John Lenahan - Prince of Hazel and Oak

‘If I recall, Brendan, you told me that I was crazy for suggesting that.’

‘Well, I have been thinking about it, Conor. It’s amazing how living in Faerieland can make one reassess one’s opinions.’

‘What has this to do with me?’ Turlow asked.

‘Open his bag,’ Brendan said.

‘If you think I am going to stand here and let you search my possessions then think again,’ Turlow said. I saw his fingers twitch but the Banshee blade didn’t reappear.

‘Just lift the flap on his saddlebag and look at the marking underneath.’

I slowly backed to Turlow’s horse. Man, it was tense. I had a feeling that if I took my eyes off the two of them that they would be at each other’s throats in a second. I lifted the flap on the bag and saw what Brendan was talking about. Burned into the leather was a symbol not unlike an Ogham rune but more swirly and stylised. I couldn’t read it.

‘That is the same marking that was on the saddle of the horse that caused my wife’s accident.’

‘And from that you have deduced that I am a spy for Conor’s lunatic uncle?’ Turlow turned from Brendan and walked or to Tuan, who was still on horseback, and unlatched his saddlebag. He flipped open the flap and sure enough the same symbol was there. ‘You idiot,’ Turlow said. ‘That is the mark of Master Bothy, probably the finest saddler in The Land. That mark may be on a quarter of the saddles in Tir na Nog.’

I looked to Araf; he nodded in agreement. I turned to Brendan and said, ‘Oops.’

Turlow was still steamed. He walked right up to Brendan and said, ‘To lose a wife must be an awful thing. That has obviously clouded your judgement so I will let this event go unpunished – but touch me again, Real Worlder, and you will see your own blood.’

Brendan didn’t waver in his gaze; he looked the Banshee straight in the eyes and said, ‘I am sorry.’

Turlow nodded, indicating that he had heard but not necessarily forgiven, and went over to his saddlebag, took out some dried meat and passed it around to everyone, including Brendan.

‘And here’s me thinking that lunch was going to be dull,’ I said, saddling up. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

We all mounted up except for Brendan who just stood there, staring into space, the rain dripping off of his face. Finally I said, ‘Druid, are you coming?’

That broke his reverie and produced a sad smile on his face. ‘No, not a Druid, just a cop who should have known better. I’m sorry, everyone.’

That afternoon’s journey was silent and tense. I got the feeling that Brendan was kicking himself and that Turlow wanted to join in. The rest of us didn’t dare say anything lest we jump-start a bust-up. The ice-cold rain had stopped but a frigid sea breeze made sure we remembered how damp we were. Our tongues tasted the salt air and our eyes felt the sting as the sky stayed solid grey as if to match our mood.

I missed Essa. I bet we all did. Hell, we were only without her for one morning before we were at each other’s throats. Periodically, I unconsciously looked for her in our group only to be reminded that she was gone. It made me realise that I had spent the entire journey staring at her as we rode. I hoped she was all right.

An hour or so before dusk, as a thick fog crept in from the sea, Tuan announced that we were here.

‘Where here?’ I asked.

‘Here, here,’ Tuan replied. ‘This is Fearn Point and out there is Red Eel Isle.’

I looked in the direction that the Pooka was pointing. I had trouble seeing the end of his finger let alone an island out to sea.

‘Yeah, it looks lovely,’ I said. ‘I just wish somebody had built a motel here.’

Tuan unpacked the boat that Yogi had brought from the Pinelands. I knew that the Pookas were not known for their nautical skills but this boat was ridiculous. It looked more like a kite than a boat. I knew that it had to be portable but as I examined the skin, which would eventually be stretched over the toothpick frame, I wondered if it would float. I tried to remember if a fortune teller ever predicted that I would end up in a watery grave.

I walked the shore and found a tiny bay on the windward side where the currents had beached tons of driftwood. We were all cold and damp and tempers were frayed. I decided that we didn’t need a fire – we needed a bonfire. Brendan pitched tents and Araf and Turlow threw nets into the sea. After chatting to the fish and letting the ones that wanted to live go free, we ended up with a sea bass each.

Araf produced yet another bottle of nicked Brownie-shine. When I asked him how much he stole, Araf said, ‘The Brownies were well looked after the last time they came to Ur. I took less than what the Brownie King drank his first night. I don’t feel guilty, if that is what you are getting at.’

‘Hey, don’t look at me – I’m all in favour of shoplifting from Brownies.’

After dinner we felt well fed and watered. Brendan and Turlow sat at opposite sides of my inferno. The flames were so high they couldn’t see each other – probably a good thing.

Brendan was in a non-verbal sulk, Tuan was trying to put together a boat in the dark and you know how chatty Araf is, so I was pretty much forced to talk to Turlow or climb into my nice damp sleeping roll.

‘You once asked me how I could have let Essa go,’ I said, sitting next to him. ‘I could now ask you the same thing.’

Turlow didn’t look at me, he kept staring into the fire and said, ‘Not that it is any of your concern, Faerie, but she did not want me to come with her.’

Well, that was the end of that chat. If I wanted to have friendly banter around this campfire, I really needed to work on my ventriloquist act. I stood up and resigned myself to an early night. It was a shame really. I had hoped to have a little fun the night before I turned myself into fish food.

Before I left him I said, ‘Thanks for not stabbing my friend today; he was well out of line.’

‘Brendan was lucky,’ Turlow said. ‘You saved his life today.’

‘I saved his life? You stopped yourself before I even got there.’

‘I was in a rage, Conor, but I stopped when I spotted you out of the corner of my eye. In that, your friend was lucky.’

‘Gosh, I had no idea I had such a calming effect on you.’

Turlow laughed in a way that made me realise I was missing something. ‘Do you know about the Banshee affinity with death?’

I did. My cousin Fergal had once told me that Banshees could sense imminent death. ‘A little,’ I said.

‘I was enraged today. Never in my life have I been treated like that. I was fully prepared kill your countryman but then I saw you and I knew that if I killed him – I would have had to kill you too. I was not prepared to do that.’

‘Oh,’ I said, not really knowing how to reply to a statement like that. ‘Well… ah… thanks.’

I walked back to my tent spooked with the knowledge that I had recently come so close to being killed. I stuck my nose into my tent and smelled the dampness of everything. When I touched my cold wet blankets, I said out loud, ‘Screw this.’

I stumbled back down to the pile of wood by the sea and came back to the fire with an armful of thin branches. I built a little drying frame near the blaze and draped my sleeping roll over it and then I built another for the clothes on my back. Araf spotted me and didn’t wait for an invitation. He built his drying rack and joined me stark naked, howling and dancing around the fire like a Red Indian in a Hollywood Western. Turlow looked on in amazement, while Brendan held fast to his funk and refused to join us. I didn’t care. I had apparently almost died today and I would probably drown tomorrow, so I was dancing and I wasn’t gonna stop. Tuan came back to the fire to ask what all the commotion was about. As I bobbed and weaved I explained the principle of naked dancing/clothes drying. Being a Pooka he had no problem with nudity and was gyrating with us in no time.