Chapter One

Talking To Faeries

I cannot stand to live at length

in a land which has no strength.

What I do with all my lives

is like a Roma king with knives.

‘What you do with all your lives, Sionnach? Pray tell. What does this mean that you write in your book?’

        Sionnach looked up from her red leather diary, and there before her stood a tall, slight man with hair like wheat ready for harvest and eyes the color of yew leaves. On his head he wore a black felt hat, which he doffed and then replaced (though with a certain nonchalance making Sionnach giggle as she drew her crimson cloak about her). ‘I live several lives at once,’ she replied. ‘I like how you dress, sir. I’d like a pair of oxblood boots like those. Where did you get them?’

        ‘Thank you, m’lady, for the compliment. Much obliged. I am grateful to my wife for the clothing. She seams handy, even when it comes to threading a conversation, particularly if I needle her while knitting my brows. Now, be all that as it may, I am normally called Gwyn meic Nodens, and am at your service.’ The thin man bowed. ‘Welcome to your sixteenth Spring, cailín.^[1] Shall we begin?’

        ‘Wait!’ said Sionnach, suddenly coming to her senses. ‘I can’t be seen alone with you here, sir! Begin what? Are you mad?’

        ‘Yes, quite mad, thank you! The best of us are, you know. Yet, fret ye not. I am a lord of the Unseelie Court. We hide wryly, we daunse madly, laugh intrinsic, e’er weep sadly.’

        Sionnach rose to her feet and genuflected before the Elf. ‘We are hidden from sight?’

        ‘Indeed we are.’

        ‘What, then, will you teach me that I don’t know already, kind sir? I... I have heard things about the Unseelies. Bad things. Some of them even horrible. The Unseelie Court hates mankind! You break our legs and arms! You cause deadly accidents! You call forth violent storms! You kill us when you can! Many even blame what you do on witchcraft, and thousands of innocent people named as witches have died at the hands of their accusers because of you! Shame!’

        ‘Oh!’ said Gwyn. ‘You have heard rightly! We Unseelies are indeed the dark side of the Sí,^[2] and this is because we, as you say, hate mankind. And why? Because a majority of us are possessed by unclean spirits! I seek to make things right with the more benign White Court of the Sí as well as with your own people—even the poorly reared ones, of which there are many—and many more to come, sadly. We Unseelies have been at war with the Seelie Court, and also with mankind, for thousands of years. Therefore, our new efforts at making peace are taking a bit of effort. These things take time, and there’s a load of idiocy to be dealt with in the process.’

        ‘Yes,’ replied Sionnach. She knelt to caress a dandelion which grew near to where they stood. ‘Why do you wish to teach me? As I have told you, I have heard terrible stories about your people, but, it’s just that, I mean...’

        ‘I seem nicer in real life?’

        ‘Aye. That’s what I mean. I can feel when there is good in a person.’

        ‘Well, I feel the same about you—a girl born to the most brutal, bloodthirsty, and envious race to ever emerge from Earth. Mankind, I do mean. You are rather friendly, though, against all odds, possibilities, and grains. Of course, I have known this for some time now, thus my visit to you, to show you a few more things you may like to know.’

        ‘Pardon me, sir,’ replied Sionnach, ‘but we are all learning. What gives you the place to teach me? You are a Sí, but I know you must make mistakes. You say yourself that you wear hatred as a mask… and that you are of the Unseelies who kill people. What would you show me that my Aunt Riona hasn’t taught me already? My aunt is quite the seer, if I may use that term. She knows loads of things, and teaches them with patience and friendliness.’

        Gwyn meic Nodens marveled at Sionnach’s candid speech. She was humble. This he could see. But she loved herself regardless, and held sure vision for her life, and so was willing to question any so-called ‘teacher,’ discerning the spirits to see if they were of the way of truth, or of selfishness. This girl’s spirit had never been broken through abuse, but nurtured and protected.

         ‘The instruction you need,’ Gwyn replied at length, ‘is how to focus what you have been taught by your Aunt Riona. Hear me. All things know things. It is the men and women of your race who have their focus stolen so young by violence and harsh words, and thus they live lives of quiet desperation, if they live at all. Heed me, and this will not be your own destiny. Many Sí look for bridges—people to act as intermediaries between the Invisible Kingdom and mankind. And mind you: the best way to be taught is through personal experience. The quests of others, in a great way, become your own. And your quest becomes theirs.’

        ‘Who steals our focus? If we have focus when we are born, who takes it away from us? And why would they do such a thing as that?’

        ‘In large part, it is the very heart of mankind that is sour from your first ancestors forward, but there are other maligning influences, such as demonic possession. May we begin your tutoring then?’

        Sionnach paused. She mulled over what her Aunt Riona had always taught her about never making quick decisions. She thought on her own humanity, and the frailty of it, and how it therefore may not be expedient to traffic with the Sí, since its denizens have their own path and understanding quite different than the one mankind has been shown. But then she pondered that she was, after all, being visited by a lord of the Sí Court... or was he? ‘Have you any proof, sir,’ Sionnach said after a time, ‘that you are truly who you say that you are? Many false seers have gone out into the world. You could be one of them.’

        ‘I do have proof, and came prepared for such an important question. I know that your Aunt Riona has told you stories of the legendary fern seed from the plant which, in Latin, is called Viridis nonanimadverto, has she not?’

        Sionnach’s eyes grew large. She fidgeted. Should she discuss this story with Gwyn? ‘Well…’ she said with hesitancy. ‘My Aunt Riona has told me peculiar tales of how these seeds you speak of have been used, but she has never owned any of them herself. She says only Sí have them… and that mankind has never, ever been trusted with them.’

        ‘True that. However, I have some of those same seeds right here in my knapsack. Hold out your hand, palm down.’

        Sionnach faltered. She flushed. Her heart raced. Should she do as the Sí asked? Gwyn smiled, and it was his eyes—something in his fathomless eyes—that caused her to finally hold out her right hand. Gwyn sprinkled three of the petite seeds onto the back of it. ‘Now watch your fingers... or your feet,’ he said. ‘It matters not.’

        Sionnach looked down at her bare toes. She wiggled them, and then they were gone!

        ‘My feet! Where...?’

        ‘All of you!’ The Elf laughed a hardy laugh.

        ‘All of me is gone?’

        ‘Every bit of you!’

        ‘Where have I gone to?’

        ‘From normal sight only... First Sight, if you will, which is attached to the First Awareness. Second Sight, Second Awareness. Capisci?’

        ‘May... I have a few of those seeds to keep? I’ll be careful with them. I promise.’

        ‘Ha! Absolutely not! Do you think you’re a special human or something? In the wrong hands, this fern’s power could spell the end of life on Earth!’

        ‘I think I understand...’ said Sionnach. She imagined a great unseen army taking Dublin unawares and wiping it off the map. ‘How… long will I be invisible?’

        ‘A few more minutes is all. You’d need more seeds to be unseen for a longer time.’

        ‘How long would a longer time be?’

        ‘Longish.’

        ‘How long is longish?’

        ‘Lengthy.’

        ‘And to what length would lengthy be?’

        Sionnach suddenly bolted forward as fast as she could. Presently, she came upon a cluster of sheep who ate dark, green dock weed, and because of her lightness of tread, they didn’t feel her approach, and so were bewildered when she vaulted herself over them and then turned and wrestled the largest ewe to the ground. The other sheep fled from the Unseen Thing that would stomp on the ground and then knock one of their own off her sturdy feet. Sionnach, not wishing to frighten her captive to death, soon let the horrified animal go to rejoin her startled companions.

        ‘I believe you now, Gwyn! Only the Sí could possibly own these seeds! You must be who you say that you are. Also, there’s just something about you that’s... different. I want you to show me things... as long as…’

        ‘As long as what?’

        ‘As long as I am not asked to seek out things other than the way I have been taught.’

        Gwyn stood warmed in his heart. He gazed at Sionnach, and then said ‘Nothing shared with you will divert your attention away from the fullness of your training. You are a minister of the Light who has come into this world, and so being, you have deeply affected the Invisible Kingdom, which is why I have been sent to you. Walk with me a while, will you, Sionnach?’

***

        Gwyn and Sionnach strolled together a little space, and did notice birds and other precious creatures who went about their joyous daily lives, and more than once did the Sí lord stop to commune with a butterfly or a wee leggéd creature who crawled across some piebald leaf or another on its way into a realm of delight yet unknown.

        ‘I like dragonflies,’ said Sionnach as they came upon a flush that glittered and and hummed with quick, bright blues and reds. ‘They make me feel joyful.’

        ‘They are great friends of the Sí, dragonflies. I quite like them myself. In my world they are called ‘shallow-falcons,’ and their most common colors are rose and gold, but I have seen purple as well as cerulean. It is my understanding that our shallow-falcons hail from a world where sailing ships are grown, not built.’

        ‘There is a land where ships are grown like plants?’

        ‘Oh yes. And places where many-roomed houses are cultivated in the dark like mushrooms, and places where horses step full grown from tree trunks, and places where men grow antlers with leaves and apples sprouting from them. There is one place, called Ombrea, I believe, where each person who lives there is given a new name every day; and I’ve even heard of a land so majestic that everyone is royalty, none more powerful than anyone else, yet some shine as bright as stars and others like planets or moons.’

        The girl and the Sí stood for a while watching the exquisite ‘meadow-hawks’ dive and hover, rest and soar. It was then that a bright red dragonfly came to Gwyn and lighted on his sleeve as if to say ‘Aye, we be friends indeed.’

        ‘I have other acquaintances,’ said Gwyn, ‘who have set out upon quests of their own.’

        ‘Are these shallow-falcons on a quest? How exciting! Where are they going? What are they after? Do they have names? What do they eat? Do they make friends with other wee living things? I wish I could speak their language! Do they have a language? Tell me more about the place where ships are grown like cabbages and houses sprout up like toadstools!’

        ‘Ha! These wee wingéd creatures speak several languages, in fact. And, it could be they are on a quest. They’ve not told me. I must inquire of them sometime. But I spoke of you and your quest.’

        ‘But... I’m not on quest. I’m quite content where I’ve landed, thank you kindly.’

        ‘Oh, then. I must have the wrong Sionnach...’

        ‘No! I mean...’ Sionnach was suddenly afraid that she might indeed be the wrong one, and hoped with all her heart that she wasn’t. ‘I’m... I’m just a simple country girl who has had the good fortune to be taken in by a wealthy relative. I’m no one special, really. Just an Irish cailín is all.’

        ‘That might be true. But then again, it mightn’t be.’

        ‘What? That my Aunt Riona is rich, and that I’m but a normal girl?’

        ‘No. It is well known that your guardian Riona is well-heeled.^[3] Of this fact there is no doubt. What be in question is whether or not you are merely a simple country girl with simple passions and a simple outlook on life. Like a crumbling castle, remains to be seen. Many are called, but few are chosen.’

        ‘I heard Father Michael say that once at chapel. I felt warm in my heart when he said those words, but I don’t know why.’

        ‘My friends I have mentioned, the ones who have set out on their quests for various important things...’

        ‘Aye. Tell me.’ Sionnach sat on a lichen-covered stone. The wet green of the moss wafted up and enlivened her. She patted a dry tree stump for Gwyn to sit next to her. White toadstools grew at its base. A startled brown field mouse scampered away.  

        ‘Well, seeing that you have been called,’ said Gwyn, ‘yet are not inclined to travel just yet, though I dare say you have also been chosen, it has occurred to me that your quest must come to you.’

        Sionnach sat amazed at the fantastic concept lain before. ‘My quest must come to me?’

        ‘Aye, and it will, if you so desire it.’  He crowned Sionnach with a daisy tiara he fashioned while he spoke. She noticed, with a sudden thrill in her heart, that there were no daisies in the area.

        ‘Well, who else is on quest?’ As she spoke, she glowed with the queenly honor bestowed upon her. ‘And... what are they after? And if there is a quest, or many of them, is there not a villain trying to put a stop to me? And do I not have an object of my own to find, perhaps a magical one? And shall some wonderful wizard come to tell me mad things and read to me from old dusty books with curses and blessings that burble out of them like fola sliabh?^[4] And who are my companions to help me fight the scoundrel who tries to put an end to me? Oh! I have so many questions about my quest!’

        Gwyn meic Nodens chuckled at the enthusiasm of Sionnach. ‘Indeed, every element of your story shall find its place. Worry not. Think on it a bit, and I am sure you will discover your villain in the local folk who despise you for your inner beauty. At least in them.’

        Sionnach dropped her eyes. ‘Aye, and that makes me sad. The kinder people here call me a ‘Moon Child,’ but others, as you say, are mean to me. I was once kidnapped, you know. When I was but five years, just after the Widow Megan’s only cow gave bloody milk, and three of her chickens died the same night.’

        ‘I know of that time, and of the brave lad Arthen meic Hinn who saved you from ‘swinging out,’^[5] as it were.’

        ‘They were going to hang me to death!’

        ‘Here. Let me tell you something about those who disdain you, Sionnach.’

        ‘I’d like to hear, I reckon.’

‘They are only envious of something you have which they could carry but are afraid to ask for, and so tell themselves they can’t have it, and brand you a witch for being who you are. But, because of that which indwells you since your Baptism, you are wise. You have always been careful to gather friends about you as foils. Too, you’ve been guided in great part by those unseen who watch over you. Love those who love you. Care for them. Be grateful to them. Let them know, in every way, that you are thankful for their care and protection. You are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Also, love those who hate you, for what credit is it to you to love only the lovely? Anybody can do that.’

        Sionnach sat silent upon hearing these words. Then she wept a bit, and smiled, and wept and laughed, not sure if she was sad or content. She wondered if she might be content and sad together. Was this even possible? ‘If I must quest then…’ she finally said. She wiped her eyes on a soft linen cloth Gwyn handed to her. ‘If I must quest, and my quest is brought to me, what be the magical thing I quest for?’

        ‘You don’t know? What has always been in your heart as your deepest desire?’

        Sionnach closed her eyes in thought. ‘I want to always consider the lilies, who neither toil nor spin,’ she said after a few moments. ‘I want to be found in absolute abandon.’

        ‘Ah! Then ‘Abandonment’ is your thing of magic. Abandonment is what you seek, and shall be the result of your quest. It will require great dependence mixed equally with great responsibility. You are being tested to see if you will bear the sweetest fruits.’

        ‘But that could take a lifetime!’

        ‘Oh, and it will. Believe you me. It will. The woman who desires completeness today is a scullery girl tomorrow.’

        Sionnach dropped her eyes. She understood Gwyn’s words.

‘Strange how things work,’ continued the lord. ‘Your wee piece of Ireland is a ‘Crossroads of the Spirit,’ we might call it. Many quests come though here. Many quests indeed.’

‘Really? I never see many people, other than the musicians and artists who visit us sometimes at Rowan House, and one or two kind farmers. And,’ Sionnach added with a blush, ‘the lads who’ve begun to pester me for my company. Are they questing?’

‘They are, but their quests are a bit more… usual. The friends of mine who have gone out into the world quest for things other than musical fame and artistic appreciation. Or a pretty girl to while their time away with.’

‘Things like what?’

‘You will see in due time.’

‘Oh. I have patience. So, tell me about you.’

‘You want to know about me, do you?’

‘Aye. Sup with me tonight please.’

‘What of your Aunt Riona?’

‘She’s away, and whenever that happens, I am lady of the house. Avan will be there, and he’ll be pleased to serve us.’

‘Avan. Is he your man?’

‘Oh heavens no! He’s only my steward!’

***

        ‘I was born,’ began Gwyn, ‘in the Middle-World Age of 5700, give or take, which would be close to fifty thousand years ago in human time.’

        Sionnach paused. ‘Wait. Are you telling me that you are aeons old, Gwyn? Please! Haaaa!’

        ‘Has it really been that long? Gracious!’

        ‘You are quite serious, aren’t you?’ Sionnach blanched white, and then flushed. Her hands began to shake.

        ‘Quite serious indeed. And be careful there! Stand up and hop round or something. Head between the legs now! Here. Have a sip of water. That’s a girl….’

        ‘I’m alright now, thank you.’ Sionnach sat on the grass and dropped her head between her knees, her long black hair flowing like a river. ‘So, once Sí are born, they never die?’

        ‘You could say that. Time moves slow for us.’

        ‘I’ll say! But where were you born?’

        ‘A green and pleasant land.’

‘Here in Ireland?’

        ‘Oh heavens no! In a land called Honolulu.’

        ‘That’s a strange sounding place. Is it pretty?’

        ‘Stunning. And the surf-riding is really to die for.’

        ‘Tell me about the Sí.’

        ‘Alright then. Let’s see. Oh, here’s something. One thing most people don’t know about us Sí is that we derive much of our strength from loss.’

        ‘What do you mean? That’s not the way things usually go.’

        ‘I’m not surprised to hear you say that, Sionnach. Mankind has taught itself to expect comfort, and has even developed a merchant class designed to provide, and with a consistency that never errs, that selfsame comfort. Even your kings cannot abide without the merchants. And, in most cases, these merchants are out-and-out pirates. Your people of royalty depend upon the mercantile system as do all others. However, a seer thinks in a different way. One focused on the ‘Second Sight’ and all that this sight entails sees life as an exciting and comforting challenge. Instead of dependence upon commerce and merchantry for necessary provisions, he rather waits upon the Unseen, to whom he is, and note, abandoned, to provide all that is needed in life. Therefore, his own life becomes his prey, and lo! God is alive, and magic is afoot! The Sí, too, depend upon a lean life filled with exploration of what is known as the ‘Many-Colored Land.’ Instead of the desire for creature-comfort satisfaction, we Sí see life itself as prey, and act in accordance. We are spurred on by situations which seem tragic, understanding these as necessary discipline in our lives. This is not to say that Elves do not experience sadness, for we do. We hold a night too fathomless for the human mind, in its present underdeveloped development, to ever grasp.’

        Sionnach closed her eyes and let the waves of wisdom wash over her. Gwyn’s words thrilled her, comforted her, built her against the strife and weeds of the world.

***

Later, at supper:

‘Most of mankind become depressed and angry and beat at fleeting shadows when tragedy, or even inconvenience, enters their lives. Sí—at least most of us—see suffering as necessary. We are being made leaner and better fit for life in the Hereafter, and we enjoy living so much more because we don’t expect anything at all, nor do we demand anything of others. We thank all who assist us, and keep none in our debt. Well, the Seelie Court acts in this way. My own Unseelies have much to learn, I am sorry to report. And much to be released from.’

        A slice of strawberry wine cake hovered in midair near Sionnach’s lips, but she seemed to pay no attention. ‘You said... you said, Gwyn, that you are a leader of the Unseelie Court. Who are they? I mean, I know the story of the war with the Fomorians, but that must be only a piece of the story. I’d… like to know more please.’

        ‘Finish your cake, then, and let us retire by the fire. I desire a good, long talk this night. It has been a great while since I have been invited into such pleasing company.’

        Sionnach finished her sweet as Avan refilled her and Gwyn’s pewter steins with steaming nettle tea. They retired to the hearth and made themselves comfortable in fat leather chairs. Avan brought the teapot to them, covered it with a tartan cozy, made sure they had enough shortbread, and then, with a regal bow, bid the two friends goodnight, with the message that Riona Cárthaigh would return ‘round noon on the morrow.’

***

        ‘Tell me more of the Sí, please, Gwyn.  I... I simply can’t believe you are here at Rowan House… in my home!’

        ‘I’m only an Elf. Nothing more. There are a number of us, you know. And besides, you understand quite a bit about us ‘Dwellers Beneath the Mounds’ already. Riona has made sure of that, bless her heart. Collecting and using medicinal herbs and flowers, or ‘simples’ as your people call them, is about as close to the Sí as one can get. The Sylvan Sí, who tend to flora night and day, love you and Riona especially.’

        ‘Really?’

        ‘Indeed. Lady Cemáthuran sends her kindest regards, and promises to visit you soon. She is a great admirer of your gardens here at Rowan House. Now, if you’d like, I’ll speak a piece about the two clans of the Sí, as it were—the Seelies and the Unseelies.’

        ‘More shortbread?’

        ‘Yes, thank you. Now, the Invisible Kingdom is made up of a variety of races, but the more numerous are those of us known as Elves, and we are divided into the two courts of Seelies, or Blesséd, and Unseelies, or Unblesséd.’

        Gwyn stretched his legs out and refilled his and Sionnach’s steins with the soothing and green-tasting nettle infusion.

        ‘The Seelies and Unseelies have had their difficulties with one another for aeons,’ the Elf continued. ‘You said you know the story of how we Unseelies defended the Seelies against Fomorian attack? Well, I’ll not give you the details of that infamous fight just now, but previous to that event, we Unseelies were not well liked by our goodhearted kinfolk the Seelies. And for good reason. In fact, our defense of them against the ‘Fomorian Onslaught,’ as it were, did very little, really, to change the Unseelie attitude toward the White Court. Most Unseelies still despise the Seelies. So you see, envy is not only a human problem. It’s a universal disease, and it literally rots the bones!’

        Just then there came a loud bang at the front door of Rowan House, and an angry voice cried ‘Witchcraft girl! Come out! Now! Lady Cárthaigh, bring out your girl and the magician now, ye will!’

        ‘What is this?’ asked Gwyn. He rose from his seat while he motioned that Sionnach stay. Gwyn was met by Avan in the foyer, and both stood ready when the heavy door was flung wide. Before them stood three stalwart farmers and their wives, all armed with pitchforks, scythes, and other implements of destruction.

        ‘I do say, ladies and gentlemen!’ said Avan. ‘This is quite out of character for such a pleasant evening! I warn you! I am a master of the pugilistic arts!’

‘We’ve come to put an end to this once and for all, Avan,’ said the lead farmer. ‘Now step aside and we’ll take the cailín and the conjurer peaceably like. We seen him appear from thin air, Avan! You’re a good Catholic. Ye should be horror-strick at havin’ these... these devils in a house ye protect!’

        ‘Where be the Lady Cárthaigh?’ said the woman who stood next to the man who spoke first. ‘She needs be witness to that we do this night!’

        ‘Well, I’ve enjoyed enough of this already, and it’s only just begun,’ said Gwyn with a broad grin. He waved his left hand over the group of incensed farmers. ‘Of course, nothing which actually occurs is ever of the slightest importance, but still...’

        Sionnach arrived at the door just in time to see six sheep scamper away as Avan and Gwyn clapped their hands and ran them down the circular drive and out onto the dock-pocked green. Sionnach clapped her hands as well, but with sheer delight. ‘Oh! You didn’t! How exciting!’ She then helped the lord and steward gather the discarded farm equipment and take it to the work shed.

        ‘Well-wrought scythe,’ said Gwyn. ‘Looks to be the work of the blacksmith Gremon. Any objection to my taking it when I leave?’

        ‘None on my part, sire,’ said Avan. ‘Though, for the life of me, I cannot comprehend why the likes of those ruffians would own such a thing of beauty!’

        ‘You may take it,’ said Sionnach. ‘But, I thought all Sí were deathly afraid of iron.’

        ‘We don’t like it, to be sure. It reminds us of what your ancestors did to us not so long ago, at least on our timetable. This scythe, however, is magical. I’m with Avan. Why your farmer had it, I haven’t a clue. But you are right. Sí weapons are always wrought of bronze or gold. We see these as noble metals and the only ones to be used in the sport of war.’

        ‘Sport of war?’

        ‘Aye. In the Lands Beneath, war is a sport more often than not. With rarity is anyone injured. Our golden swords break too easily, and if bronze is used, we have a series of stringent rules which must be obeyed to insure safety. Iron, on the other hand, well... I’m sure you know enough about human war for me not to elaborate.’

        ‘I do, and it makes me sad.’

        ‘No sadness tonight! This is a time to celebrate newfound friendship.’

‘Thank you for saving me from those ridiculous farmers, Gwyn. They were going to kill me! I’m sure they were going to put me in a bag and drown me like an unwanted kitten, or hang me from an ash tree, or burn me at the stake!’

        ‘Truth is, they were going to tickle you with a magpie feather and tie you up by your thumbs,’ replied Gwyn with a regal bow. ‘A stalwart prayer for them, but the spell I cast won’t last long, and they’ll again be their old selves before too long. Now, before we continue with our history lesson, you, mademoiselle, are in desperate need of sleep. Your eyes are batting open and shut so fast one might think a windstorm blew through your brain. I make the promise that I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow morn, and we can continue our fellowship then. Perhaps I can meet your Aunt Riona as she returns from her sojourn.’  

Gwyn embraced Sionnach, kissed her forehead, and left her to her red leather book.

***

Since I was a little girl, I always hoped the Sí would come to me, for I have caught glimpses of them as they hide and make gleeful mischief in their sweet World of Misrule. And today they have finally come. Gwyn meic Nodens of the Unseelie Court has visited me at the standing stones. He says I must begin a quest. I want to know what he knows, for his eyes are peculiar and unruly, yet soft with wisdom. I have heard of Gwyn.  He is also called Alberon, and in years past he and his armies defended the Seelie Court from the evil pirates called Fomorians. I don’t know what the Fomorians were, though. Maybe they came from a nightmare. Ireland is like an onion. It has many layers, and we Irish make sure those layers are never torn apart like what is happening in the New World to the people who were there first. In my dreams I see what happens there, and what will happen in times to come. Sometimes I awake screaming, for I see dark satanic mills and blood that runs like water over the land. And moreso, I see an unforgiveness that is unlike any known here in Ireland. For after a spell, we Irish will forgive our enemies and grow strong because of it. But in the New World I see a division so wrong that hearts go cold as stone walls, and crumble in time, and are no more. I see city upon city upon city so that people swarm like angry bees over one another. I see too many people born upon Earth, and because of this, many animals and plants leave for better lands, never to return to the home of man. And when the honey bees are gone….

***

Gwyn has sent me on a quest for the thing I have wanted more than anything in the world. But, who is the hero of my tale? Will he be a knight in shining armor? For surely I must be the damsel in distress! And my travel companions? Gwyn has said that I will not set out on a journey, which I find very peculiar, but he has also told me that some of my companions have always been with me, many of them unseen, and also that I know my villain well. Maybe my story will not be like the stories of King Arthur and Robin the Hooded One after all. Maybe my story will be more ordinary. The magic thing I hope for is not a famous ‘singing sword of battle’ or ‘cauldron of good will to all men.’ Maybe this means that my quest will seem more typical as well. I don’t know. My head is spinning. I am so thrilled!

***

One does not usually envision a ‘Cradle of Secrets’ to be gentle, rolling green farmland dotted with sheep and whitewashed cottages with bright red doors. When one thinks of magic and the mysteries, images of dark wooded glens and misty mountain crags appear and beckon. Shadowy places with histories of blood sacrifice and secret rites race to mind. Yet the physical eyes are not to be seen with, but through, as with windows set with care in a house by someone who understands the intricacies of vision. When eyes are seen through, these ‘old eyes’ view many other worlds which have been lain across the ordinary, and leave the ‘new eyes’ behind, to be blinded if they will, for are they not the product of superficial interests in numberless things unrelated to love? Yet, who can have life abundant when his ship is overloaded with cargo from lands whose reasons for existence are to skirt the true purpose of living with a plethora of distractions, diversions, and selfish gain? If one will be a corsair in life, and there are certainly worse directions to take, then he must decide what his vessel will carry before he sets sail. And if he has set sail with unnecessary cargo, he must be vigilant and stalwart enough to cast every unnecessary thing overboard. Therein lies the challenge which reveals love to be far, far more than fat babies shooting arrows into plush red hearts.

        Some children never allow themselves to develop the shortsighted ‘new eyes,’ regardless of the pains put to them. So, they always see the world as a delight. Such a child was Sionnach of the Raven Locks—an Sionnach^[6] envied and desired, feared and admired. At sixteen years, she was found pleased to accept the instruction of Gwyn meic Nodens. What she did not count on was the Sí lord’s retinue... or his hounds.

So we shall begin, if we have not already begun, and walk with the Fox into a twilight of seership with souls dispatched to their own quests and sent also to show this ‘hallowed girl,’ as Gwyn called her, the way of wild and loving communion with the Ancient of Days.

 

I believe that Gwyn meic Nodens is a king of the Unseelies and a despiser of mankind because of our natural appetite to be brutal and hateful. I believe that Gwyn is joyful to have found me, and perhaps others of our race, for we are able to show him that not all of us hate his people, and that we have been infused with the gifts of gentleness and love. Not all of us have learned to act in love, and it may be that this shall never happen. I wonder, though, if Gwyn acts with consent of the White Sí only, for surely the king and queen of the Unseelies guide their court, and I hear of too many people who are not careful and anger the Sí. It can’t be the gentle White Sí who take revenge on us, but rather the Unseelies. No, as I think on it more, I believe Gwyn works for both the Seelies and Unseelies, as a sort of peacemaker. I wonder if he has made anyone in the Middle Kingdom angry? Well, if he has, he is, after all, the Master of the Wild Hunt. I would never want to be chased by his hounds!