Stolen Child

CHAPTER EIGHT

"I shall commission the work and it must be done to my standards by dusk. In return I will guide ye on yer journey. We will go far North to Ben Bulben. That is the door to the Otherworld. It's guarded by Caoranach who is the mother of serpents. Don't let her name fool you, she may be quite benevolent to an Aes Sidhe but we should be prepared to go through the door whether she permits us or not. Sive, that means you and I must work on our magic to protect ourselves while you slip through the door. Izzy, if Caoranach happens to be diplomatic, ye must confront her an' petition for the release of yer sister."

"So, Sive goes home, Lucy is released - and what about me?"

Sive smiled. "When I get home I can ask my mother to turn ye back. She's got the strength to do that an' I'm sure she wouldn't deny me it if I requested it. There's have nothin' to lose."

For the first time today a spark of hope flickered in me. It was a way for us all to get what we needed. One Aes Sidhe could snap his fingers and bring us back to that Samhain night. "Thank you," I said.

Fial's apprehensive nature quickly shifted into something more pleasant. She set to work right away, laying a canvas on the table and mixing paints in glass jars. I grabbed the suggaun chair made of woven straw, and drew it up the table where she was working.

"Would ye like something to eat?" she asked, and offered us a bowl of wild billberries with honey, seedy bread and what she called "the most delicious food to grace a tongue," which was a big heap of butter; that I took gladly because by now I was starving. Sive sat on the chair in the living room with a large plate, picking at the bread and licking honey off her fingers.

"I want a picture of my lovely forest. Majestic with mist in the darkness and a full moon in the sky." Fial gestured wildly with one hand as she stirred up some kind of powder with the other, and looked intently into the space between us. She was envisioning the painting. It was going to be easy enough, I assumed. Black trees against blue sky.

She left me to the paints. For hours I sat at the table working and snacking on the food, until my stomach was full, my back sore, and my hand cramping. Fial and Sive were flitting around the yard outside gathering materials of some sort. They occasionally returned, completely dry in spite of the rain, with branches and leaves and stones, and Fial with her opinions on the progress of my work.

Painting by the dim glow of crackling firelight was far more difficult than painting at home or school. I could hardly see the colors, but it looked like they were coming together. With every brush stroke I became more and more lost in what I was doing: re-painting, shading, filling in and perfecting. My fine motor skills seemed sharper than they were when I was twelve, and my thoughts were sharper, too. All the little details seemed to pop right off the canvas as I worked. Images of my family back home where we belonged were scattered in my thoughts. If we could just get to Ben Bulben, then Mom wouldn't have to grieve anymore. Finally, the painting was complete.

"Yes, wonderful," Fial said, clapping her red hands together with praise. She took the painting and propped it up on the mantle, then stood back to admire it.

"It really is quite the picture," Sive said as she looked on from the doorway

Fial nodded in agreement. "Ye have outdone yourself, Mortal."

It was like getting my artwork hung up on the lunchroom art wall. I was beaming with pride in what I had accomplished and the sun looked to be going down, although it was hard to tell with the clouds.

"We should be going now," Fial said and grasped a staff that was leaning against the door frame. It was a long, sturdy tree branch with a small skull crudely tied to the top. She preened at the black feathers around the ram horns on her head. "Walking to Ben Bulben would be a nearly week-long journey if things went as planned, but we must find a faster way and we must prepare to encounter obstacles."