The Shadowmagic Trilogy

SEVEN
BROWNIES

‘They took my sword. Oh my God, my father is going to kill me.’

Fergal went over to the alder and placed his hand on the bark, then kicked it. A rain of branches showered down that made us run out from under its cover.

‘Fergal, what the hell is going on?’

‘We got rumbled by the alder last night.’

‘Are you telling me the tree mugged us?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Then who could take my shoes and your wire from under your shirt without waking us up?’

‘Brownies, damn them.’

‘Whos-ies?

‘Brownies – who else?’

‘You mean like girl scouts?’

‘Why do you think they were girls?’ Fergal said, confused.

‘Never mind. I have to get that sword back. It is very important.’

‘Well, that’s not going to be easy. Brownies weigh nothing and are famously difficult to track.’

We looked around at the dew-covered grass and then at each other. We were both wearing the same ear-to-ear grin. You see, Brownies are usually difficult to track – except when one of them is wearing Nikes.

Whoever stole my shoes must have had tiny feet because he dragged them along the ground, trying to keep my size elevens from falling off. The tracks led into the stream but were easy to pick up on the other side. Fergal dashed under the tree and grabbed a couple of branches that we could use as weapons. He shouted a sarcastic, ‘Thanks,’ as the alder tried to rain more wood down on him.

We followed the trail across some wide, open fields that led to rolling hills. The trees were thin and the ground pretty spongy but periodically my bare feet made contact with a rock or a twig that made me yelp. I wasn’t sure how long I would be able to keep up this pace, but saying that, I felt a lot better than I did yesterday.

Every time I wanted to ask Fergal if we could rest, I remembered the Sword of Duir – I had to get it back. I had a vision of meeting up with Dad and him saying, ‘Let me get this straight, I give you a sword that has been in our family for thousands of years and you lose it – in a day!’ I really wanted to avoid that conversation. After about an hour of jogging we rounded a small hill. I lost the trail but Fergal laid his head on the ground and pointed to a small cliff face about a quarter-mile to our right.

‘If we are lucky, they are camping in those rocks,’ Fergal said.

‘What makes you think they made camp?’

‘Look, my Nanny Breithe always got mad at me when I talked badly about any race but the truth of it is, Brownies are cocky and stupid. They think they are so stealthy that they are untrackable, but look at these idiots. Not one of them bothered to look behind them to check if they were leaving a trail. My guess is that they were up all night watching us, so I’m hoping they are camping in those rocks.’

‘And if you’re wrong?’

‘Then you’re going to have to buy a new pair of those fancy shoes of yours. Where did you get them anyway?’

‘Scranton,’ I said without thinking.

‘Scranton? Never heard of it.’

‘Yeah.’ I laughed. ‘A lot of people say that.’

The way was a bit harder here and Fergal shushed me every time a pebble underfoot made me bark. When we reached the foot of the knoll Fergal and I took a minute to rub the small stems and leaves off the branches we were carrying so as to fashion them into staffs. They weren’t the best weapons in the world but they would have to do.

Climbing the rocks would have been a cinch if I’d had anything on my feet, but barefoot it was flipping difficult. What was harder than the actual climbing was trying not to curse every time I stepped on some jagged edge. My poor tootsies were taking a beating. If I got through this without getting stabbed by my own sword, I was going to throttle whoever took my Nikes. Fergal reached the summit before me. He peeped over and instantly ducked down, placing his index finger over his lips and indicating that our light-fingered quarry was just over the rise. I pressed up next to him.

‘There’s only two of them,’ he whispered. ‘We need a plan.’

‘Have you ever done this before?’

‘Done what?’

‘Attacked two armed men with sticks?’

‘No, but I’m looking forward to it.’ He smiled.

His smile was so infectious I said, ‘OK, what’s the plan?’

‘One of us should circle around behind them, and when he is in position the other one makes a frontal attack from here. The one of us that comes from the rear should be able to take them out before the one who attacks from here gets sliced up too much.’

‘As much as I don’t fancy the idea of getting “sliced up too much”, you have to go around the back – my feet are killing me.’

‘OK, take a quick look and you’ll see the gap in the back. I’ll be coming from there.’

I was nervous until I stuck my nose over the ledge. They looked like a couple of teenage street urchins. They had black matted hair and wore tight dark green clothes stretched over bodies so skinny they would have made a supermodel look chunky. Between them was a campfire that had a dome of gold wire over it. The smoke rising from the fire seemed to disappear when it hit the wire. The two swords and Fergal’s pack were lying behind them on the ground. When the larger guy got up to tend the fire I saw that the smaller one had my shoes on the ground between his legs. He had removed the laces from one of them and then to my horror I realised he was about to cut the tongue out of the sneaker. That’s when I kind of forgot where I was. I stood up and yelled, ‘Hey!’ vaulted over the ledge and slid down to two very surprised Brownies.

‘What is the matter with you?’ I shouted.

The little guy just froze. The bigger one grabbed the Sword of Duir and pointed it at me. What confused him was that I just ignored him. I walked over to the little guy and grabbed the shoe – I was mad.

‘What’s the matter with you? If you are going to steal my Nikes the least you could do is give them a little respect. What the hell are you cutting them for?’

The bigger guy poked me in the back with my sword. I turned to him and said, ‘I’ll deal with you in a second.’ I looked around – Fergal was nowhere to be seen.

I turned back to junior. ‘I’m talking to you. Why the hell were you cutting up my sneakers?’ He seemed too terrified to speak. I towered over him. ‘Well?’

‘My, my feet got sweaty in them,’ he stammered.

‘Oh, so after sweating in my shoes you decided to cut them up.’ I think I would have slapped him if the big guy hadn’t just then given me a good jab in the ribs that demanded my attention.

‘If you take one more step towards my brother,’ the bigger one said, ‘I’m going to run you through.’

I turned. He had striking pale blue eyes that, unlike his brother, had no fear in them. He was holding my sword to my chest but I remained calm.

‘That is my sword,’ I pointed out, ‘and in about three seconds I’m going to take it back.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’ His voice betrayed a tiny loss of confidence.

‘I’m going to pick it off the ground after my friend Fergal clocks you in the head with a tree branch.’

He went down like a house of cards. I quickly turned to little brother, who was still frozen like a rabbit in headlights. I picked up my sword and pointed to the soles of my feet.

‘Look at my tootsies! Do you see how dirty they are? I should make you lick them clean.’

I took a step towards him and he started to shake. I instantly felt sorry for him – this kid was way out of his league. I crouched down.

‘Hey, little guy, relax, we’re not going to hurt you.’ I turned to Fergal. ‘We’re not going to hurt them – right?’

‘Well, I’m not going to hurt anybody,’ Fergal said as he began to tie up big brother, ‘but you seem a bit worked up about your footwear.’

‘Well, I like these shoes.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

I turned back to the boy. ‘OK, it’s decided, no one is going to hurt you. What’s your name?’

‘My brother said I’m not supposed to tell you my name even if you torture me.’

‘Wow, you guys are a real bunch of desperados. Mind if I call you Jesse?’

‘I, I guess.’

Fergal finished hogtying the brother and came over.

‘Fergal, meet Jesse.’

Fergal leaned over the boy. ‘What kind of a name is Jesse?’

I tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘I made it up but I think he likes it – just go with it.’

‘OK, hi, Jesse. What are you two doing so far from the Fearnlands?’

‘My brother said there would be easy pickings out here but we haven’t seen anybody for ages. I wanted to go home – only he made me keep going. He said Father would let him take his scrúdú early if we came back with quality acquisitions. I, I didn’t mean to hurt your shoes, honest. What are you going to do to us?’

‘Scrúdú?’

‘It’s the manhood test,’ he said, then the poor kid turned ghastly white. ‘Oh gods, I shouldn’t have told you that.’

So that was it – a story as old as time, big brother with delusions of manhood, roped little bro into doing something incredibly stupid.

I picked up a canteen from the ground, walked over to big bro and poured some water on his head. He spluttered awake and tried to get up. When he realised he was hogtied he looked at Fergal and me. His bravado from earlier had vanished.

‘Good morning, Frank,’ I said.

‘What is Frank?’ he said.

‘You are. Since your little brother over there has informed me that we won’t know your real names until after we torture you, I decided to call you Frank and him Jesse until then.’

‘My name is Demne and my brother is Codna.’

I turned to Jesse/Codna, who now had his mouth wide open in amazement. ‘Well, Jesse, it looks like your brother isn’t much for torture.’

I turned back to the big bro. ‘You know, Demne, I like Frank better. You don’t mind if I call you Frank, do you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good. OK, Frank, here’s what we are going to do. First, we are going to take our acquisitions back. You don’t have any problems with that, do you, Frank?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You know, I really am starting to like your attitude, Frank. Next I’m going to borrow your shoes and let you have the opportunity, like I had, to climb barefoot over those rocks.’ I crouched down and took Frank’s sandals off his feet, picked up Jesse’s from the ground and threw them over the stone ridge as far as I could. ‘We are going to leave you now, but before we do, you are going to promise me that the next time you have a harebrained idea, you are not going to drag your brother into it. Right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Fergal, do you have anything to add?’

Fergal had reattached his Banshee blade and was now examining the gold wire dome he had taken from its position over the fire. Smoke was now floating freely in the air. ‘Now that you mention it, Conor, I was thinking of taking this interesting thing as payment for our troubles.’

Frank tried to stand when Fergal said this, and fell on his side. ‘Please don’t take our father’s smokescreen. He’ll kill us if we lose it.’

I grabbed Frank by the arm and pulled him back up into a sitting position. ‘So let me guess, Dad doesn’t know you took it?’

He shook his head – a pathetic no. I took the smokescreen from Fergal and placed it on Frank’s head like a skullcap.

‘Jesse, can I give you a little piece of information that will help you for the rest of your life?’

Jesse just stared at me and then slowly nodded yes.

‘Your big brother is an idiot.’

He nodded to me again.

As we walked to the rim of the knoll Fergal said, ‘I would really have liked that smokescreen.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but I know what it’s like to get in trouble with your dad and I didn’t have the heart to do that to them.’

I gave them one last look before I climbed back down. Jesse was still sitting stock still.

I called to him. ‘Jesse, you can untie your brother any time you want but if I were you I would make him suffer for a little while longer.’

He looked up to me and then gave me the tiniest of smiles and then waved.

‘Behave, you two,’ I shouted as I jumped down the rock face.

Our encounter with the outlaws had put us behind schedule for the party. Fergal set a jogging pace that made me wish I had tortured those two a little bit.

‘So I said we need a plan,’ Fergal said to me as he ran alongside, ‘and you said “OK”. Do you remember that?’

‘I do.’

‘And then we made a plan. Do you remember that too?’

I nodded, conserving my breath.

‘Good, now here is the point I’m getting to. I don’t know how they do things in Skwinton.’

‘Scranton,’ I corrected.

‘OK, Scranton, but where I come from, after you make a plan you don’t just up and jump over a wall screaming.’

‘Well, it worked, didn’t it?’

‘Yes, Conor, but remember, some of us don’t have a priceless snap spell to come to our rescue.’

I almost told him that my mom’s protection spell didn’t have anything to do with it, since it works solely on relatives and only once, but then I thought, He doesn’t need to know all that and I’m a bit out of breath anyway, so all I said was, ‘Yeah, sorry.’

‘Do not worry about it,’ he said, slapping me on the back, almost precipitating a full-speed jogging wreck – somehow I kept my footing.

Fergal seemed to think that running at this pace for a couple of hours was an OK thing to do. It wasn’t easy but amazingly I kept up. Usually any sport more strenuous than bowling pushes me over the edge. Maybe those annoying callisthenics that Dad used to make me do before and after sword fighting lessons were paying off. After a while I started to enjoy it. I got a glimpse of the high that joggers say they get from running. I took in the magnificent scenery as my body set a cadence that echoed in my brain. I think I was about to slip into a perfect Zen-like state when Fergal slapped me on the back again and snapped me out of it.

‘Hey, you hungry? There’s an apple tree over there.’

Hungry? Now that I thought about it, I was starving! I saw the tree and ran straight towards it. The apples looked even better than the one that my mother had given me. I know I go on and on about the trees in The Land, but I can’t emphasise enough how magnificent they are. Never in my life had I ever seen a fruit tree so bountiful. Directly above my head was an apple bigger than my fist. I stared at it for a moment and marvelled at how my face reflected in its mirror-like red skin. I bent my knees and jumped to grab it.

That’s when the bus hit me.

EIGHT
ARAF

OK, it wasn’t a bus, but it sure felt like one. One moment I was in mid-jump with an apple in my hand, the next moment I was hit – hard in the shoulder and went flying ass over teacups through the air. Luckily I landed in a pile of thick barley that was pretty soft.

Fergal was at my side in a second. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Did you get the licence number of that truck?’ I groaned.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Give me a second to check my bones to see which of them aren’t broken.’

‘For the gods’ sake, haven’t you ever picked an apple before? Wait here and I’ll talk to her.’

‘Talk to who?’

I sat up and found that I was a considerable distance from where I had been moments before. Fergal slowly approached the apple tree and placed his hands on the trunk. He mumbled a few things, pointed to me and then jogged back.

‘She said she won’t hit you again. She wants to talk to you. If I was you I’d start with an apology.’

The tree hit me? The tree hit me! Of course it did. If I had to thank a willow tree for its shade, I must certainly have had to ask permission before picking an apple. I just wished I could learn something in this place without it being so painful.

I stood up. I wasn’t hurt as bad as I should have been. The blow was so unexpected that I didn’t have time to tense up. Still, I had one hell of a dead arm. I walked warily towards the tree. I had spent a lifetime with trees. I always knew they were living things but I never really treated them like they were living in the same world as me. Again, The Land was forcing me to re-examine my perceptions. I placed my hand on the trunk.

A conversation with a tree is not like communicating with anyone or anything else. It’s not a dialogue, it’s more of a meeting of the minds. Even though I spoke out loud it was not necessary – words are not the medium of communication.

I didn’t have to worry about convincing the apple tree that I was sorry, she knew as soon as I touched her and I knew I was forgiven – the sensation of it washed over me. She was happy I was not seriously hurt – she had never hit anyone so hard before. I learned that it was not uncommon for her to give a child a little smack, just to teach a lesson, but she had never had a poacher as old as me and let loose a good one. She told me (felt me?) that Fergal and I could each have a couple of apples with her blessing. The only part of the conversation that was almost in words, was when I thanked her and said goodbye. I could have sworn she said, ‘Good luck, little prince.’

We sat under the apple tree’s shade and ate and drank water from Fergal’s canteen. Who’d have thought that an apple and some water could make such a superb meal? It was so satisfying I felt as though I could live on these two things alone. I have since found out that many people in The Land do just that.

‘You still look pretty wrecked, Conor. The castle’s only an hour or so away and we don’t want to be too early. Why don’t you have a snooze? I promise I won’t steal your shoes.’

‘I won’t argue with that,’ I said as I put my head on the soft grass. Before I dozed off I raised my hand behind me and touched the apple tree. I asked her if she minded me resting here a little bit. She told me she would look after me as I slept. Next thing I knew, I was dreaming again.

I dreamt I was a child, maybe five years old. I was walking between my parents, holding their hands as we passed under huge yew trees. These yews were not menacing like the ones on the river. The trees moved out of our way and bowed to us as we passed. An arrow sailed through the air and hit my father in the shoulder. I was upset but my father told me not to be silly and pulled the arrow from his flesh, like he was dusting dandruff off his suit. Mom rubbed the wound and it healed.

We sat together under a tree. Mom pointed and I looked up. I saw that the yew we were sitting under was now an apple tree. I turned to ask my mother if I could have an apple but she and my father were gone. Next, the apple tree raised itself up on huge roots, pushing itself free from the ground and kicked me! I rolled like a ball into the base of another tree and that one kicked me as well. Soon all of the trees had gathered around me having a kick-about, with me as the ball! The funny thing was I liked it. They weren’t hurting me, it was fun. After a while I got bored with the game and I laid down under a tree. The tree kept kicking me but I refused to move.

I awoke with a tree root sticking in my back. I am sure it wasn’t there when I fell asleep. Fergal was snoring away to my left. I toyed with the idea of stealing his shoes as a joke, but I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t stab me first and get the joke second. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. That’s when I saw him approach.

He was close enough that I could see that he was short, but not slight. He was built like a brick outhouse – not fat, just a solid body with a head sitting directly on the shoulders. I got the impression that if I ran at him with all of my might I would just bounce off. Maybe that’s where they got the word bouncer from – ’cause that’s exactly what he looked like. If you got rid of the leather toga he was wearing and put him in a tuxedo, you could imagine him standing in the doorway of any night club. He was walking directly towards us.

I stood and said, ‘Hi.’

He didn’t even notice me. In his hand he held a thick wooden stick with a gnarled top and seemed to be heading for Fergal. ‘Ah, excuse me,’ I said, trying to be polite, ‘can I help?’

He walked straight at Fergal and raised his stick. I drew my sword and covered the ground between us. That got his attention at least.

‘If you are looking for your neck, I can assure you we don’t have it.’

I looked him in the eye but he gave me nothing back. I couldn’t read the face at all. I kicked Fergal and said, ‘We’ve got company.’

Fergal opened his eyes to see the Incredible Hulk Junior and myself standing over him with weapons drawn.

He looked at Hulk, then at me. ‘For the love of the gods, Conor, haven’t you ever met anybody without drawing a sword?’

‘A friend of yours?’

Fergal nodded and I lowered my weapon. ‘Conor, meet Araf – Araf, meet Conor.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, offering my hand, ‘I’ve had a rough couple of days.’

‘That’s what he said when he pulled a sword on me,’ Fergal said.

‘That’s not fair – this time I was defending you.’

Araf shook my hand and almost broke it.

‘He was coming at you with a club.’

‘It’s a banta stick,’ Fergal said, ‘and Araf always wakes me with it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because once, and only once,’ Fergal said defensively, glaring at Araf, ‘I attacked him with my Banshee blade when he woke me up. I was having a bad dream – and it was a long time ago. Ever since then he always wakes me with a stick.’

‘Sounds sensible,’ I said, thinking that I was lucky not to steal Fergal’s shoes while he slept.

Araf nodded at me in agreement. It was the first true communication between us.

‘Come on,’ Fergal said, picking himself off the ground, ‘we’ve got a party to go to.’

‘Are you coming to the party, Araf?’ I asked.

‘Are you kidding?’ Fergal replied for him. ‘Araf here is a party beast!’

As we walked to the party I got Araf’s life story – not from Araf, I might add, but from Fergal. I was starting to wonder if Araf could speak at all. Araf and Fergal had grown up together in a place called Castle Ur in the Heatherlands. It was obvious they weren’t blood relatives. One look at the two of them told you that they came from different gene pools – hell, different gene oceans. It turned out that both had been raised by the same nanny, who was now dead. When I asked Fergal about his parents he seemed to sidestep the question.

And check this out – Araf is an Imp! I came very close to bursting out laughing and saying, ‘Isn’t he a bit big for an Imp?’ but I kept my mouth shut. The Land was going to throw quite a few surprises at me. If I wanted to look like a native, I would have to take stuff like this in my stride. I couldn’t help thinking what a funky couple of days I was having. How many people can say they’ve been in a sword fight with a Banshee and an Imp and then went off to a party with them?

The landscape changed the closer we got to Castle Muhn. The fields of grain changed into towering vineyards. Ancient trellises of black hawthorn were draped with vines producing grapes in bunches so large I was amazed that they could stay on the vine. Bees the size of hummingbirds roared through the white and pink blossoms. Castle Muhn was not like the imposing fortress of Castle Duir. It was huge – it must have taken up over an acre, with low walls, and I noticed a conspicuous lack of sentries. Actually, with the vineyards around it, it looked more like a sprawling French chateau.

We walked in silence for a while, which I was starting to realise was unusual for Fergal. Things had been so crazy, this was the first moment I had time to collect my thoughts. Jeez, I hoped Dad was alright. He looked bad when I left him but he was definitely alive. I felt guilty going to a party, but something in my mother’s voice back there made me think Dad would be OK. And then there was my dream. Was that a vision or just wish-fulfilment? Well, as much as I would like to be able to help him, there was nothing I could do about it. Still, that didn’t stop me from worrying.

I decided to look at the big picture. Right. My father is a prince or maybe a king. My mother is an outlaw sorceress, and everyone in this place (that shouldn’t even exist) wants to kill me. OK, let’s forget the big picture – that was just freaking me out. I needed a plan for the here and now. What should I do? I should get out of here, that’s what I should do. I needed to get out of The Land. If the prophecy was right, and everyone around here seemed to take it seriously – deadly seriously – then my parents’ plan was a good one. Let me live a long and happy life in the Real World and when I reach a ripe old age, I pass away in my bed. The son of the one-handed prince will die, and Tir na Nog will be saved. Good plan – I liked it. But how do I get back to the Real World? There had to be a way, after all my father and I had done it. The answer was Mom. She was the one that sent us in the first place. If I could find my mother, I could get out of here. OK, I had a plan – find my mother. Where? How? She said she was going to the Fililands, so now all I had to do was find out how to get there. I chuckled to myself – the fact of the matter was that I was lost and scared and the only plan I could come up with was – I want my mommy! – real mature.

The approach to the outer wall of the castle was strange – eerie, in fact. The gate was wide open but there were no guards, no anybody. I could just about hear music coming from within but there was no one outside or inside the doorway as far as I could tell.

‘I’m not an expert on castles,’ I said, ‘but aren’t you supposed to, like, guard them?’

‘Gerard doesn’t need guards, he’s got a mountain of gold,’ Fergal said. ‘This place is crawling with snap spells. I’m sure if you were up to no good, you wouldn’t get in here.’

‘Gerard?’ I said. ‘Is this the same guy who built the huts?’

‘Of course.’

We were actually inside the castle and still there was nobody around. There was definitely something going on. I could hear music but there was no sign of a party. I was startled when huge wooden doors at the end of the hallway opened and half a dozen servants with trays of dirty mugs and plates hurried past us without even a second glance. Music and the smell of food escaped from the room like a caged bird. The sound and the aroma were instantly intoxicating. I had been thinking that maybe going to such a public event was a bad idea, but after I got that nose- and earful – just try to keep me out.

Fergal reached the door first and then jumped when he heard a voice saying, ‘Name?’

To the right of the door was an alcove with a split door, the top half open. Behind the door was an old guy – and I mean an ancient old guy. Physically he didn’t look that old, but I could see the years in his eyes. It’s amazing how quickly I had gotten used to examining people’s eyes. This guy’s peepers had been around for a long, long time.

‘Name?’ he repeated.

‘Fergal of Castle Ur.’

‘Castle Ur?’ the old man questioned. ‘You don’t look like an Imp to me.’

‘He is with me,’ Araf said, in a beautiful bass voice.

‘My God!’ I said. ‘He can speak.’

‘Ah, Master Araf,’ the old guy said, ‘it is good to see you again.’

‘This is my kinsman, Fergal,’ Araf said. ‘He is indeed of Castle Ur, and this is Conor of …’

They all three looked to me for an answer – what could I say? ‘I am Conor of – the Fililands.’

They all looked at me like I was from another planet (which I guess I was) and then burst into laughter.

‘The Fililands!’ the old man repeated. ‘That’s a good one. Try not to eat any babies tonight, will you?’

Fergal and Araf laughed at this. So I did too.

‘I promise,’ I said.

‘Any friends of Master Araf are welcome in Castle Muhn,’ said the old man. ‘I’ll take your weapons now, if you please. That would include the one up your sleeve, Master … Fergal, was it?’

Fergal looked shocked but produced and unhooked his Banshee blade.

‘I was hoping to get into a banta match.’ Araf spoke again. ‘Can I not keep my stick?’

The doorkeeper held out his hand and Araf handed him his banta stick. The old man inspected it and placed it with a bunch of others behind the door. ‘There will be sticks provided if you wish to compete. And our sticks,’ the old man said with a wry smile, ‘have the added advantage of not being hollowed out and filled with lead.’

Araf nodded like a guilty schoolboy.

Fergal and I both handed over our weapons. He filed Fergal’s blade away, but looked at mine for quite some time.

‘This is an exquisite sword,’ the old man said, as he placed it alone in a narrow cupboard. ‘Does it have a name?’

‘Does what have a name?’ I asked.

‘Your sword – a weapon as superb as this should have a name.’

‘Oh, of course – I – I call it,’ I announced, ‘the Lawnmower!’’