It's where Murders are Solved Love is Kindled Monsters Lurk Dragons are Hatched.
Chapter One
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A Brother’s Plea
A call of anguish and despair came over the cool sea wind as the young one sat in front of his mother while she twisted his hair into a braid. She stopped for a moment, listening; her hands trembling so slightly. The call was faint and many years old, yet there was something foreboding in it that time had not calmed. It was a call she knew that her youngest son must answer. The young man heard his brother’s voice in the call and turned to look at his mother with an anxious look on his face. The voice was old and tired, not the young man that had swept him up on his shoulder to cross the creeks as they took their walks. It was a cry of disheartenment and abandoned sanguinity.
“I heard...”
“Yes. I heard it too,” she said. “He calls for you, my son. Will you answer?”
He had never been farther from home than the shores where he would watch the others as they came and went across the sea—except for one time. Some never came back, and others came back as old men. Many years had passed, and his brother was no longer young. It was heard in his voice.
Again, the call came and something else with it; the cries of children. The boy clasped his hands over his ears to block it. His mother gently took his hands away and made him listen.
“You are hearing what has not yet been,” she said. “There will be much pain for those children if you do not go. You are the only one who can avail them.”
“What children are they?”
“The children of the lost ones.”
“How am I to save them?” the boy asked. “I have no abilities.”
She pulled out one of his long hairs and set it on the palm of his right hand.
“Your crafts are no less than your brother’s,” she said. “While he can only create with another, yours lies within you. You have only to bring it to being.”
He did not understand what his mother told him, but he knew it was the truth. He looked at the hair in his palm and closed his hand on it.
“There are three you must find, for they will lead the way when you are unable,” she continued. “You will know who they are when you see them.”
“How will I know?”
“You will sense it in them. I caution you to use great care, because they will have darkness within them and the capability of turning either way.”
“I will be diligent in my quest of them,” the boy promised.
“There is another thing you must know. One of the three is a son of Morrigan. If you are unable to keep him from the dark, he must be dealt with.”
“Do you mean that I must end his life?”
“Even there, the sons of Morrigan do not die, my child.”
He knew what she meant. When he was younger, she had taken him to a thick stone slab where one of the sons of Morrigan still laid after many centuries—alive and never aging. The angry cries of the trapped one still escaped from the living tomb. His surrogate had been one of his own clan who had left the safety of home and had been swayed by the immoralities of the other world. They had only stayed a short while, but the boy had been surprised how quickly his mother changed; her face grew aged, and her steps slowed. When they returned home, she became young again, but it had taken something out of her, and she was not as vibrant as he remembered.
“Will he not already be persuaded by the sins of them?” the boy asked.
“There is something special about this one, and he is different from his brothers. There is hope for him.”
“If there is hope, then I must go.”
“Then we will make ready.”
“Surely, you can’t mean to go.”
“Your brother is there, and I will not stay here to worry over you both,” she said. “Now, go and fetch the gold needle so I can prepare your shirt. What you will need to know you will find in its embellishment.”
~ ~ ~
He slept with vivid dreams running through his head—dreams of the creatures he knew and others that were alien to him. Of the merrow that swam in the sea and the shape shifters that became whatever they desired. He dreamed of a man who opened his mouth, and from it poured a vile liquid with words of deceit. He saw his brother as an old man, holding a rag in his hand with which he wiped a long ,polished wood. A boy with a flame in his hair stood in a pool of blood, leaned down, and pulled others just like him from it. Beside him, a thin boy sat at a table loaded with all manner of sweets. When he reached for one, it disappeared. Last, before waking, he saw a young child in the arms of a woman. The child jerked, his eyes rolling in his head, and the woman held him until it passed. Another woman, seen by neither the child nor his mother, stood by and laughed.
A small-tailed beast sat on his mother’s stool when he woke. The shirt she had prepared laid over the end of his bed. It fit him perfectly, and when he ran his hand over the decorations, he knew everything, just as she had promised. The small beast jumped onto his shoulder and nipped him on the ear.
“To the sea,” it said. “It awaits us there.”
He had only traveled over the sea once before when they had gone to see a son of Morrigan. The journey had barely begun before it was over. This time, it took longer, and he was able to see the great whales as they rose to the surface and then plunged back to the depths. Before it was out of sight, he turned to look at home one last time, knowing it would be a long while before he once again stepped on its shores.
~ ~ ~
The new place was filled with things he had never seen. There were large pieces of hard material that people went into and came out of. Different colored smaller ones would be filled with people and then would begin moving. He saw no purpose in them when one had feet to travel with, and he set off to find his brother. People stopped and stared at the odd young man with the animal on his shoulder. Some pointed their fingers at him, and others went to the opposite side of the road. A small girl ran in front of him and held out her hand. He bowed to her, and she giggled. The mother ran over and promptly gave her a swat on the behind and a lecture about strangers. The girl cried, struggling to get away from her mother.
“What is the matter with you?” the mother asked. “Behave yourself.”
“Him, he is the one,” the child said.
“Don’t be silly. He’s just a stranger, and you know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers, young lady.”
“He has something.”
“And you will not be getting any.”
The mother led the crying child away. He watched them until they could no longer be seen, and then he began on his way again. Sensing something behind him, he turned and found several children waiting with their hands out.
“It is not for you,” he said. “You will only consume grief.”
The children looked at him, baffled.
“We know you have it,” one said.
“It is not for your kind.”
He walked away, leaving them standing with hands still held out. They were human children, and it was not meant for them.
The animal on his shoulder nipped him on the ear.
“We must go quickly,” it said. “There is something wrong here. The human children should not be aware, yet they are.”
He nodded and looked about to see if anyone had seen or heard the animal talking to him. It did not appear to be so, but he still felt uneasy until he was out of the town. He turned around to find nothing more than an old deserted farm house where the town was moments before.
“Does it know we are coming?” he asked.
“Not in its rousing. Deep inside it knows, and it will do what it can to stop us. Stay cautious, my son. We have yet a long way to go.”
He stayed off the road after that, making his way over the fields and through the trees. Going through one field, he found it full of green stalks with lumps growing on the end. He broke a couple off and stuck them in his shirt. When they came to a small creek, he sat down to rest.
“Is this food?” he asked, taking the lumps from his shirt.
The animal sniffed one, then grabbed it, tearing off the outer layer to reveal small yellow bumps. It began to eat; the boy did the same. He pulled up a small white flower and then watched to see one grow again—but instead, nothing grew in its place.
“This is not home,” the animal said. “What is lost here is lost forever. It cannot grow back, and a new one must be planted.”
It was strange to him. At home, if he picked an apple from a tree, one replaced it straightaway, even if he picked every apple. He knew he would have to be cautious with his needs and conserve his supplies so they did not run out.
“If they do not return, then how do I find new ones?”
“You must have something of value that is wanted.”
“Do I have such a thing?”
“You have your hair.”
~ ~ ~
The woman looked sternly over her glasses at the boy. She picked up one of the long braids laid before her, then looked at his hair.
“You say this is your hair?” she asked. “How old are you, fifteen?”
“It is my hair.”
“Impossible. This is at least ten years’ growth.”
“Do you want them?”
“Of course I want them,” the woman said. “These are the most perfect hairs I’ve ever seen.”
“Then what will you pay?”
“I’ll pay six hundred for each braid. You won’t get better than that.”
“All right. I will take that,” he said.
“I want the braid you are growing too.”
The boy agreed. The woman came around the counter and cut it off at the neck. She opened a metal box and brought out a stack of bills. She counted them and handed some to the boy. He put them away and thanked her. As he was leaving, she thought she could see his hair growing back again. Impossible, she thought to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.
She pulled a box out and began to place the braids in it. She wondered why the boy had been alone and so far from home. He had not come from Ireland just to sell his hair. It was such fine hair.
The boy tied a string firmly at the end of his braid and let it fall behind his back. He put the money into his pouch, and the animal climbed on his shoulder.
“We must leave here,” it said. “If that woman sees you again, there may be trouble. Your magic is not strong enough to hold the spell on her long.”
“It is very different in this land,” the boy said. “I will have to use my wits.”
“I feel our place is not much farther, and you will be among your own.”
He knew when the air was cooler and the grass looked distinct that he had finished his journey. The town was smaller than the others he had gone through and seemed more like home. He found the road was even unlike them. He stepped onto the red matte bricks and walked toward the man looking at his watch.
A call of anguish and despair came over the cool sea wind as the young one sat in front of his mother while she twisted his hair into a braid. She stopped for a moment, listening; her hands trembling so slightly. The call was faint and many years old, yet there was something foreboding in it that time had not calmed. It was a call she knew that her youngest son must answer. The young man heard his brother’s voice in the call and turned to look at his mother with an anxious look on his face. The voice was old and tired, not the young man that had swept him up on his shoulder to cross the creeks as they took their walks. It was a cry of disheartenment and abandoned sanguinity.
“I heard...”
“Yes. I heard it too,” she said. “He calls for you, my son. Will you answer?”
He had never been farther from home than the shores where he would watch the others as they came and went across the sea—except for one time. Some never came back, and others came back as old men. Many years had passed, and his brother was no longer young. It was heard in his voice.
Again, the call came and something else with it; the cries of children. The boy clasped his hands over his ears to block it. His mother gently took his hands away and made him listen.
“You are hearing what has not yet been,” she said. “There will be much pain for those children if you do not go. You are the only one who can avail them.”
“What children are they?”
“The children of the lost ones.”
“How am I to save them?” the boy asked. “I have no abilities.”
She pulled out one of his long hairs and set it on the palm of his right hand.
“Your crafts are no less than your brother’s,” she said. “While he can only create with another, yours lies within you. You have only to bring it to being.”
He did not understand what his mother told him, but he knew it was the truth. He looked at the hair in his palm and closed his hand on it.
“There are three you must find, for they will lead the way when you are unable,” she continued. “You will know who they are when you see them.”
“How will I know?”
“You will sense it in them. I caution you to use great care, because they will have darkness within them and the capability of turning either way.”
“I will be diligent in my quest of them,” the boy promised.
“There is another thing you must know. One of the three is a son of Morrigan. If you are unable to keep him from the dark, he must be dealt with.”
“Do you mean that I must end his life?”
“Even there, the sons of Morrigan do not die, my child.”
He knew what she meant. When he was younger, she had taken him to a thick stone slab where one of the sons of Morrigan still laid after many centuries—alive and never aging. The angry cries of the trapped one still escaped from the living tomb. His surrogate had been one of his own clan who had left the safety of home and had been swayed by the immoralities of the other world. They had only stayed a short while, but the boy had been surprised how quickly his mother changed; her face grew aged, and her steps slowed. When they returned home, she became young again, but it had taken something out of her, and she was not as vibrant as he remembered.
“Will he not already be persuaded by the sins of them?” the boy asked.
“There is something special about this one, and he is different from his brothers. There is hope for him.”
“If there is hope, then I must go.”
“Then we will make ready.”
“Surely, you can’t mean to go.”
“Your brother is there, and I will not stay here to worry over you both,” she said. “Now, go and fetch the gold needle so I can prepare your shirt. What you will need to know you will find in its embellishment.”
~ ~ ~
He slept with vivid dreams running through his head—dreams of the creatures he knew and others that were alien to him. Of the merrow that swam in the sea and the shape shifters that became whatever they desired. He dreamed of a man who opened his mouth, and from it poured a vile liquid with words of deceit. He saw his brother as an old man, holding a rag in his hand with which he wiped a long ,polished wood. A boy with a flame in his hair stood in a pool of blood, leaned down, and pulled others just like him from it. Beside him, a thin boy sat at a table loaded with all manner of sweets. When he reached for one, it disappeared. Last, before waking, he saw a young child in the arms of a woman. The child jerked, his eyes rolling in his head, and the woman held him until it passed. Another woman, seen by neither the child nor his mother, stood by and laughed.
A small-tailed beast sat on his mother’s stool when he woke. The shirt she had prepared laid over the end of his bed. It fit him perfectly, and when he ran his hand over the decorations, he knew everything, just as she had promised. The small beast jumped onto his shoulder and nipped him on the ear.
“To the sea,” it said. “It awaits us there.”
He had only traveled over the sea once before when they had gone to see a son of Morrigan. The journey had barely begun before it was over. This time, it took longer, and he was able to see the great whales as they rose to the surface and then plunged back to the depths. Before it was out of sight, he turned to look at home one last time, knowing it would be a long while before he once again stepped on its shores.
~ ~ ~
The new place was filled with things he had never seen. There were large pieces of hard material that people went into and came out of. Different colored smaller ones would be filled with people and then would begin moving. He saw no purpose in them when one had feet to travel with, and he set off to find his brother. People stopped and stared at the odd young man with the animal on his shoulder. Some pointed their fingers at him, and others went to the opposite side of the road. A small girl ran in front of him and held out her hand. He bowed to her, and she giggled. The mother ran over and promptly gave her a swat on the behind and a lecture about strangers. The girl cried, struggling to get away from her mother.
“What is the matter with you?” the mother asked. “Behave yourself.”
“Him, he is the one,” the child said.
“Don’t be silly. He’s just a stranger, and you know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers, young lady.”
“He has something.”
“And you will not be getting any.”
The mother led the crying child away. He watched them until they could no longer be seen, and then he began on his way again. Sensing something behind him, he turned and found several children waiting with their hands out.
“It is not for you,” he said. “You will only consume grief.”
The children looked at him, baffled.
“We know you have it,” one said.
“It is not for your kind.”
He walked away, leaving them standing with hands still held out. They were human children, and it was not meant for them.
The animal on his shoulder nipped him on the ear.
“We must go quickly,” it said. “There is something wrong here. The human children should not be aware, yet they are.”
He nodded and looked about to see if anyone had seen or heard the animal talking to him. It did not appear to be so, but he still felt uneasy until he was out of the town. He turned around to find nothing more than an old deserted farm house where the town was moments before.
“Does it know we are coming?” he asked.
“Not in its rousing. Deep inside it knows, and it will do what it can to stop us. Stay cautious, my son. We have yet a long way to go.”
He stayed off the road after that, making his way over the fields and through the trees. Going through one field, he found it full of green stalks with lumps growing on the end. He broke a couple off and stuck them in his shirt. When they came to a small creek, he sat down to rest.
“Is this food?” he asked, taking the lumps from his shirt.
The animal sniffed one, then grabbed it, tearing off the outer layer to reveal small yellow bumps. It began to eat; the boy did the same. He pulled up a small white flower and then watched to see one grow again—but instead, nothing grew in its place.
“This is not home,” the animal said. “What is lost here is lost forever. It cannot grow back, and a new one must be planted.”
It was strange to him. At home, if he picked an apple from a tree, one replaced it straightaway, even if he picked every apple. He knew he would have to be cautious with his needs and conserve his supplies so they did not run out.
“If they do not return, then how do I find new ones?”
“You must have something of value that is wanted.”
“Do I have such a thing?”
“You have your hair.”
~ ~ ~
The woman looked sternly over her glasses at the boy. She picked up one of the long braids laid before her, then looked at his hair.
“You say this is your hair?” she asked. “How old are you, fifteen?”
“It is my hair.”
“Impossible. This is at least ten years’ growth.”
“Do you want them?”
“Of course I want them,” the woman said. “These are the most perfect hairs I’ve ever seen.”
“Then what will you pay?”
“I’ll pay six hundred for each braid. You won’t get better than that.”
“All right. I will take that,” he said.
“I want the braid you are growing too.”
The boy agreed. The woman came around the counter and cut it off at the neck. She opened a metal box and brought out a stack of bills. She counted them and handed some to the boy. He put them away and thanked her. As he was leaving, she thought she could see his hair growing back again. Impossible, she thought to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.
She pulled a box out and began to place the braids in it. She wondered why the boy had been alone and so far from home. He had not come from Ireland just to sell his hair. It was such fine hair.
The boy tied a string firmly at the end of his braid and let it fall behind his back. He put the money into his pouch, and the animal climbed on his shoulder.
“We must leave here,” it said. “If that woman sees you again, there may be trouble. Your magic is not strong enough to hold the spell on her long.”
“It is very different in this land,” the boy said. “I will have to use my wits.”
“I feel our place is not much farther, and you will be among your own.”
He knew when the air was cooler and the grass looked distinct that he had finished his journey. The town was smaller than the others he had gone through and seemed more like home. He found the road was even unlike them. He stepped onto the red matte bricks and walked toward the man looking at his watch.
Copyrighted by R K Finnell © 2009. All rights reserved.
Self Published by R.K. Finnell-Murray - ISBN: 978-0-578-03409-6
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