Authors: Jennifer Fallon
The
sídhe
of this world were an odd mix of Faerie folk. Aelf and dryads, sprites and pixies, gnomes and nixes, many of them of no particular race or gender. These were the elemental creatures of the realm and had little interaction with the mundane species of their reality, which was the main reason they were still alive, Trása suspected. These were the creatures rarely seen by humans.
They had their own version of the Undivided here, although exactly how long ago they had shared their magic with humans was lost in the mists of time. Those who might remember — the
Tuatha Dé Danann
, the
Djinn
, even the greater
Youkai
— were all dead, driven through rifts where they perished from the lack of magic.
The lesser
Youkai
and
sídhe
that survived had coped as best they could. The
Leipreachán
had tried to embrace their new
reality by emulating the warriors of this realm. Trása smiled every time she met another one, Rónán’s description of them as ninja-
Faeries
still making her smile. They spoke the same language as the
Leipreachán
in her realm, but they had taken Japanese names — or mangled versions of them — and dressed like little ninjas. Their weapons were made of
airgead sídhe
, but they were the weapons of their conquerors, rather than the shillelaghs the
Leipreachán
of her realm carried. They carried
katanas
and
shuriken
and
nunchakus
— which Trása had a sneaking suspicion not a single one of them was capable of using without knocking themselves out.
Their relief at her arrival was pathetic. They were so hungry for guidance, for some sense that the greater
sídhe
of their realm were watching over the world, ensuring all was right with it. And they were universally convinced that SvenHendrick’s dying act had been to find this brave and fearless half-
beansídhe
, half-human saviour and send her to this realm to take care of the evil twins, Teagan and Isleen.
Trása wasn’t really sure about their adoration. In her own world, she was an unwanted mongrel, belonging neither in the
sídhe
world or the human one. Here the wee folk just wanted to be near her, just wanted to bask in the glory of her presence, the way the lesser
sídhe
in her realm basked in Queen Orlagh’s splendour.
There was no way of telling them the truth without breaking their hearts. There was no way of explaining that she had fallen through the rift into this realm by accident and she had no hope of opening another one on her own. There was no way to tell them she had never heard of Sven or Hendrick.
And it would be cruel to tell them that as soon as Rónán found a way out of this realm, she was gone from here and they would have to fend for themselves.
It was hard to say how long she’d been in this reality’s version
of
Tír Na nÓg
. Time moved differently here. When she arrived, she knew she only had a few days before
Lughnasadh
, but she wasn’t sure exactly when it was. Trása wondered if she would feel anything — whether she should return to the fireworks factory and see if Rónán was still there or if he had already left with the Empresses for
Nara
.
She was still pondering that when she heard a sound behind her. Trása was standing on the edge of a wide bough, looking down over the glorious magical expanse of
Tír Na nÓg
, deep in thought. She turned in time to see a cluster of aelf blink out of existence with a giggle. They had left a basket behind, filled with apples, pears and persimmons. It was real fruit too, not the magical tastes-wonderful-but-doesn’t-do-anything-to-quell-your-hunger sort of fruit that her mother was prone to serving. She smiled and called out a thank-you, guessing the laughter and rustling leaves above her head meant the pixies had retreated there, too shy to face her directly.
She reached down and picked up an apple, biting into it with a sigh, pushing aside the folds of the gossamer shift the water sprites had brought her as a gift, so she wouldn’t tear the flimsy fabric. The apple was delicious. Even mundane food served in
Tír Na nÓg
tasted better than it did on the outside.
‘Them pesky pixies not been bothering ye again, have they, mistress?’
She turned to discover Toyoda and two of his ninja-
Leipreachán
companions standing on the branch behind her. Trása had to stop herself from laughing aloud at the sight of them.
‘No, they’re not causing trouble. They brought me food.’
Toyoda frowned, not happy to hear that. Trása wondered whether he was jealous or just annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it first. Not that he’d been here — Trása had sent him on a mission.
‘Did you see him?’ she asked, before Toyoda and his friends — who he’d introduced earlier as Isamu and Eita — had a chance to be distracted by a battle with the pixies over who was going to bring her the best gifts.
‘He still be at the Ikushima compound, mistress,’ the one on the left informed her. Trása had no idea whether it was Isamu or Eita as they both had their faces wrapped in their ninja hoods, leaving only their eyes visible and some ginger whiskers poking out in odd places. ‘As be the Empresses.’
‘Really?’ she said, thinking aloud as much as discussing the issue with three ridiculously dressed
Leipreachán
. ‘I thought they’d have taken him back to
Nara
long before now. How long have I been here?’
The three
Leipreachán
looked at each other for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Not sure, mistress. But it be
Higan No Chu-Nichi
, so that be telling ye something.’
Trása frowned. She didn’t know what Toyoda thought the date was telling her but she did know
Higan No Chu-Nichi
was what the Japanese colonists here called
Lughnasadh
. ‘It’s tonight?’
Toyoda’s eyes lit up. ‘Will ye be celebrating it with us, mistress?’
‘Maybe,’ she said, not really listening. She was puzzled. Why hadn’t the Empresses taken Rónán back to their capital in
Chu-cho-
?
Or killed him outright when they realised he was Faerie?
‘Are they holding Renkavana prisoner?’ she asked, thinking perhaps the evil little Empresses had some nefarious plan in mind, perhaps a public execution. Perhaps they planned to make an example of Rónán and any
sídhe
foolish enough to step through a rift into this corner of their far-flung empire.
‘He seemed fine to us, mistress,’ Eita said. Or maybe it was Isamu. She really couldn’t tell. ‘Seems like he be in great favour with the Empresses, not their prisoner.’
Why
? she wondered. If the Empresses are determined to wipe out the
sídhe
, why are they feting Rónán like a long-lost friend?
Couldn’t they tell what he was?
Or did being only mostly
sídhe
mean they thought he was from the equivalent of the
Konketsu
in another world?
‘Do you suppose they’d welcome me with open arms if I went back there to fetch Rónán?’ she asked. After all, she was only half-
sídhe
. Arguably, she had less Faerie blood in her than Rónán and would well qualify as
Konketsu
. Would she get the same reception? Or had Chishihero branded her irrevocably as a dreaded
Youkai
because she could shape-shift? Perhaps nothing she did would change the minds of those two little girls with too much power and a bloodlust for her kind that defied logic.
She glanced up at the sky but the position of the sun in
Tír Na nÓg
was never a reliable gauge of what was happening out in the mundane world.
If I leave here, will it even still be
Lughnasadh
by the time I get to Rónán?
And what could she do? The transfer would take place and Rónán would die. Perhaps not instantly, or even tonight, but at best he only had a few days. There was nothing she could do to save him. Perhaps her plan to bring Rónán here to
Tír Na nÓg
might work, but how would she get him here if he refused to wane out of
Shin Bungo
? For that matter, he had no idea where this place was, so he couldn’t just will himself here.
Her heart sank. She realised that even if Rónán wanted to escape the Empresses, he had nowhere to go.
Was it fair that she hid here in
Tír Na nÓg
among her adoring new flock while Rónán perished for want of the means to open a rift to his own realm?
Trása did not consider herself sentimental. She’d developed a hide thick enough to take the bruises life handed out to the half-human daughter of the most heinous traitor in living memory. She was surprised then to find herself not only worried about Rónán, but almost overwhelmed with guilt at the thought that
she had left him behind, even though he had sent her away and ordered her to stay away.
The
Leipreachán
must have mistaken her silence for concern — which was true enough, but she was not worried about what they assumed, or what they thought of her. ‘He seems fine, mistress,’ Toyoda assured her. ‘He not be in any immediate danger.’
Not immediate, no
, Trása silently agreed.
The danger to Rónán comes from another realm that we can’t even reach.
‘I think I need to go back to
Shin Bungo
,’ Trása said, wondering how she could have contemplated leaving Rónán at a time like this.
What was I thinking? I can’t sit here playing queen of the Faerie while Darragh’s brother dies a horrible death from magical withdrawal, alone, in a strange realm, with nothing — not even a familiar face — to see him on his way.
‘But Renkavana told us to leave
Shin Bungo
, mistress,’ Toyoda reminded her. ‘To protect ye from the Empresses. He not be happy if ye endanger yeself — and the rest of us — by going back.’
Trása smiled. Endangering ‘the rest of us’ was the main concern of the
Leipreachán
, she figured. Her own safety probably came a poor second. ‘Renkavana’s not going to be in a position to object,’ she predicted. ‘How long until sunset out there, do you think?’
‘Not long, mistress,’ Toyoda said, looking worried. ‘Ye should stay here. It be
Higan No Chu-Nichi.
Stay and celebrate with us. Naught but trouble awaits ye in the mundane world.’
‘Naught but trouble awaits me wherever I go, Toyoda,’ she sighed, tossing away her half-eaten apple. ‘Why should this realm be any different?’
Toyoda glanced at his two companions before facing Trása. ‘Ye mean to go, then, mistress?’
‘Yes, Toyoda, I’m afraid I do.’
‘Then ye leave me no choice but to stop ye by force, mistress.’
Trása laughed. ‘How are you going to stop me?’
‘By ordering ye to stay … Tinkerbell.’
She stared at the
Leipreachán
for a moment with a puzzled expression. ‘What?’
‘I be ordering ye to stay …
Tinkerbell.
’
‘Why are you calling me Tinkerbell?’
‘We be sorry, mistress, but if ye insist on this folly, we be having no choice but to invoke ye true name,’ Eita — or was it the other one? — said.
‘My true name? Who told you my true name was Tinkerbell?’ Trása knew the origin of the name. She’d been in Rónán’s reality for the better part of six months. She’d watched plenty of television, including the Disney channel.
‘Renkavana betrayed ye, mistress,’ Toyoda told her heavily. ‘We didn’t be wanting to tell ye, but he told the Empresses ye true name. One of the wood sprites overheard his treachery and brought us the news. And ye true name. We be so sorry, mistress, but we can’t be letting you leave. We need you here.’
So Rónán told the Empresses my true name is Tinkerbell
. Trása appreciated the irony. And the dilemma she now faced. If she defied the
Leipreachán
and his friends, they would know Tinkerbell wasn’t her true name. How soon would the information filter back to the Empresses? How soon before they learned Rónán had lied to them?
And what did it matter? It was almost sunset, the
Leipreachán
claimed. Rónán probably wasn’t going to live long enough for it to be a problem.
‘I’m sorry, Toyoda,’ she said. ‘But Tinkerbell isn’t my true name. And Rónán needs me at the moment, a lot more than you and your friends do.’
Before the
Leipreachán
could object, Trása resumed her hawk form and swooped toward the entrance to
Tír Na nÓg
, leaving her gossamer shift to float gently on the magical air and land with a whisper on the branch she had left behind.
Anwen and Torcán were married in the sacred grove at dawn on
Lughnasadh
. It was a surprisingly simple ceremony, given the groom was the queen of the Celts’ only son. Colmán presided over the ceremony, so of course it rhymed, badly. Having seen Colmán when he wasn’t trying to be Vate of all Eire, Brydie wondered, from her amethyst perch, if he deliberately mangled things to appear foolish, or if he really had no clue of how bad he was.
The vows, however, had been composed by Anwen, which served to highlight how painful Colmán’s poetry was by comparison. Brydie watched Torcán and Colmán — the only members of the wedding party in her line of sight — as Colmán draped two strips of embroidered ribbon over Anwen and Torcán’s joined hands, tied them together, and waited as they swore their troth.
‘I belong to me and you cannot command me,’ Anwen announced, meaning every word, Brydie was quite certain. ‘But I will serve you, beloved, and bring you mead, while ever you treasure my heart. The bounty I bring you will taste sweeter, because it will be served by my hand, with my love and with my care, and my heart seasoning everything I prepare for you.’
‘I swear your name will be the first name to cross my lips each morn, and the last to cross my lips each night …’