John Lenahan - Shadowmagic

When I straightened up, I saw a scene that has haunted my thoughts ever since. Fergal was on his feet. His face was contorted with rage and he was charging Cialtie. As he stepped forward, he cocked his wrist in the gesture that I recognised as the sequence that released his Banshee blade, but the sword wasn’t in his sleeve-it was on his belt. He never did get to replace the gold wire.

Cialtie recognised the gesture, too-because he had a Banshee blade of his own. He mirrored Fergal’s wrist movements, with the difference that when he did it, a shiny silver sword appeared in his hand.

I screamed, ‘No!’ and flew at the sword in hopes of deflecting it. I was too late. My slow-motion gift became a curse. I saw the tip of the blade touch Fergal’s chest, I saw the threads on the fabric of his shirt part and break, I saw every single millimetre of that cursed weapon enter my cousin’s chest and not stop until it reached his heart. My swing was late, Cialtie was too fast. My blade came down a foot behind where I needed it to be. I sliced into Cialtie’s right wrist and took his hand clean off. He screamed in pain as blood shot around the room.

Fergal looked down in shock. What he saw was Cialtie’s sword sticking out of his chest with his father’s hand still wrapped around the pommel. Then he did that most Fergalish thing-he laughed. He pointed to the handle of the sword and said, ‘Will you look at that.’ He wore a typical Fergal, ear-to-ear grin on his face, as he fell over backwards. Just then Dad burst through the First Muirbhrucht.

With a force of will that was unprecedented, Dad had pushed back through the three barriers in record time. He came out roaring and, as if he had never missed it, he drew his sword with his right hand and flew at his brother. Dad didn’t even see what happened next, but I did. Cialtie saw him coming. With his remaining hand, he quickly reached to his neck, grabbed an amulet and shouted, ‘ Rothlu!’ Dad connected with nothing but air. He would have smashed into the far wall, if Araf hadn’t caught him.

Fergal was still conscious. I dropped down next to him, just as Mom popped through the Muirbhrucht. She quickly joined me. I pried Cialtie’s hand off the pommel and threw it across the room. When I started to remove the sword Mom stopped me. She placed her hands on both sides of Fergal’s head and closed her eyes. When she opened them they were filled with tears. She shook her head no. It felt like my heart was the one that had a sword in it.

‘Hey, cousin,’ Fergal said, ‘why the long face? We’ve laughed through worse times than this.’ The tears came so hard I had to squeeze my eyelids to clear my vision. When I opened them, he was gone. He still had a little smile in the corners of his mouth.

It wasn’t me. It was Fergal. Fergal was the one. He was the son of the one-handed prince. Fergal was the one who had to be sacrificed in order to save The Land. Oh, Fergal. At that moment I couldn’t imagine anything that was worth that price.

The ensuing battle didn’t amount to much. At the moment Cialtie’s ring misfired, most of his crack troops were standing on the ramparts of the eastern wall watching Lorcan’s army approach. They were killed in the blast. The battalion that had been sent to meet Lorcan legged it back to the castle when they saw the explosion. The Imps and Leprechauns charged after them. During a fierce battle in the courtyard, Dahy killed their captain with a knife throw reportedly from fifty yards away. Without any commanders Cialtie’s army surrendered. Maybe their Banshee sixth sense informed them that they had lost.

At sunset most of the mopping up was done. Lorcan ordered all of his troops to muster in the courtyard. Aein gathered the servants there too. Many of them she had saved by telling them to evacuate the east wing. Dad and I climbed to the upper walkway.

At the top of the stairs, he said, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for the Lawnmower back.’

I handed it to him and together we walked to the edge of the railing. In his right hand he held aloft the Major Rune of Duir, and in the other hand the Sword of Duir. The roar that went out was deafening. After several tries Dad silenced the throng and put his arm around my shoulder.

‘People of The Land,’ he shouted, ‘this is my son of whom I am exceedingly proud-I give you-Conor of Duir!’

The crowd just went crazy. I used to want to be a rock superstar but after that experience, I’ll take being the son of the two-handed prince any day.

The week that followed was mad. Reconstruction of the eastern wall started immediately. News of Dad capturing the throne and regaining his hand spread even faster than if they had television around here. Dignitaries poured in every day to meet with Pop.

Mom and Nieve spent most of their time tending to the wounded. Dad would wheel me out periodically to meet Lord Whoosit or Lady What’s-her-Name but other than that I really didn’t have much to do.

There was a nice moment when Dad sent for me to meet the king of the Brownies and his two sons. I entered from the rear of the throne room, nipped up next to Dad and without looking bowed just like Pop taught me to. When I straightened up I saw a very potbellied Brownie flanked by two open-mouthed youths.

‘Frank, Jesse, how the hell are you?’

A look of terror crossed Frank’s face as I walked towards him. He pulled his head back from his father’s peripheral vision and shook his head. The desperado boys had obviously not told their father about their little walkabout.

‘You know my sons?’ the Brownie king asked.

I walked up close and looked each of them square in the eyes from about six inches away. I was close enough to see the sweat form on their brows-it was fun.

I backed off. ‘I’m sorry, your highness, I don’t see very well since my ordeal in the battle, I am mistaken.’

As they left, Jesse glanced back smiling and slipped me a little wave.

‘What was that about?’ Dad asked.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I said.

I left the throne room and sent a message to Dahy to have the two Brownie boys’ luggage searched by the porters before they left. I found out later they both had a couple of choice souvenirs in their bags.

I got tired of everybody gaping and bowing to me everywhere I went, so I spent most of my time sitting in my room trying to piece Cialtie’s wooden box back together and thinking of Fergal. So when I heard that Lorcan was returning to the Hazellands to clear out his old headquarters, I jumped at the chance to go.

I overslept on the morning we were supposed to leave. I still hadn’t gotten used to the luxury of sleeping in clean sheets and in a soft bed. I ran down to the courtyard to see a stern-looking Lorcan and his guard all mounted and waiting for me. I ran into the stables to get Cloud (Acorn was still on the disabled list)-and imagine my delight when I saw Mom saddling up. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Nieve can handle what is left of the wounded, and more importantly, I have not spent enough time with my son.’

‘Cool,’ I said.

‘Yes, it is pleasant out.’

Araf came in and chose a horse.

‘Are you coming too?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied, with one word more than usual.

Lorcan set a swift pace. I think he was trying to punish me for being late. Cloud seemed to be obeying not only my commands but my thoughts. I’m not sure if it was because she was responding to the glorious morning or I was becoming a pretty good equestrian. I’d like to think it was the latter. I didn’t imagine it was possible but the place seemed even more alive than before. The air was crisp and clear and the colours of the landscape were more vivid than ever. It was as if Tir na Nog itself knew that the proper order had once again come to The Land.