Participles and Portents (33)

Gaps and Fissures

Fiona retired after cleaning up.  She was spent; the day had been so beyond anything she could ever have thought about occurring that she needed time to herself.  She poured out  two whiskeys and handed them over to Lin as she slipped off, a silent request to be left alone.  She washed and changed for the night in an almost trance-like state.  Her mind kept replaying the shifting of color, the licking of flames on the boys and their physical change over and over.  It had taken so little time in reality, but in her mind it seemed like the moment stretched on and on only to abruptly end with their sudden disappearance into the sea.  She wrenched her mind away from the vision and picked up her book.  She did not even know what she was reading, but she needed to force her mind into another channel or sleep would never come.  She somehow doubted it would even with the sure comfort of a book in her hands.  She settled back and forced herself to begin to read. Surprisingly it only took a few pages before she drifted off, the light still burning at her bedside.

Lin held the whiskey pensively.  Finally, as it seemed all that she could do, she took a cup over to Roary and handed it to him.  She didn't say anything.  They just stood there, side by side, sipping for several long moments.  Finally, she broke the silence. "I'll get you some blankets and a pillow so you can sleep on the sofa.  I know I should probably offer you one of the boys' beds, but I just think perhaps you will be more comfortable out here," she finished. 

"I've no interest in sleepin' in their place.  Tho' I thank ye' for thinkin' of the pillows and blankets for out here."  It was clear that he understood and perhaps even shared her reluctance to have anyone but the boys fill the space that seemed to still hum with their presence.  She drifted into the room, fingering the things they had left out, a shirt thrown over the end of the bed, a stray sock.  Breathing deeply she picked up Ian's iPod and scrolled through the playlists.  She found what she was looking for and hooked it up to the docking station on the small speakers he had brought with him.  She played the "Chillaxin" mix he had made for her on a low setting.  Drifting around the room, she found Sean's MP3 player and, as she let herself lean into the music, scrolled through to see what he had on it.  She stopped when she found the same playlist.  She laughed for a moment and almost choked when the first of the tears started to run through her. Sliding down to the edge of the bed, she listened to the words she knew so well from one of the many Snow Patrol tunes that ran through the mix.  "With my hands open, and my eyes open, I just keep hoping, that your heart opens." How many times had they sang that together in the car? How many times had they let the roll and lilt of the lead singer's voice just lift their spirits and bring the smile to their faces?  When would they do that again?  The song transitioned to yet another from the same band and her body swayed to the rhythm of the music and the pain that racked her.

Roary stood in the doorway to the room.  He had drifted over when he heard the music, finding it intriguing that she would be playing one of his favorite Irish groups and somehow incongruous with the moment given how harsh the night seemed to him.  Yet when he saw her, he understood this music connected to the boys.  It was a root between them.  He watched as she moved from song to song, letting the music pull the anguish out of her.  Finally, he just could not stand on the outside looking in any longer.  He crossed to her and pulled her gently to her feet.  She didn't pull away, she simply rose up into him, her fists clenched around fistfuls of his shirt and curled into his heat, continuing to cry and rock.

He wrapped his arms around her.  She seemed so small this way, not the proud, fierce towering woman she was when she faced the wind and waves, just small and fragile, incredibly breakable.  He held her, taking the brunt of her anguish, trying very, very hard just to hold on but not to break her.  Lin could feel little pieces of herself cracking, chipping, crumbling away.  She felt an awful lot like Sean's teapot except she feared that there was no glue that would put her back together again.  She clung to Roary's presence as if he could somehow keep the last vestiges from breaking down and crumbling apart.  She began to try to pull herself together.  It was not his responsibility to keep her from coming completely unglued.  She tilted her head to thank him and was caught by his gaze.

They stood there in the haze of her grief and his unassuaged guilt, wrapped together by the music, looking for something in or from each other that neither could define.  He kissed her then.  It was meant to be nothing more than an acknowledgement of her pain.  The kind of kiss you give a sore spot to make it better. But as their lips touched it seemed as if she simply breathed him in. He was lost in the swirl and twist of their entwined breath. Just that, nothing more, yet he could feel everything about her in that touch and knew she could feel him, his length and his depth all in that one exchange. The kiss hung there, suspended in time, until the music abruptly switched to an incredibly rowdy tune that sent them both laughing, breaking the tension and freeing them from the trance.  Yet they found their way back together as the laughter ebbed and this time the kissing was more thorough, more questing and certainly more deliberate. They let their hands explore and tease and please as the rhythms swelled behind them until the edge of Sean's bed caught the back of her leg.

Lin was completely lost in him.  Lost in a way she had sworn she would never let herself feel, had not thought she was capable of feeling actually.  "Lord, the man can kiss," she thought briefly, before thought ripped away and instinct took over.  She was flowing with sensation when she felt the hard line of the mattress behind her.  Instantly she shifted modes.  She pressed both hands to his chest, pushing him back so she could look at him. "No, Roary, no," she managed to get out.  "Aye, ye'r right there," he sighed.  He pulled her back to him and just held her.  "This is not the time no' the place.  Tho' I'm of the mind that the time will come for us.  I don't think all that was just the music."  He smiled down at her gently. 

Lin looked at him and slowly, tentatively smiled back. "I guess that is something we will find out later.  But for now, we need to concentrate on what's missing from this room."  She moved away from him, gathered up the blankets and pillows she had somehow forgotten and left him to turn off the music.

Participles and Portents (32)

Iron and Silver

The wind carried the distinct scent of rain and something that smelled like, well, like something Sean couldn't quite find a word for, but he knew what it meant.  That smell meant run.  It meant find shelter.  He turned wild-eyed to Ian.  He was staring at the sky in the direction of the wind.  He could smell it, too.  They turned together and ran pell-mell through the thick vegetation at the edge of the water.  They raced along the edge of the woods following a scent trail that promised shelter.  It smelled old, wet and weathered, but most importantly the scent they followed smelled safe.  The sky let out a huge snap and light flew from above, bursting into flames at the base of a tree not more than a hundred yards in front of them, just inside the woods.  Enraged the clouds roiled and bucked, shedding streams of rain that fell in waterfalls so thick it was impossible to see as they ran.  Sean's ears were bursting with the angry roar that ravaged the air and made everything tremble with its force.  He stumbled and fell.  Ian was running hard.  He thought perhaps Ian might not notice that he had fallen, but then he was there, nudging him up with a nose and a paw, pressing him to move.  Another flash of light and that horrible roaring sound filled the sky again.  "At least this time nothing burned," thought Sean.  At last he saw what they had scented, a cave nestled along a rock wall where the stream thinned and buried itself in a cliff face.  They did not even stop to consider if another had already taken refuge in this space, they simply charged into it.  Panting, relieved to be sheltered from the horrible flashes of light and the pouring rain, the two hounds stood motionless for just a few moments.  As if in silent communion they turned and inspected their little shelter. 

There were a few other animals in there with them, cowed at the back of the cave, clearly afraid that the hounds would do them more harm than the storm.  Sean noted something that looked like rabbits huddled together, along with couple of birds perched higher up and a smaller fox-like animal he could not quite make out in the shadows where it hid.  Assured that they were not likely to be attacked by their company, the hounds turned to face the entry and settled down.  The smell of fear was palpable, but they hoped it would die down once the animals realized they were not attacking them.  Sean felt himself leaning toward the sounds of the rain, the lightning and the thunder.  He had the strangest desire to be back out in them, to be one with them.  He knew it was a fool's wish, but he wanted to run in the crackling air again.  Yet he stayed where he was.  Ian was staring intently out of the cave, as if he expected someone or something to appear.  He didn't know where they were, but he had a feeling that much of what happened to them would be caused or affected by Aiofe and her ilk.  They had turned them into this sad, if arguably humourous, state. They would likely be following their path and even putting things in the midst of it.  He looked at Sean.

"Wish I had that bone with me now," thought Ian.  "It's a pity that we buried them."

"They were a nuisance to carry around, though I do have to admit it would be nice to have something to gnaw on,"  Sean repllied, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the other animals thoughtfully.  "No, they are here under some sort of protection too, they won't do," he thought.  He laid his big shaggy head on his paws and watched the rain.

He woke as he sensed the rabbit trying to slip by unnoticed.  He couldn't help himself, he reached out and gave it a lick on the rump as it went by.  The rabbit literally flew out of the cave after that.  He chuckled to himself.  Ian was stretching.  The day had turned a lovely color between amber and butter yellow, a crisp golden hue that lit the sky like a butterfly wing reflecting sunlight.  The earth gave off the heady scent of moist moss and grass.  He stretched and then loped outside of the cave.  'Ian, let's fish," he threw over his shoulder as he made his way down to the stream.  He was scenting for a large school of salmon like the one  they had found before when Ian padded up to him.  "Smells good out here," stated Ian.

"I like it," replied Sean.  "Nothing here to fish for though, so let's go farther along the bank."

The hounds followed the stream until it disappeared into the rock and then began to climb the narrow path that led up the cliff wall.  They never stopped to determine if this was a good direction, they just followed the path.  It was laid out there right before them.  Eventually the path wound back down and linked back up with the water, and here they found a school of fish large enough to play with and to hunt.  Using the same tactics as they had before, they started slapping at a fish until they propelled it to the surface then clamping jaws around it and flinging it to the shore.  It was a great way to catch fish and a fun way to test their skills.  They took turns slapping the fish up.  As they played, Sean noticed that the fish smelled keener today.  He could smell the rich metallic scent they carried as they moved, the blood pumping through them from head to tail. He popped a fairly large one up high enough that Ian caught it out of the water, clamping down hard on the fish, its silver flank flashing in the sun. 

Ian felt his teeth sink into the fresh flesh of the fish.  He felt the slick smooth slide of the metallic and salt- thickened blood course over his tongue and down his throat.  He had no idea that salmon tasted this fantastic. He clamped down just a bit harder, flushing another rush of taste into his waiting maw.  The sheer pleasure was unrivaled in anything he had ever experienced before.  He was about to bite down hard when he heard Sean yell, "New fish."  Ian threw the well-bitten salmon onto the bank and caught the next one, taking the time to truly relish the way it felt to let his teeth sink into it and the flavors combine and slide down his tongue and throat.  "This is wonderful," he thought.  "My turn," came Sean's reply.

Reluctantly, Ian tossed his newest prize onto the bank and took over the position of slapping the salmon up to the surface.  The first few were the regular thump and stump rhythm they had gained in their previous fishing bouts.  He could tell when Sean finally gave in to the urge to bite down.  He watched as his brother's eyes glazed over with pure carnal pleasure.  He saw his throat pulsing as the flavors coursed down and Sean continued to attempt to get more from the salmon in his teeth.  Ian broke his concentration by slapping another fish up to him, "New fish," he cried.  Sean dropped the one in his mouth and lunged for the next, not caring if the prior one made it to the bank or not.  He wanted to taste again.  Ian caught the drifting carcass and flung it to shore.  He watched Sean again, entranced by the obvious thrill of the moment.  He felt a slight sense of unease, but shook it off. "Left-overs from the storm," he thought as he padded out to the bank.

Sean joined him and they shared their feast.  And what a feast it was; every morsel was examined in detail.  The texture, the scent, the taste - they rolled the meat on their tongues and swallowed slowly trying to capture the sensations in detail.  If anyone had seen them eating they would have known something was odd about those two hounds.  When has a hound ever taken time over a meal?  Don't they just bolt their food?  Yet, here were two hounds obviously enjoying a langorous meal, with not another thought to spare. There were still a few salmon left when they heard a distant crack.  It was not a natural sound.  They stood immediately.  Something was wrong.  They could not smell anything but the salmon smeared all over their snouts, but they knew something was wrong. Sean started to pick up a fish, but Ian knocked into him. "Run, now," he urged.

The two hounds moved off leaving the rest of their banquet behind.  They ran even faster than when they had tried to outrun the storm.  This danger, this unknown, was far more pressing.  They kept scenting, but could not make out anything, just the pure and certain knowledge that something that did not belong in the forest was there with them, and that something was not benign.

At the water's edge a pair of black leather-booted feet stood over the remains of what appeared to be a fish feast.  There was no other sound, just the water as it ran by and the rake of the wind through the leaves of the trees.

Participles and Portents (31)

Leather and Stone

They stood there, the three of them, as if at an altar.  They were each in their own private way praying for inspiration.  All that they knew, all that they had before them seemed like the key to any hope that they had to bringing about the only future they could possibly envision.  Sean's hands holding the book and Ian's voice propelling them through layers of detail regarding esoteric information.  The need to find that future was so visceral, so incredibly palpable that they could almost scent the boys in the air around them, though it was always possible that this came from the clothes that lay there among their discarded belongings.  Who knew when the last time was that either one of the boys had given up a pair of socks or a favored jacket to the wash?  Emotions ran like bursts of color and sound, bursting and crackling in waves between them, yet no one dared to even touch the articles on the table. It seemed they were waiting.  Perhaps they were waiting to be inspired or perhaps just waiting for one of them to have the courage to touch what they longed to touch.  It was one of those moments in time where the taking of action would propel them forward, even the smallest of actions, and they sensed this.  Hence the hesistant breathing and the collective clawing silence that continued to heighten the tension until it felt like the very air was brittle with it.

Fiona finally, with brutal determination and deliberation, lifted out Ian's iPod.  "Perhaps I could eventually get used to that U2 music he seemed to like so much," she said.  "I suspect it will grow on me.  As I recall there was at least one song that had some historic significance."  She looked at the others expectantly. Lin and Roary gazed back at her and then at the table.  They reached in and both picked up the book that had been in Sean's things.  Catching Roary's gaze, Lin let the book slide from her hand and into his.  "I suspect you may understand more of what he was looking for in that than I would," she said.  Then she selected one of Ian's notebooks, sliding her hand down the front cover as if feeling for his last touch. Fiona picked up his sketchpad.  Their selections made, the trio looked at each other expectantly again.

"Well, I guess now we see what we can make of these," said Fiona.  "I suppose we should also think about what might be beyond their things that could help too, but these are a start."  She put on the earphones and turned on the iPod.  Her face contorting as the music swelled into her ears.  It looked like it would be a long time before she learned to appreciate some of Ian's choices.

Lin and Roary moved off to the sofa in front of the now waning fire.  She found some paper and pens in case they wanted to take notes, and then settled in with a quilt while he stoked the fire. Over the crackling flames with the last vestiges of the whiskey settling in them, they worked through their respective tomes.  Soon all three were busy making random notes and the occasional clucking noise or grunt as they came across something.  Whether it was just a bit of humor or something that applied to the predicament the others could not know as no time was spent sharing their individual assessments.  As the fire once again burned down, Fiona took off the earphones and neatly put them away along with the iPod on what should have been Ian's bed for the night.

"I think it is time for dinner," she said. "In any event, I can't take anymore of that head-banging and bone jarring stuff the kids call music.  You keep on with whatever you have going and I will see what we have that will suffice."  From the way she walked, it was clear that she did indeed have a headache.  But whether it came from the heavy bass in the music or just from the stress of the day was not clear.  Lin got up and retrieved some asprin for her.  Fiona accepted them gratefully.  The two set to work in the kitchen, all but forgetting the third member of the party who continued on in silence on the sofa.  When the dinner was ready they laid out the table.  It was a feast of sorts, the meal they had planned for their first day back at the cottage.  Salmon rubbed in a garlic, basil and lemon oil served with small potatoes, tomato slices and a creamed spinach.  The dessert, an apple cobbler, was simple but looked delicious.

Roary was amazed that they had turned out such a fine meal given the events of the day.  And yet, he really wasn't that surprised, it was just the kind of thing he would expect from these two.  He was learning to expect the unexpected; it was just the way they seemed to live.  The salmon was amazingly fresh and done to the perfect turn.  If he had to pick, though, he would pick the cobbler. He could have eaten the entire dish by himself and still have asked for more.  It went perfectly with the Irish coffees Fiona had mixed to go with the end of the repast.

As they finished their coffees they discussed a bit of what they had gleaned from their search of the boys' belongings.  Roary initiated the conversation.  He noted that Sean had placed markers in just a few stories, notably the story of Finn MacCumhaill, Diarmuid and Grania, and the Children of Lir.  They all now had an understanding of the basic weavings of the Children of Lir.  It was interesting that he had marked the passage for Finn as this story actually connected to the that of Diarmuid and Grania.  What he found most compelling was that in the story of Finn MacCumhaill, there was a footnote that told of his first meeting with King Conor and how he met with the great hounds of the court.  Fiona interjected here to tell them about several sketches she had found of wolfhounds in Ian's work.  Lin added the lengthy description of Ian's encounter with the old man at Coole.  It seemed that they had at least found a connection as to the form that was chosen for the boys' transformation.

Fiona was silent for a few moments and then remarked that if she remembered correctly, there was a Rath at the Hill of Tara that was somehow connected to Grania and to Finn MacCumhaill.  Lin noted that Ian had a huge amount of information in his notebooks about mounds, raths, cathairs and cairns.  Much of his research seemed to be centered on the ancient places where it was anticipated that the Sidhe took refuge or what would be called daoine sidhe sites.  He had a lot of information about the throne of Finvarra at Knockma in Connaught and the throne of Queen Aine in Knockany at Munster.  He also had a great deal of information about the sidhe deities of Boann, Angus Og and the Dagda all related to the megalithic passage tomb at New Grange.  There were a few side notes about something called Lia Fail or the Stone of Destiny, but she was not exactly certain how important that was.  Roary stopped her for a moment to interject a comment about a lesser known megalithic tomb at Dowth that was said to be similar in all ways to New Grange, just proportionally smaller.  "Apparently there are a number of carvings at the site that still have academicians puzzlin' o'er their meanin'," he said.

Roary closed his eyes for a moment and then rose to pace the length of the cottage.  Finally, without turning to look at the others, he related in as few a words as possible his drunken dream of the man and the woman at the edge of the sea.  "I have no idea if this means anything or not," he added at the end of his tale.  "But, the vision of that dream seems so vera' real."  He walked then to the door and opened it to the night and the newly risen moon. 

Fiona and Lin took a moment to let his dream sink in and take its place with all of the other events of the day and the far-flung tales from the books and journals.  It seemed very likely that the dream was a part of the puzzle.  How did it fit in?

Lin rose and crossed over to Roary, nudging him out the door so that they could share the moon.  Fiona joined them.  Standing there, three statues in the moonlight, a testament to the connection between the elements and the celestial, to the known and the unknowable, they let the moment cradle them.

"Then it's decided," said Fiona.  "We'll start with the places that are common to Sean's marked tales and Ian's research.  If the Sidhe took the silks from Aiofe as they did in the original tale and in your dream, Roary, then it makes sense that they still have them.  Our task is finding out where and how to get them back."  Fiona turned her back to the moon and moved with purpose to the task of cleaning the kitchen, her movements keen and focused and full of energy. 

Lin and Roary watched her as she moved through the tasks, simply and efficiently.  It certainly looked as if the world was set to rights with her mother's actions moving so adeptly along.  Roary found her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then he went in to help Fiona.  Lin returned to the moon.  She found herself wondering if her boys, her hounds, were gazing at a similar moon and if they felt a similar sense of hopefulness winding its way into their bones.  A brief, soft wind lifted her hair and touched her cheek as if in answer.  "Good enough for now," she thought, and sent a wave of love, trust and hope out through the moon to her boys just in case its rays could indeed carry her message to them.

Participles and Portents (30)

Tea, Whiskey and Fragments

Fiona set about the task of laying out tea for the three of them.  Her movements were still as graceful as ever, but the life was missing from them, they appeared mechanical and detached.  Roary and Lin arrived at the cottage and thumped in, dumping packs and sighing heavily into the leaden atmosphere.  Lin escaped into the sleeping chamber she shared with her mom.  Roary paced the floor, finally settling on starting a fire though the chill was not so bad as to actually need one.  As he laid the fire he found himself drawing deeply on the scent of peat and bog.  He lost himself in reverie, not even noticing that the clanking of dishes had ended behind him until Fiona's hand came down gently on his shoulder.  She gave him a quick, tight squeeze and moved on.  Breathing deep, he brought himself back to the present and lit the fire.  He turned to the table and was gratified to see that Fiona had added the bottle of Tullamore Dew to the spread.  Apparently she had gotten to know him a bit more than he should be comfortable with.  Nevertheless, he poured a bit into his teacup and let it slide down his throat.  Just enough of the clear warmth to taste the oak and fire on his lips and to spread its welcome through his belly.  What an unbelieveable day.  Looking up he saw Lin enter the room.  She had changed, putting on a thick sweater that curved up to warm her neck and almost tickle her ears with the size of its rolled collar.  The deep cherry red of the sweater seemed like a defiant spark of cheer given all that she faced. She crossed to the table.  For a moment Roary though she might be moving to speak with him, but then she veered directly to the bottle and her cup.  She poured a small amount of the still steeping tea into the cup, a bit of milk and a good pour of whiskey, added a touch of sugar, and then, without even a glance at Roary, walked away to stand at the window and sip her concoction.

Fiona eventually broke the silence with the announcment that tea was ready and drew them both to the table.  She sliced the bread and handed out plates laden with cheese, smoked salmon, tomatoes and hunks of brown bread.  "Pour your own tea," she said, "Or have a bit of tea with your whiskey as that seems more like what you are both drawn to this afternoon.  Please try to keep in mind that we have a need to have clear heads though."

Lin and Roary both reduced the amount of the pour they would likely have measured into their cups had Fiona not been quite so pointed in her remarks when they made their tea.  Lin pecked at her food and sipped her tea.  Fiona ate with deliberate precision, as if every bite somehow provided her a special element in a recipe that only she knew the benefits of.  Roary simply pushed the food in, not really noticing what he was eating, though he was taking note that Lin was not eating.  He carved off a slice of brown bread and layered it with cheese, salmon and tomato then leaned over to put the neat stack at  Lin's lips.  "Ye have to eat," he said, brandishing the open-faced sandwich back and forth in a slow swipe in front of her mouth.

"I am eating and you are annoying," replied Lin.

"No, actually, you are not eating," stated Fiona.  "You are moving the food from one side of the plate to the other.  That is not eating, it is just redecorating the plate."

"Och, there now, ye see, even ye'r own ma thinks ye should be takin a bite," said Roary.

Lin looked up at him.  He was smiling, though it did not get all the way to his eyes.  She looked at Fiona.  Fiona was trying to make the laughter work too.  "Oh, what the hell," she said, and took a large bite, deliberately scraping his knuckles with her teeth.

Pulling his hand back quickly, Roary yelped in surprise, 'Ye should eat what ye have in front of ye if ye'r that starved. My hand is not on the menu."  For some reason that put all three of them into gales of laughter.  Once the tension seeped out through the laughter, the tears followed, long slow racking tears that they shared together as they had the laughter.  Roary stood and moved to Fiona, wrapping a big arm around her and helping her stand.  The two moved to Lin and together they wrapped her in their strength and moved as a trio to the adjoining room.  "Well then," said Lin, "I guess we need to pull it together and start trying to figure out what to do."  She used the back of her hand to wipe her tear-streaked face and then strode into the room.  She picked up the boys' packs.  "Why don't we see if either child had anything they were holding that might have lured that she-witch to them?"

She opened the packs and dumped them, with no ceremony into two fully separate piles.  Sean's was what you would expect.  An odd assortment of stones and shells, a weapon he was working on that was not quite finished made of driftwood and leather and of course the book that had fallen out earlier and his phone and MP3 player.  Ian's held what she would have expected.  His art supplies, a small sketch book and a notebook each stuffed with clippings and shreds of paper or items collected from the places they had been, his digital camera, his Ipod and his Ipad.  Neither of the packs held wallets or identifying information she noted, apparently her boys had never thought to carry anything of that kind with them.  Perhaps there was no reason to as they were perfectly safe traveling with us she thought.  She felt the strangle-hold of emotion grip her then, the strong hand tightening on her throat, squeezing out the air and forcing the tears to her eyes.  "No, they had not been safe with her, perhaps there really weren't any safe places anymore.  Certainly no safe places if the world could turn inside out and your children could be so stripped of identity as to become something so far from human that they could lose that part of themselves, perhaps forever," she thought.  She felt her mom's hand stroking her shoulder, and brought herself back from the brink.  It wasn't going to do any one, especially her boys, any good for her to wallow in pity at the moment.

"Okay, so what does this stuff tell us?" she asked.

Participles and Portents (29)

Words and Waves

Fiona stood with her back to Roary and Lin.  She could just barely make out bits and pieces of an ongoing argument, the lilt in his deep bass voice somehow softening the edges of the angry tones.  Her daughter's slicing remarks had no such benefit.  They simply cut the air, leaving shreds in their wake.  She really wanted them both to just shut up.  It was well past time to stop fighting.  They needed to move, to do something. Her grandchildren were lost.  They were lost in a world she did not even begin to understand.  They were lost in a world that only moments ago it seemed had given her everything she could have dreamed of, and now it had taken everything, or almost everything she had left from her.  She idly rubbed the star-shaped pebble she carried in her pocket.  Part of her wanted to fling it into the sea, but at this thought she found her hand gripping it protectively through the fabric of her jacket.  No, she would not part with it.  The Sidhe at Poulnabrone were not of Aiofe's ilk, she simply could not believe that.  Brushing the tears from her cheeks she turned to face the two combatants.  "Enough," she said soflty but forcefully.

Roary and Lin turned as if on strings at the one soft but firm command.  They stood together under Fiona's harsh and judgmental stare and felt very, very ashamed.

"You're right," said Lin. " We need to start doing something about what has happened, not just arguing about it."

"Aye," groaned Roary, running his meaty hands through his hair.

Lin walked closer to the sea.  "I just can't imagine where they have gone to.  There is no land in sight for miles, and they can't still just be in the spray."

Roary walked over to stand nearer Fiona as if bracing her, or perhaps himself.  "Tis more likely that they simply shot the mist o'er and are either held fast on the other side or have landed a good piece from here.  Either way, there's no way of our knowin' where they are," he said slowly and carefully, rolling the words out as if they needed to be measured first before they were said.

Lin did not turn around; she just nodded her head, her shoulders sagging with defeat from the weight of the words.  Yes, they did need to be weighed, and the weight was hard to bear.  She turned and walked back to the boys' things.  She picked up their clothes, holding the shirts up to breathe in their scents.  Then she gathered their packs.  As she lifted Sean's, a book fell out.  It was very old.  She picked it up quickly to avoid letting the wet sand injure the soft hide.  Running her fingers over the leather she appreciated the age of it, could feel Sean running his hands over it and loving the feel of the age in the leather and the binding.  She knew somehow that this was the book he had hidden in his clothes coming back from Roary's shop not that long ago.  She let it fall open in her hand.  There it was, the story of the Children of Lir.  She clamped the book shut and stuffed it into Sean's pack.  "Damn them, bloody hell," she thought.  "Why did I ever let myself get tangled up with a bad mannered bit of swan anyway?"

She walked over to Fiona and Roary and they began to make their way up the strand toward the house.

"I can put on some tea," said Fiona distractedly.

Roary pulled at Lin until she moved closer to him, close enough for him to speak to her without speaking to Fiona. Her mother seemed worried enough he thought.  "I probably shouldna' be tellin' ye this just yet," he said.  "But ye' need to know.  We havena' that much time.  All the stories I know about the changin' of folk, well they do not end well.  The people, they end up runnin' wild. Once the instinct of the animal gets into em, they never really come back."

Lin stared at him.

"What I am tryin' to tell ye' is when she warned ye' about the boys becoming real hounds, she was tellin' ye' true.  Ye' have to solve this for her before they get feral, while they still treat each other as brothers, as human brothers, or I think they will be lost. Ye ken?"  He looked at her for some reassurance that she understood.  She only stared at him as if he had ceased to exist, then walked past him to follow her mother along the path to the cottage.

Participles and Portents (28)

Fish and Bones

The salt spray licked his hide, sending ripples of cool along his arched back as he lunged for the bone that was just in front of his open maw.  Straining forward he clamped down, his teeth gripping with satisfaction as they found purchase on the prize.  Just as quickly as he had entered the sea he found himself pounding along the sand and then onto a deeply forested path.  He slowed to shake himself, his pelt spraying salt-water like fine rain in a mist all around him.  He turned then, trying to catch a familiar scent.  There it was, bounding through the sand, a large blonde wolfhound, grinning with its mouth full of bone.  The blue eyes seemed incongrous with the rest of the hound's presence.  They were somehow too aware of their surroundings.  Sean called out to his brother. A deep rumble of sound came from his throat, catching him unaware and stopping him cold.  It was in that moment that it dawned on him that this really was not just a game.  He and Ian really were changed.  He watched his brother approach with a new eye.  He looked like one of the wolfhounds from out of the book he had borrowed from Roary.  Of course the book had no color, but he could imagine the rough pelt of those royal hounds in the same fine tans and blondes catching the light just like Ian's did.

Ian slowed long enough to shake the sea from his rough curly hide, then made his way over to Sean, dropping the bone he carried at his brother's paws.  "I don't know where we are," he thought to him.

Sean's large grey head jerked in response.  He had forgotten that this was how they would communicate. "Neither do I," he responded, still somewhat caught in his own reverie.

"I guess we should look around.  Perhaps we can find something that is familiar," stated Ian.  "We should stay close to each other though.  Okay?"

"Sure," replied Sean tentatively.  He was beginning to feel very uneasy about this change.  The images in the book were cool, but he couldn't quite get comfortable with being one of them.

Ian retrieved his bone and the two hounds returned to the edge of the sea.  They followed it as far as they could only to come upon a large towering cliff wall.  They searched for a way around the obstruction.  Disgruntled when they could not find any passage, they retraced their steps and followed the edge in the other direction for quite some distance.  It seemed like this path would prove more promising, but they ran into a similar cliff about forty-five minutes later.  They had been wandering for almost two hours and had learned only that the sea's edge took them exactly nowhere.  Sitting on their haunches, the hounds gnawed on the bones they carried. 

"I'm thirsty," thought Sean, "and hungry."

"Now is not the time to be worried about your stomach," said Ian.  "We need to get back to the strand.  Mom and Nana have to be completely flipped out by now.  We should never have gone after these bones."

"True," replied Sean "but they are pretty tasty."

Ian swiped at his brother's massive head with a large paw. "Get over it already," he thought with a grin.

Sean replied by dropping his bone and barrelling into Ian.  He locked his forelegs around Ian's neck and tumbled him to the side into the sand.  The two hounds fell to wrestling.  It was a magnificent sight.  Sean's large grey body using gravity and sheer strength against the fine lithe lines of Ian.  Ian moved with fluidity and used masterful tactics.  Their combined styles and abilities left them in a dead heat for "top dog."  Eventually, played out, the hounds fell, sides heaving, side by side to the sand.  Panting they lay there in total companionship.

"Maybe this isn't as bad as I thought," considered Sean.

"I wouldn't go that far," replied Ian, "but the wrestling is definitely fun."

With the sun starting its movement toward sunset, the hounds returned to the path they had found when first exiting the sea.  Carrying their bones and walking in lock-step, they looked like well-trained war-hounds.  At the beginning of the forested part of the path they paused.

"I really am thirsty," complained Sean.

"I am too," replied Ian.  "Hopefully this path leads to fresh water.  There is nothing here for us, so we might as well start checking the forest out.  Let's just stay together and keep a wary eye on what is going on around us.  We don't even know for sure if we are in a real place or a faery place yet."

"Doesn't feel very 'faery'," replied Sean with a snippy attitude.

"How many times do you have to be told that sometimes things are not what they seem to be?" asked Ian.  "After all, who would have thought that we would be mixed up in this bizarre modern-day faerytale?

"Got me there, Bro," said Sean.

They edged forward along the path, noting the patterns of the shadows cast by the profusion of greenery that formed the forest canopy above them.  The scents and sounds were almost overwhelming.  All of their senses seemed to be working overtime. 

"I smell something this way," they said in unison.

Together they moved off the path, wandering through the thick growth.  The ground underfoot was spongy with growth.  They could hear animals moving out of their way, skittling through the undergrowth.  The scents were deeper here, full of both decay and new growth, and the lighting a bit dimmer, both from the change in the time and the denser foliage overhead.  The ground rose upward a bit and then leveled.  They padded along for a while until the ground started to slope downward.  They followed the scent down the slope.  Before too long they found a wide stream and here they drank their fill.  Padding down the stream's bank, Sean noticed a pool of large fish.

"I think those are salmon," he said.

"Dare you to catch one," smiled Ian.

Sean moved as quietly as he could to peer more directly over the fish.  They were lovely.  They were huge.  They were dinner.  He studied one particularly large fish, watching it swim, trying to gauge its rhythm and movement. He slipped a paw into the water, and then another, edging closer.  The fish scattered momentarily, coming back to swarm in lazy circles again as he stood as motionless as possible.  Finally, when he could stand the suspense no longer, he plunged his face into the water, mouth wide open and bit down.  His teeth almost cracked as they collided into themselves and he came up, shaking his head, water spewing all around him.  Ian rolled on his back at the edge of the water, his laughter clearly ringing in Sean's head.  Sean took up his stance again.   He was going to catch a fish; more importantly he was going to eat a fish.

This time he waited with one giant paw up in the air and, as his target swam by, he slammed it down into the water, slapping the fish on the tail and pushing it to the top of the water, where he almost caught it in his mouth.  Ian stopped laughing.  Sean almost had the last one.  He was now suddenly not so sure that this was a stupid idea.  It seemed just possible that this could actually turn into dinner instead of just a show. Actually he thought to himself, dinner and a show, that first try was pretty funny.  He padded over and took a place facing opposite to Sean.  They looked at each other, the grey hound with the chocolate eyes staring intently at the blonde hound with the blue eyes.  Nodding briefly, Sean lifted his paw and selected a target while Ian moved his head to just above the water.  Sean slammed his paw into the water, a salmon shot up to the surface, and Ian got just enough of a hold on it with his jaws to flip it onto the shore.  Working together the two hounds quickly managed to catch several fish.  On the last attempt, Ian moved his head into position, not even looking at Sean. Sean stared at the water, then at Ian, then at the shore, then at Ian and then he slammed his paw down on top of Ian's head, thrusting him deep into the water.  Ian's surprise at being pushed under the water was only surpassed by the surprise of the salmon that lodged itself in his maw.  He gripped it hard with his teeth and pulled himself up triumphantly.  Shaking to put as much water on Sean as possible, Ian grinned around the fish.  "Guess you can catch a fish this way!"  He ran for the shore before Sean could tackle him and dropped the extra fish into their catch.

"I hope you like sushi," he laughed as Sean joined him.  They ate and drank their fill by the stream.  Eventually, they returned to where they had dropped their bones and picked them up again.

"I have no idea why we keep carrying these around," said Sean.

"I guess we will keep them until we find others.  Maybe it is just the kind of thing a hound would do?" replied Ian.

"We should probably find some place to sleep.  It is getting dark and we still don't have any idea where we are," noted Sean.

"Bet you just want to sleep 'cause your belly is full," teased Ian.  "Let's see what we can find."

The two hounds set off together, side by side, carrying their bones as if that was the way it had always been, into the night.