To Ride A Púca (40 page)

“Brownies,” Neala grumbled.

The little menaces had probably been stealing from Neala’s family treasure for years. She had never seen her ma or da check on it. Once the brownies found the hiding place it would have been easy. 

A high-pitched shriek emitted from Flora as she darted down and hit one of the brownies in the shoulder. The brownie took a stumbling step back, a look of fear on its face. The other brownies ran and cowered behind the first. They exchanged heated words in their strange language until finally slumping and turning away in defeat.

Using her tunic like a basket, Neala started loading up the treasure.

One of the brownies re-emerged cradling a ruby that looked huge in its small arms. It dropped it onto the pile at Neala’s knees and went back into the hole. Another came out and deposited a stack of gold coins. The procession continued until there was a heaping pile before her. The hoard must have taken up over half the tree trunk. Empty-handed at last, the brownies stood staring up at Neala as if awaiting their fate.

All she could feel as she looked at them was sorrow. The Danes were going to come and cut down the forest, destroying these poor creatures home as surely as they had Neala’s. If it weren’t for the brownies her family’s treasure would be lost. Their thievery could save the lives of the people she loved. It seemed ironic that she had always treated them as a menace.

“Come with us,” Neala told them.

The brownies and the fairy chatted amongst one another, their voices like chimes and so quiet Neala could scarcely hear them. After only a moment they fell silent and Flora flew up to Neala. Sadness filled her eyes as she shook her tiny head. Neala wanted to argue, to try to convince them to come, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, she handed each of the brownies a small jewel before rising with her bundle. Turning her back on them felt like turning her back on her homeland. It tore a gash in her heart she didn’t think would ever heal.

36

On the morning of the second day of traveling there was still no sign of Donal. Before anyone else awoke Neala gathered as many bluebell flowers as she could find and arranged them into a triangle shape that pointed in the direction they were going. Each one she picked tugged at her heart as she remembered all the times she’d woven them into Dubh’s mane. How could she not have known Dubh was so much more than just a horse? It tortured her to think of all that time wasted between them when she could have been getting to know Donal. But then, in a way, she guessed she had been, she just hadn’t realized it.

While scrutinizing her handiwork she absently rubbed the knotwork necklace that hung around her neck. Hundreds of people were fleeing along the same route and Neala was worried that all traces of her energy would be covered.

Her activity drew a few curious fairies that lived in the area. It took very little coaxing to convince them to guard the pile of flowers from destructive brownies or forest creatures. The last of a sweet breakfast biscuit a kind traveler had given her was all the payment the fairies needed.

By the faint light of the pre-dawn she found her way through the forest and back to camp. Leaning against a tree at the edge of the forest was Tyr. The sight of a blond, muscular Dane made her jump, she couldn’t help it. For a moment her mind imagined maybe the enemy had caught up to them. She had thought she was the only one awake after all. It was silly she knew, but the fear of that happening had kept her from sleeping at night. The hurt look that flashed across Tyr’s face made her curse her reaction.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

Desperate to ease the pain of rejection in his eyes, Neala touched his arm and gave him the best smile she could manage. He was sacrificing so much for her, he deserved at least that. And she did care about him, more than she wanted to really, but it was hard to look at him and not feel guilty. While she was deeply grateful to him, she would have rather had Donal with her. That wasn’t entirely true. If she was going to be honest with herself, she wanted them both here.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just jumpy,” she said.

Her fingers splayed across the width of his bicep, covering less than half of it. The pain in his eyes eased a little but the core of it remained. Killing his da had stripped the joy and easygoing attitude from him, leaving him looking haunted. It hurt every time she looked at him, knowing she was the cause of it.

“We’re all jumpy,” Irial’s voice came from the trees to Neala’s left.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Neala’s hand fell away from Tyr’s arm. The look on Irial’s face as she stepped to Neala’s side wasn’t judging as Neala feared it might be; it was sad. Whether that sadness was for Tyr, or the fact that he wasn’t Donal, was hard to tell. Irial looped her arm through Neala’s as they walked. Her touch brought Neala such a sense of calm and peace that she let out a long breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

Yesterday Irial, Liam, and Cian—along with their families in tow—had all caught up with them. Neala’s heart had broken a little when she’d realized Donal, Bren, and Ciara weren’t with them. Most of their families were unharmed but there had been a few casualties. It felt like she wouldn’t be whole again until her Order was back together. But most importantly, one vital piece of Neala was missing; one she hadn’t realized the deep importance of until a few days ago.

Irial squeezed Neala’s hand. “Cian said he saw Danes camped about a half day’s slow ride behind us. He and the others are helping break camp right now,” she said.

“They’re following us?” Neala asked.

“Looks that way,” Irial said.

It was hard to swallow the lump in her throat, but Neala did it so she could force herself to ask what she didn’t want to know. “How many?”

“About one hundred.”

One hand went to her sword as Neala sped up her pace. The pounding of her heart became so frantic it almost hurt. They had to hurry. Her da was still hurt and in need of more healing and her ma was exhausted from feeding him her power. Their geldings could only pull the wagon so fast and they had two other wagons filled with the families of Neala’s Order to worry about as well. They couldn’t afford to lose any lead they had on the Danes.

They crested the hill and found the entire camp—some thirty druids—loading up their belongings. Liam and Cian were checking the geldings’ harnesses when Neala reached them. Her borrowed mare was tethered to the end of the cart, bobbing her head up and down in impatience. A piercing cry sounded from her as Neala ran up. She freed her with a quick tug on her rope and jumped onto her back.

Inside the cart she could see her parents sleeping soundly beneath their blankets. It was better that they didn’t know why they were setting out so early.

Hooves pounded on the rocky ground, announcing Liam’s arrival. He pulled his black and white stallion to a stop a few yards from Neala. Neala’s mare’s tail swished back and forth and she arched her neck in an attempt to impress the stallion. Good. Neala wanted her full of energy.

“I brushed her for ye and made sure she had her grain,” Cian said as he walked from the other side of the cart.

Looking down at his eager face, Neala managed a small smile. She wished she could have seen that. No doubt the ornery mare had not made it easy. Since she had told Cian about what happened at her home, how Ciara had helped her, he had been trying to do things for Neala as if to repay her for fighting alongside his sister.

“Thank ye. She looks splendid. I hope she didn’t bite ye,” Neala said.

One eyebrow rose and Cian cocked his head. “
Níl
, but not from lack of tryin’,” he admitted.

Laughter shook Neala’s chest but didn’t quite make it past her lips. There was no time for even that small joy. A push of her leg turned her mare almost directly into a white horse that stood out far too much in the dark of pre-dawn. The stallion took two swift steps back, barely avoiding the collision. On its back was Tyr, his bright eyes flashing from within the hood of his cloak. Those eyes flicked to the pale horizon.

“We’d best hurry. They’ll be breaking camp soon,” he said.

Horses approached, Irial rode on the back of one while leading the other. In all the chaos of the other druids breaking camp, Neala hadn’t even realized Irial had left. Such distraction could get her killed but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t focus no matter how hard she tried to force herself.

Liam leaned over and touched Irial’s arm. “Tyr’s right. Cian, ye take the cart on ahead. We’ll ride back a bit to make sure the Danes aren’t followin’, then we’ll catch up with ye by midday,” he said.

They parted ways without another word. As always, Tyr stayed close by Neala’s side. Being on the move helped ease a bit of Neala’s anxiety but only for a moment. Soon her heart was beating in time to the mare’s galloping hooves as her distress came crashing back with enough force to leave her aching. Her eyes scanned the faces of the druids as she and her Order rode by. She knew she wouldn’t find Donal among them but that didn’t stop her from looking every chance she got.

37

Tendrils of smoke wound their way skyward from behind the hill that stood between Neala and the town of Limerick. The dry, bitter taste of ash coated the back of her tongue and dread turned her stomach upside down. It didn’t look like enough smoke to portend the destruction of a town the size of Limerick, but it was far more than a few dozen chimneys would cause. It didn’t make sense. They had been so careful to keep on the move and stay ahead of the Danes. The thick, salty taste of tears mixed with the flavor of ash made Neala cough.

She hadn’t believed the Danes would come this far. But by now she had learned that belief alone wouldn’t be enough to stop it from happening. If the Danes really had come this far then there was no way Neala and her kind could stay in Ireland.

The world swayed, the sensation growing worse as her horse came to a halt. The mare went very still beneath her. Tension twitched through her muscles, a sign that even she knew something was wrong.  

A big shadow fell across her as Tyr reined his horse to a stop on Neala’s left, blocking the last rays of the setting sun. His furrowed brow and narrowed eyes made her worry even more.

“How could they have gotten ahead of us?” she whispered.

Blond curls bounced as Tyr shook his head. “They couldn’t have.”

Before Irial even stopped her horse on the other side of her, Neala felt the pressure of her Rector’s anxiety. Irial’s distress intensified Neala’s own and stirred her power from where it had been slumbering.

“What’s the matter?” Ardal called up to them from the cart.

Glancing back, Neala saw her da sitting up in the cart. The awareness in his eyes and the color in his cheeks were encouraging. Cecily was curled up beside him, sound asleep. The concern for them that had been gnawing at Neala let go a little, leaving her more exhausted than relieved. They had survived the battle and the journey here, but they weren’t safe yet.

“Nothing da. Ye just rest,” Neala told him with a smile that she hoped looked assured.

Riders from the other two wagons approached Liam. Giving Neala a nod, Irial kicked her horse into a trot and went to join Liam and the other riders. Neala couldn’t quite hear what they were saying but Liam’s voice rose in anger a few times. The others were Liam’s da, a Rector of his own Order, and Irial’s ma. Tension surrounded the group and pulsed out from around them. After a few moments Liam and Irial rode back.  

“Irial and I will ride ahead and check it out. The rest of ye wait here,” Liam said.

With a nod, Neala swallowed the protest burning her tongue. As much as it pained her, she would have to wait. She wouldn’t have to leave her parents alone and that brought her a small measure of comfort. Watching her Rectors ride away though felt like it was tearing her in two. She would never get used to that feeling.

“Nothing to worry about. Those two are smart. They’ll be fine,” Tyr said, his attempt at sounding light-hearted failing miserably.

The fact that he had tried was enough to bring a slight smile to Neala’s lips.

“Excellent, time for a snack then,” Cian said with false cheer.

Forcing her smile to widen, and hoping it reached her eyes, Neala turned to her friends and urged her horse forward. Much as she hated to admit it, a break from the constant riding of the last two days did sound like a good idea. While riding there was too much time to think, to wonder where Donal was, why he hadn’t caught up, and to worry about Ciara and Bren.

Cian didn’t disappoint. His anecdotes and constant chatter while he handed out the last of their meat kept Neala sufficiently distracted.

The last of the muted sun’s rays were retreating behind the hills when Liam, Irial and the others returned. Liam and Irial split off from their parents and rode over to where Neala and the others waited. The shadows of dusk made it hard to tell, but Neala thought she saw tear tracks on Irial’s cheeks.

“The Danes aren’t there. Hide yer weapons, keep yer heads down, and stay close. If anyone asks, we’re refugees from the Wicklow mountains. Tell them no more than that,” Liam said. His voice was thick and it had a haunted quality to it. He turned his horse and started back up the hill.

A snap of the reins and a cluck from Cian woke the geldings up and got the cart moving. The other two wagons were quick to follow. Neala guided her horse over to walk beside Irial’s and was finally able to catch her gaze. She had been right. Tears glistened in Irial’s eyes. The silence felt so tense Neala didn’t want to shatter it. She gave Irial a questioning look. A tear spilled from the corner of Irial’s eye as she covered her mouth with a hand and shook her head. Her inability to speak sent chills up Neala’s spine. Neala’s gaze shifted to Tyr who only shrugged and put the hood of his cloak on.

A foreboding disquiet settled over their little group as they trudged up the hill. Each step closer made Neala’s heart feel as though it was crawling farther and farther up her throat. Her overactive imagination raced, coming up with all manner of death and destruction that may lay over the horizon. Not even her imaginings could compare to the horror of what awaited below them, though.