Chapter 14
THE LANDSCAPE OF the hills was deceptive!
Deidre hadn’t realized that taking a step back would bring her sliding down into . . . darkness. Dirt and darkness.
She shook her head, still seated as she had landed, but stretching her arms and legs and assuring herself that nothing was broken.
Then she checked that her sword had suffered no damage in the fall, and though she’d heard it scraping against rock and earth, it seemed to be fine.
But where was she now? Obvious! she mocked herself. She had fallen into one of the pits that she’d been told about.
Right. And she could only hope that Kylin was all right.
That he’d managed to best the men coming after him without creating a disturbance, something that would draw more of the enemy out!
They had no idea how many men were hiding in the hills, using legends of bloody demons and banshees to explain the slow disappearance of villagers and others.
She had fallen—or, thankfully, slid—deep within the hole by the crevice in the hill, far beneath the high crags of the rugged, rolling hillside.
Do Kylin or Eion or Magnus know where I am, what happened? And does it matter—I still have my sword! I am capable, she told herself. Capable of defending herself. In fact, she was more worried about Kylin. Then another thought occurred to her.
There might have been others above her, on the surface, slipping through a passage of some sort that existed on the ground level of the hills.
She went very still, listening, holding her sword tightly with both hands, staring at the opening high overhead.
She saw nothing. No one. Not an enemy.
And not Kylin.
Around her there was darkness. Nothing but complete darkness. But she still slipped along the wall, taking great care. And despite the darkness, the sword seemed to guide her.
For a moment, instinctive fear set in.
Whatever is going on here has nothing to do with banshees or other creatures! The enemy is causing the trouble!
But stories and legends swept through her mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there could be truth to the tales of demons, devils and evil within the hills.
She was deep inthe ground, but she realized that she could see her immediate surroundings because the sword of light was giving off a strange glow just around her, not betraying anything to the world above.
And it was while she sat, shivering, wondering if evil magic could exist alongside the strange, wonderful gifts of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the light seemed to shift, coming to her side, and as it did so, it took on a shape.
It was the shimmering, silvery, magical woman—angel, fairy or beautiful creature of light who had given her the sword.
“You will be all right!” the being told her. “You will be fine. You will find your strength because you were chosen from among us. Chosen to strike ahead into the fray and bring peace and beauty back to the land.”
Deidre felt a gentle touch on her cheek. It was warm, as warm as sunlight. And with it the chill of fear that had seized her dissipated. She smiled at the celestial being.
“What do I call you?” she whispered.
She was answered first with a broad smile. Then the being whispered, “Shimmer.”
Deidre managed a smile in return. “Shimmer,” she whispered. “Of course, quite fitting. Thank you.” And then she asked softly, “What is going on here? Did a banshee—”
“Nay! Such a thought is quite preposterous!” Shimmer said, keeping her voice low, despite the passion in her words.
“So, they do not exist—”
“I did not say that!” Shimmer corrected.
“Then we do hear the cry,” Deidre murmured. “But—”
“Please, lass! Do you know why the banshee comes?” Shimmer asked, shaking her head.
“Not to be evil, not to bring death. She comes to help those who are left behind—she comes to help them mourn. She came into existence through tears shed by loved ones of those who go on. Sometimes the warning helps. She sheds great tears to try and assuage the tears of those left behind. She is not evil!”
“I never thought that a banshee with fiery eyes came out to viciously kill,” Deidre assured her. “I just didn’t . . .”
“Ah, lass, the human quandary. Do such things exist? Are they real in one’s mind, and does the reality of thought make something true?
The world is very often what we make it.
Do I stand here speaking to you, or have you invented me in your mind because the situation here is dire?
This much is true. No demons reside within these hills.
You know the old legends of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
We left the island to the world of man, entrusting him to care for it.
Father Patrick came with his message of goodness, hope and faith among men, and with him came the angels, and now we are all beings that seek to help man, seek goodness, and our place is where we descended into the world beneath the ground, at Tara.
We wait where we are needed, here in these hills, and perhaps elsewhere at times.
But evil? You’ve known. You and Kylin, son of Sigurd, know that the evil comes in the form of men who desire more, want more and feel nothing but pleasure as they steal the lives of others.
Life itself. Our most precious gift! Nay, lass, you know the truth.
And note well where you are. For when they do not steal out to attack, the enemy lie here, deep in the earth, and wait.
Thus far, they have proven effective in their quest, preying upon those who stumble too close. For they attack from within.”
“It has been a plan in the making. And the man who would take all has gathered forces around them. Small groups of men, filtered in, lying in wait time and again to keep Kylin and me from our quest, trying a swift attack upon the ard-rí in his own castle and then here . . . others who have disappeared with no known reason, the taking of a lass, a sheepherder, and a small group of unsuspecting warriors, because when you destroy bits and pieces, you destroy the possibility of real strength coming against you.”
Shimmer nodded gravely. “You know. And there is a way for you to find the passage out. Remember. Seek and ye shall find.”
“But wait!” Deidre pleaded. “How many are we up against? Is Kylin all right? And Eion and Magnus—”
“I must go see to their welfare. Kylin will be fine. He carries the spear. But I must see to Eion and Magnus! You have your sword and more. You have your strength and your love for your father, your brother and your people.”
“Thank you! But where—” Deidre began, but Shimmer faded and once again, she was left with only the light from her sword to guide her.
She looked up. The tunnel she was in was low and it had been by the crevice. But men had come from the crevice, so that might well mean that there were more tunnels on the ground level. She had to get out of the tunnels.
There was a flickering ahead of her. She thought at first that some kind of a firefly, or bug, something natural might be in the air. But as she moved toward the light, assuming they had to come in from outside the hill, she paused, dead still, not even breathing.
The things were . . .
Fairies! Pretty, tiny creatures, bodies like teensy, tiny human beings—with wings and an iridescent glow. They were beckoning to her, she realized.
What are they?
Legend had it that the Tuatha Dé Danann had joined with the fairy folk, that they had chosen to live beneath the ground or within the hills, especially the ancient and sacred Hill of Tara, and these hills were so near the one at Tara . . .
She followed.
Because they had been right.
The evil in the hills was the evil of man, and nothing more.
While many strange beings might have come through the history of the isle, while great battles may have taken place in ancient times, the magic offered her here was good magic, magic to save her and her people, Declan, and those seeking peace.
She had to trust in the magic.
And so she followed the fairies into the darkness, with their small, flickering lights to guide her.
Along with the shimmer of her sword.
And she had to wonder, even while her angel creature of light was away, didn’t a bit of her guardian accompany Deidre everywhere, all part of the shimmering light of the gift of the sword?
WHEN EVIL WAS out there—even in the form of human beings—wasn’t it natural that one warrior should worry about another?
Kylin had to admit to himself that he should have been equally worried about Eion and Magnus, yet, in faith, they had parted, eager to be stealthy, eager to cover ground.
But he knew now that they had been right.
The enemy was here. The enemy had been stealing people, killing those who stumbled upon them.
Deleting the ranks of the people, a warrior here and a warrior there, and the innocent right along with them.
So far, Kylin’s men had been the victors. But how many of the enemy were there? He looked at the crevice in the hillside from which the men had slipped.
And he looked down into the black hole into which Deidre had fallen.
She is going to be fine!
She had her sword; she was, even without it, one of the finest trained warriors he knew. But she still didn’t have the muscle and weight of many of the opponents she might come up against.
Then again, they didn’t have her sword.
As he stood deliberating, he saw movement in the crevice and flattened himself against the rock.
Two men slipped almost silently from the crevice. They saw their dead compatriots lying on the ground and one cried out in surprise, only to be shushed by his companion slamming an elbow into his ribs.
Irish? Northmen? Again, he couldn’t tell. Their dress was basic for the day: tunics, breeches, boots, sword belts.
One man had hair and a beard of brownish red, common among both peoples. The other was just a bit darker and an inch or so taller.
Then they spoke, the smaller man cursing. His use of words had an Irish lilt to it.