls. “When I reach the surface, I wil set you free so you may join your bodies. Your imprisonment wil seem but a dream.” But how was she to get there? The dolphins were nowhere in sight and she had no idea of how to reach Ireland from this distant land. She thought of Conlan, of al she had accomplished. To now find herself at a loss was too much to bear, and she wept bitter tears for several moments.

Feeling quite bereft, she grasped the necklace her mother had given her. At once the three dolphins appeared before her.

“You had only to beckon us,” one told her.

“We wil take you home now,” a second said.

Stil carrying the cages and the net holding the fish, she fol owed the third dolphin to the massive gates of the Land Beneath the Waves, which, as they had done before, opened of their own accord. She swam through, turning to watch the gates close silently behind her.

It was a simple matter then.

She had no idea of how long she swam, or how far. There were times when she swam alone, others when the dolphins would offer her a fin to hold, and glide her through the water at a speed she could never have matched on her own. Times when she could see the sunlight on the surface, others when al around her was darkness.

Creatures passed her and the dolphins: smal fish that darted out of the way; large fish, with fins that looked like sails, that paused to watch them go by; sharks that circled as if wondering if she could be snatched away from her guides; whales that fil ed the water with their strange songs. But this time she was not afraid. This time al she could think of was her Conlan and whether she had done al she must to free him from the spel .

And then Muirin could see it, the shore of her own beloved Ireland, her own beach. She thanked the dolphins profusely, but they waved her thanks aside with a whip of a flipper, and disappeared back into the depths. She held the net with the fish high in the air above her head. The fish gasped, gulped, then crumbled into nothing. The net, empty now, sagged against her arm.

She struggled out of the water, her skirts sodden and heavy, and final y heaved herself and the three soul cages on to the sand, opening the cage doors with a sigh.

“You are free to go,” Muirin told the souls.

Instead of disappearing as she thought they might, they hovered in the air for a moment, their tiny faces wreathed with smiles.

“Your stepmother is no more,” they told her. “The enchantment she placed on your beloved died with her.” And then they were gone.

Overhead three ravens circled. Muirin jumped to her feet, tore the red cap from her head and placed it on the rocks before her. One raven lifted it and, with the others on either side, flew away from her, then lay the cap reverently at the far end of the beach.

“I thank you,” she cal ed, in case the capless merrow was nearby, then hurried up the hil .

There, standing next to the ancient oak tree under which they had pledged themselves, was Conlan, whole, and looking so handsome that she stopped where she was, taking in the very sight of such a fine man.

“Conlan!” she cried.

“At last!” He leaped across the space between them and gathered her into his arms. “You are my very own Muirin, my daughter of the sea,” he cried. “The most magnificent woman who has ever lived, more beautiful than any other woman above or below the waves. Say you wil be mine for al time.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes and yes and yes.”

“Then I wil tel you my news. When I was an oak tree, my father, the woodcutter, came to visit me. He told me the secret he has kept hidden al these many years. He was not my father. Instead, I was his foster-son. My father is a king in the north, the very king who agreed to marry his only son to your father’s only daughter. It was meant to be, this between us. You need not have faced al that you faced to be mine, my dearest love.”

“Ah, but I did, Conlan, for by facing al that I faced, I learned much about myself, and that I would risk anything to be with you. It was meant to be, this between us, my dearest love.” Muirin raised her mouth to be claimed by his.

They were married that very evening, by moonlight, under the spreading limbs of the ancient oak tree. Her father beamed at her when she took her vows, and told her later, with a wide smile, that her stepmother had disappeared at the very moment that Muirin had released the souls.

Muirin and Conlan danced until dawn, and every year, on the anniversary of the day they were wed, they came to the ancient oak and danced under its limbs, remembering the days of their youth and al that had happened.

The Warrior

Jenna Maclaine

One

Castle Tara

Connemara, Ireland – 1260

They had come to kil him. At his invitation they had come, hundreds of them, across seas and continents, until they fil ed the courtyard of his great castle. They had come to vanquish the arrogant bastard who dared to claim sovereignty over the vampire nation. His summons had appealed to their pride, their vanity, their curiosity: an open chal enge that whoever could defeat him in single combat would unite the world’s vampires under the authority of one High King.

The warrior braced his hands on the cold grey stone of the parapet wal and listened with satisfaction to the murmuring voices below. When they had embarked on this journey they had been certain that the chal enger would be easily dispatched, but now that confidence was beginning to waver, for Castle Tara was unlike anything they had seen before. It was a palace straight out of Faerie, built for beauty and not defence. There was nothing like it this side of the Veil. Indeed, the whole structure often slipped in and out of Faerie in order to keep itself hidden from human eyes.

The vampires below truly had no understanding of what they were walking into. One complained bitterly of the cramped quarters that surely awaited them, for no castle could comfortably house this many people. The warrior smiled. Even now the stewards were showing his guests to their chambers and he had no doubt that they would al find their quarters more than satisfactory. The castle was almost a living thing, expanding and contracting, changing as
she
saw fit. He watched the vampires below gaze covetously at what was his, each of them imagining what it would be like to live in such a place, each of them imagining they would be the one to defeat him. It was truly a pity they would al go home disappointed.