Trisha Telep: The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

Again, her head turned towards him. «Finvarra, the King of the Fairies, has taken the healer Doreen. You must bring her back.»

«I know no woman by that name.»

«She chose you to save her.»

The young woman’s face appeared before Tom as clearly as it had in the water at Tobernalt. Her sad blue eyes beguiled him. He must rescue her, this healer named Doreen. «What would you have me do, ma’am?»

Sorcha smiled and nodded her approval. «Finvarra claims he took the girl to heal an injured knee that keeps him from dancing.» Disgust twisted the old woman’s face. «The bumptious ass is never short of excuses to steal mortal women. You must go to his summer palace and free Doreen before it’s too late. Once she eats his fairy food, she’ll forever be his prisoner.»

Tom glanced suspiciously at his empty bowl. Had the old crone tricked him?

Her cackle resounded through the murky room. «’Tis true that the King of the Fairies isn’t the only one who serves enchanted food to mortals. But Finvarra’s food entraps. Mine empowers. Rise up now, Tomás O’Byrne. Find Finvarra’s palace. Free the healer and bring her to her true destiny.»

Despite the hag’s assurance that her supper would magically strengthen him, an inkling of doubt beset Tom. He pushed back his chair and stood. «I thank you for the meal, ma’am, but I don’t see how I can challenge the King of the Fairies. His magic is great, and I have no weapons.»

Sorcha shuffled towards him holding out her withered fingers. Instinctively, Tom extended his hand towards her.

She dropped a small round lump into his open palm. «This golden bean grew in my garden. If you place it in your mouth in times of danger, you’ll become invisible. So will the healer, as long as you touch her. Go forth now, Tomás O’Byrne. Follow the path to the crossroads where the crystal lark sings in the silver oak tree. Take the left road and you’ll find the entrance to Finvarra’s palace.»

Still unconvinced, Tom placed the golden bean in his pocket. He strode to the door, opened it and gazed at the pitch-black night. «I’ve never seen such darkness. How will I find my way?»

«The moon and stars cannot shine beneath the hills of Ireland. You must find your way by the light of your heart.»

Sorcha vanished. So did her house. Sniffing a last trace of turf smoke, Tom scratched his head and wondered what she’d meant.

The anguished face of the healer Doreen appeared in the black fairy night. She fixed a beseeching gaze on him.

«Don’t worry, mavourneen ,» he whispered. «I’ll find you. I mean to see you smile.»

The pebbled path before him glistened.

He heard the lark before he saw it. The glorious trilling led him to wisps of whirling light that grew fatter and brighter, spinning at last into a silver tree. When he reached the glossy trunk, the birdsong ceased. He thought he’d frightened the lark away, but the true reason for its sudden silence quickly became clear.

The sound of horses’ hooves boomed in the distance, rumbling towards Tom with the speed of a storm-driven wave. Wary rather than frightened, he slipped behind the tree just as seven white steeds sprang from the darkness, chargers geared for battle by the looks of them. Jewels glittered on their foreheads. Flames shot from their nostrils. The knights atop them might have been human but for the armour and helmets of radiant gold they wore. Broad green mantles snapped behind them, and each held a golden spear.

They cut to a halt at the silver oak, and Tom’s lips mouthed a silent curse. Did they know he was there? Had they come to kill him? If so, he’d give them a good fight.

The golden bean, Tomás O’Byrne.

Sorcha’s voice rustled in his ears like windblown eddies of autumn leaves. He fumbled in his pocket and snatched the golden bean to his mouth.

Nothing happened.

The lead rider walked his steed to the tree and circled the trunk. Tom stood as still as a wound-down clock. Would the horse smell him? Would the horseman hear his pounding heart? Sure he was about to die, he glared defiantly at the knight, but the fairy only raised his arm and galloped off.

His fairy troop raced after him. Tom didn’t move until the clatter of thundering hooves faded away. The crystal bird resumed its song, and Tom knew the danger had passed. Still, he ran down the road to the left of the tree as if the devil himself were chasing him.

At last he stopped at a stand of rocks. Gold glittered around a gap in the stones. This must be the Fairy King’s palace. Where did the fairies find so much gold? The coins in Tom’s pocket, a sum he’d thought a small fortune that morning, seemed a beggar’s portion in contrast to the wealth he’d seen so far.

Suspecting he’d soon see more, he entered the cave. A raucous blend of music, laughter and merry female squeals wafted from its depths. Tom crept deeper into the cave and found a marble staircase. Down he went with the golden bean in his mouth.

Soon he came to a torch-lit room. He stepped inside, and the sounds of revelry faded. Three grey-haired women sat at golden spinning wheels spinning golden thread. From their plain attire and listless air, he judged them to be mortals.

He took the bean from his mouth. «God save all here.»

The women’s hands flew to their faces. The oldest of the three blessed herself. «Mother of God, who are you?»

«I’m Tom O’Byrne of Ballymote. I’ve come to save a mortal woman called Doreen.»

An exchange of desolate looks preceded the women’s responses. «Ah, poor thing,» said the youngest.

«You must hurry,» said the woman neither young nor old.

The oldest spoke again: «I warned her not to taste the fairies’ food, but mortals must eat, and she won’t hold out long. After one bite, she’ll be like us, a prisoner for the rest of her days.»

«There’s naught you can do for us,» said the youngest, «but you can save the healer, Tom O’Byrne.»

«I mean to try. Where is she?»

«In the banquet hall.» The woman neither young nor old turned and pointed behind her. A door appeared in the wall. «Go quickly, and take great care. The King of the Fairies wields powerful magic.»

Tom returned the golden bean to his mouth. As he stepped through the door, the noise of the party resumed. He followed the din to a glittering golden banquet hall. Torches blazed high on the walls. Candles flickered in massive chandeliers. Two narrow bench tables ran the length of the long wide room. A third bench, undoubtedly the head table, ran perpendicular to the other two, forming a three-sided rectangle.

Cloth made of rose petals covered the tables, where men and women, handsome and human in appearance, sat swilling down meat and drink from golden plates and goblets. Tom assumed that the few vacant seats belonged to the fairies dancing near the biggest hearth he’d ever seen.

He knew the King of the Fairies by his elaborate attire and privileged place at the head table. Yellow-haired and clean-shaven, the rogue had a muscle or two beneath his fancy dress. Tom had trounced bigger men, and he thought he’d like to tap his knuckles into Finvarra’s face. Yet magic was afoot here. Despite Sorcha’s bolstering supper, Tom realized he might never see home again if he challenged the King. Rescuing Doreen must be the priority.

She sat unsmiling beside Finvarra. Her thick dark hair flowed past her shoulders. Her pallid face and haunted eyes melted Tom’s heart. He would save her from this place or die trying.

If he could touch her, he’d have a chance. No one saw him tiptoe towards the head table.

The King’s handsome face suddenly darkened. «Your healing arts have cured my foot, yet you persist in refusing my generous offer of thanks.»