John Lenahan - Prince of Hazel and Oak

We made it all the way around the mountain. I called a halt just before we came to the part of the path where we could be seen by the Yew House above. Araf didn’t argue with me. I was exhausted walking with the packs and Araf must have been shattered carrying a man on his shoulder. I got a fire going with some kindling I found in Spideog’s bag, brewed up some willow tea and got some into the injured archer. It did the trick.

‘Where is my bow?’

‘Take it easy, Spideog. Don’t try to talk.’

The old guy grabbed my shoulder and opened his eyes. ‘My bow, where is it?’

‘Rest,’ I said.

‘Tell him,’ Brendan said.

‘You tell him.’

‘I was out cold. If you know what happened to his bow then tell him.’

‘My bow,’ Spideog said, trying to get to his feet, ‘I must go back for it.’

‘Wooh, big guy, you are in no fit shape to go anywhere. Your bow is gone. The Oracle trashed it.’

‘What do you mean trashed it? You mean he took it.’

‘No, sir, it’s trashed, destroyed. He waved his hand and it exploded into splinters.’

‘That is not possible,’ he said, grabbing me by my coat. ‘You lie.’

Araf reached over and gently took his hand from my lapel. ‘It is true, Master. I saw it with my own eyes. This fell from your clothing when I first put you down.’ Araf handed him a splintered piece of yew wood.

He took it and began to cry. ‘It is true,’ he moaned, ‘I am not worthy.’

It was hard to watch a man so strong look so defeated. I rummaged through the bags until I found the flask of poteen that my mother had given me before we left and administered some to the unresisting archer. Brendan held him until he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Araf and I debated how long we should rest. I thought it would be a good idea to wait until dark before we entered the part of the path that exposed us to attack from the Yew House above, but Araf thought we should get going before the snow got so bad that we all just slipped off the side of the mountain. I agreed with him when I realised I could no longer feel my toes.

I didn’t even bother to look up when we were in sight of the Yew House. I figured it wouldn’t take much to take us out and if it came, I didn’t really want to see it coming. Despite our fears, we passed unmolested. We donned crampons when we reached the ice ford we had crossed earlier. The snow on the other side was starting to drift so we tried keeping our crampons on but there wasn’t enough snow for that. Crampons are great on ice and packed snow but on solid rock they just make your footing worse. Saying that, when we took them off we still slipped all over the place. After Brendan went down and almost slipped off the side, we all put a single crampon on one foot. We marched through the night limping like the winning team at a shin-kicking competition.

Three quarters of the way down the mountain the snow turned to rain. Wool and rain are not a good mix. It made me feel sorry for sheep. We found a wide and almost sheltered part of the path and camped for what remained of the night. The tea and stale rations did nothing to lift our mood. I had a feeling only a hot bath and a dry change of clothes could do that for me and I wasn’t sure if Spideog would ever recover.

Spideog mumbled in his sleep at first but then like the rest of us settled down until awakened by a damp dawn. Brendan shook me awake from what was becoming a recurring dream of Essa holding hands with an invisible man. What did that dream mean? Was the invisible man supposed to be me?

The fog was so bad that dawn was almost unnoticeable; the view seemed as if we were looking at a white sheet. It was damp cold and the squelching noise my trousers made as I got up cemented my misery.

Spideog was up and on his feet. He walked like a man in a trance. Without a word he began to break camp so we followed suit and then trekked after him down the mountain.

‘Has he said anything?’ I whispered to Brendan.

‘Not a word,’ he replied behind his hand. ‘He just got up and got going. Are you going to say anything to him?’

‘I’m not going to talk to him – you talk to him.’

‘I’m not talking to him.’

We both looked to Araf.

‘I don’t say anything to anybody,’ the Imp mumbled. ‘I am not starting now.’

We followed the silent archer down the mountain. For a guy who had just been pulverised by an evil warlock he set a pretty crisp pace.

You would think that going downhill would be easer than uphill and you would be right, but not by as much as you would think. My calf muscles screamed with the effort it took to stop me from becoming a runaway teen.

It was nightfall by the time we reached the base of the mountain. I suggested to Spideog that he should get some rest, but he looked at me like I had just stomped on his puppy and disappeared into the forest. By the time he had returned with wood and a rabbit, Araf had the beginnings of a fire going. Brendan and I put up a very flimsy lean-to to keep off the rain. Together we ate in silence, none of us daring to speak for fear of being killed by the archer’s evil eye. When he finished eating and started to set up a bedroll I bravely said, ‘Thank you, Spideog, the meal was lovely.’

He didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

Brendan, Araf and I sat around the fire staring at each other for a while. Each waited for the other to speak but none of us wanted to break the vow of silence that the old man seemed to have imposed on the group. We bedded down. Ah, there is nothing like sliding between two wet blankets, in your wet clothes, as the rain leaks onto your head.

Spideog seemed to be as broken as his bow. As the old song says, you don’t know what you got till it’s gone, and losing the courage and the sureness of our leader was unnerving – scary. I lay there and mixed all of my troubles together, letting them roll down the mountain of my mind like a giant snowball: I was cold and wet, my father was dying and this trip was a complete failure and then there was Essa. I had been trying to avoid thinking about her. I had been trying to cover over my hurt with bravado, but hurt I was. She didn’t wait for me. She didn’t wait for me.

‘Why would she?’ replied Araf, who was lying next to me.

‘What?’

‘You are talking about Essa, yes?’

‘Oh, sorry, Araf, I didn’t realise I was speaking out loud.’

‘Oh dear, that’s not a good sign.’

‘Do you know him?’ I asked.

‘Who?’

‘The Banshee she’s marrying.’

‘Of course,’ the Imp replied, ‘He is The Turlow.’

‘Is he a good guy?’

‘What is a “good guy”, Conor? You are speaking in a Real World tongue – also not a good sign.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Is he a good man?’

‘The few dealings I have had with him have been favourable. Many like him. Some do not, but that is the price you pay when you are a leader.’

‘Everybody likes you, Araf,’ I said as I playfully kicked him in the back.

‘Ah well, I am special.’

No matter how low I was I had to laugh at that. Araf cracks so few jokes that ignoring one would be a crime.

‘Well, I don’t like him.’

‘And why do you think that is?’ inquired Araf. ‘Could it be you don’t like him because Essa does?’

‘No, that’s not why. Well, it’s not entirely why. I don’t like the way he talks to her. It makes me want to throw up. And he called me a Faerie.’

‘What is wrong with that?’

‘Well, how would you like it if he called you a Faerie?’

‘I would think it strange considering I am an Imp, but why would you object?’

‘Are you calling me a Faerie?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Araf said, sounding a bit confused.