Bansi O'Hara and the Bloodline Prophecy Page 3

‘Oh, come on, Eileen! You heard what her mother said about the swan following her! And then one of the Good People appears before us in the guise of a wolf – and she sees a glow around Slieve Donnan, of all places! That’s no coincidence! And on Midsummer’s Eve, too!’

  ‘So what? You’re telling me she’s a . . . a changeling, is that it?’

  ‘Or something of the sort. After what we’ve just seen, I’d bet my life on it.’

  Granny looked at her friend calculatingly. ‘Or your pension?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Or your pension,’ Granny repeated. ‘I’ll bet my week’s pension against yours that you’re wrong. You can do your old eggshell test tonight – I shan’t breathe a word to her. The week’s pension goes to the winner. Which,’ she added confidently, ‘will be me.’

  Nora Mullarkey, grim-faced, glanced back at Bansi. ‘You’re on,’ she said. With one final look back at Bansi, she shifted gears and stamped on the accelerator.

  High above, a ghostly white shape shadowed the car soundlessly: an owl, drifting through the gathering twilight, unobserved from the ground.

  The wolf briefly broke cover again, darting across the road and disappearing once more into the under-growth. The owl watched without expression.

  ‘Told you,’ grumbled the little brown man who rode on its back. ‘Now will you listen, Tam? That’s one of them down there, and one I don’t want to tangle with either.’

  The owl hooted softly. ‘Stop fussing, Pogo. I can handle him easy enough. I don’t reckon he’s a real shape-changer – more like a skin-changer; some kind of selkie, maybe, only with wolves instead of seals. I’ve heard of such creatures, but I’ve never seen one before. Mind you, I still say it’d be easier to take the child ourselves.’

  Pogo bristled. ‘It’d be easier still to go home, and let the Dark Lord have the child and do what he wants with her,’ he snapped. ‘But we’re not going to do that either. We’re here to protect her, nothing else.’

  ‘Ah, talk sense, Pogo . . .’

  ‘Talk sense yourself! This is the prophesied child, Tam! If the Dark Lord captures her, that’s the end – for you, for me, for all of us who value our freedom. And that’s why we have to keep her safe – and keep her away from the Other Realm at all costs, for now at least. That’s what was decided . . .’

  ‘Aye, and I still say it was the wrong decision. Look, Pogo – no, hear me out,’ Tam quickly added as Pogo drew breath to argue. ‘The prophecy will be fulfilled. Sooner or later, the child has to stand on the sacred earth of Tir na n’Óg. Why not sooner?’

  ‘Because she’s just a child! And because now – while the Dark Lord is looking for her – the risk is too great! The gate between this world and ours will only be open until tomorrow night. Once it’s closed again, she’ll be safe. For now, at least.’

  ‘Aye, and we’ll be trapped here. Maybe for decades. Pogo, you know that the gate only opens for a few days each year, and you know this is the first time she’s ever been this close to it at one of those times. She could be an old woman before it happens again! If we don’t take her back with us tonight – try to fulfil the prophecy ourselves, before the Dark Lord finds her – then we’re stuck here. Do you really want that? Can you bear to live in this terrible place, with its air half poisoned by those car things, not knowing when you’ll see your own home again? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘It was what you said, too!’ Pogo snapped. ‘Have you forgotten? You promised, as did I, in front of Caithne and all the others, to protect the girl until she was grown, and bring her to the Other Realm to fulfil the prophecy only when she was old enough to make that decision herself!’

  ‘I promised, Pogo, because you wouldn’t come with me unless I did. And without you, I’d never have found the child in time, and the Dark Lord would have seized her. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I miss the Other Realm already. This mortal world – it’s nothing compared to Tir na n’Óg . . .’

  Pogo’s face softened a little, and when he spoke again his tone was less harsh. ‘It’s a brave thing you’re doing, Tam. A few years in the land of mortals isn’t such a hardship for my kind as for yours. But it has to be this way . . . no, now it’s your turn to hear me out, so listen. I know that for the prophecy to be fulfilled, this girl must come to the Other Realm – one day. But she’s just a child. The Other Realm is no place for mortal children. Maybe when she’s older, if you and I are able to prepare her for what she’s likely to face there; maybe then we can ask her to come with us. But to take her now would be to put her in terrible danger and I won’t do that.’

  ‘Ah, we’d keep her safe, Pogo. And you’ve said it yourself – countless lives hang in the balance here. If the Dark Lord is the one who fulfils the prophecy, it’ll be ruin for all of us. We have to stop him!’

  ‘We are stopping him, you thickhead. If we keep the girl safe till the gate closes once more, he can’t get to her.’

  ‘Aye, and then we’re trapped here; and maybe when the gate reopens he’ll send someone else after her anyway. Or maybe that one down there in the wolfskin is under instructions to stay here and watch her if he can’t get her straight away. There’s so many maybes, Pogo; but if we take the girl now, and fulfil the prophecy ourselves before he can get to her, then he’s lost and the Other Realm is saved.’

  Pogo scowled. ‘The decision’s been made, Tam, and it’s not ours to change. We agreed it with all the others, in case you’d forgotten. With me, you stood before Caithne and all her company, the whole fellowship of the Sacred Grove, and you promised.’

  ‘Only because we needed you to find the girl, and you said you wouldn’t do it unless we did it your way!’

  ‘No! Because I said I wouldn’t be party to kidnapping a child! And that still stands, whatever happens!’ Pogo glared down at the top of the owl’s head. ‘We stick to the plan, Tam – however long it takes. We’re here to protect her, not to steal her away. And when she goes back home across the sea, we go with her, and watch over her and try to prepare her for the future. All right?’

  A change in movement, far below, caught Tam’s eye. ‘They’re pulling up at a house.’

  ‘Do you see the wolf?’

  ‘No. He’ll be somewhere around, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘Right, Tam. You stand guard outside. I’ll go in and keep watch over the girl.’

  ‘Hold on tight, then. Down we go!’

  Like a silent white thunderbolt the owl dropped towards the earth, watched from the night shadows by two cold yellow eyes.

  Chapter Five

  All was quiet in Granny O’Hara’s house; but as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, Bansi woke to the realization that somebody was in the bedroom with her. Two shadowy figures were moving around, murmuring to each other in voices softer than a whisper. Heart hammering, she peered through the slits of her eyelids. The intruders weren’t burglars, as far as she could tell. They weren’t taking anything from the room; rather, they seemed to be placing something – a number of somethings – around her bed. Nor – though it was difficult to tell in the darkness – did they look big or threatening. They certainly weren’t the huge and fearsome men she’d always imagined burglars to be. They looked more like – well, two little old ladies, really. In fact, one of them looked very like – no, exactly like . . .

  ‘Granny!’ Bansi exclaimed in exasperation, sitting up and switching the light on. ‘What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night, and you and–’ She peered at the other figure and groaned to herself. ‘You and Mrs Mullarkey are creeping round me while I’m asleep! Is there a reason for this, or are you both just pretending to be completely bonkers?’

  Granny blushed, and looked as if she might say something, but Mrs Mullarkey glared her into silence, raising one bony finger to her lips as she did so, and they both carried on with what they were doing. Bansi watched, intrigued in spite of herself.

  While she was sleeping, the two women had begun to lay out around h
er a circle of twelve neatly hollowed-out eggshells, each one perched precariously on a makeshift cradle on top of a small gas camping stove. Each eggshell was half full of water and, as she watched, her grandmother and Mrs Mullarkey lit the flames. Then Mrs Mullarkey, standing ramrod straight, folded her arms and looked at her as if waiting for something.

  Bansi waited, too. Shell by shell, the water began to bubble. Mrs Mullarkey continued to stare at her. Granny, meanwhile, leaned against the door and looked at Mrs Mullarkey. They waited . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . and finally, Bansi could wait no longer.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You’re boiling water in eggshells, is that it?’

  Mrs Mullarkey’s eyebrows lifted expectantly, but she said nothing.

  ‘So is that it?’ Bansi persisted. ‘Or is there more? Because I’m really tired and, Granny, I don’t want to sound ungrateful if this is some kind of entertainment you put on for all your guests, but I would really like to go back to sleep now. Please?’

  Mrs Mullarkey looked somehow disappointed. ‘You’re not going to tell me you’ve seen this before, I hope?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ Bansi answered, perhaps a little too sharply.

  ‘Aha!’ said Mrs Mullarkey triumphantly.

  ‘Why should I? There aren’t any bonkers old ladies in my house back home. And I’m only ten. Maybe all the ten-year-olds round here are used to this, but in that case I’d really appreciate your going and giving them another look and letting me get back to sleep!’ And then, feeling that perhaps she’d been a little rude, she added, ‘Please?’

  Mrs Mullarkey looked as if she’d popped a sweet into her wrinkled mouth and discovered it was broccoli-and-sawdust flavour.

  But Granny clapped her hands and rubbed them together gleefully. ‘There you are, Nora! Nothing of the changeling about my Bansi. I hope you won’t miss next week’s pension too much – I’ll certainly be glad of the extra, I can tell you!’

  Bansi was outraged. ‘Granny!’ she said angrily. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that you and Mrs Mullarkey woke me up in the middle of the night and boiled water in eggshells round my bed just for a bet, do you?’

  Mrs Mullarkey and Granny looked at each other like two naughty children caught pulling each other’s pigtails. Bansi half expected one of them to say, ‘Well, she started it,’ but neither of them did.

  Instead, Mrs Mullarkey said, ‘It’s not just about a bet, young lady . . .’

  ‘What is it about, then?’ Bansi asked, and when neither of them answered she burst out, ‘Oh, come on! You’ve woken me up; it’ll take ages to get back to sleep now. I think the least you can do is tell me what it’s all about!’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Oh, all right, then,’ said Granny. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s got to do with some silly stories about the f—Ow!’

  Mrs Mullarkey had pinched her, hard. ‘You will not be so foolish as to say the word, Eileen O’Hara!’

  ‘Well, how am I going to tell her if I can’t tell her? Talk some sense!’

  ‘Oh, be quiet. Bansi, what we’re going to tell you has to do with the F-A-E-R-Y folk.’

  Bansi spelled it out in her head. ‘What,’ she said, puzzled. ‘Fairies?’

  Behind the curtain, a small brown man winced, and shook his head.

  High in the branches of a tree outside, the ghostly figure of an owl turned its head sharply.

  And in the darkest corner of the garden, two glowing yellow eyes raised their cold unblinking stare, and seemed to look straight through the walls of the house into the room.

  ‘Quiet, child!’ Mrs Mullarkey hissed, gripping her walking stick so tightly that all her knuckles turned white. ‘For goodness’ sake – and I mean that, for the sake of all the goodness there is in this world – don’t say that word!’

  ‘Why not? What’s wrong with f—’

  ‘Shut up, girl!’

  There was an awkward pause.

  ‘Um . . . Mrs Mullarkey,’ said Bansi hesitantly after a moment, ‘I don’t want to be rude or anything, but – well – there’s no such thing as . . . I mean . . . you’re not trying to tell me you’re frightened of Tinkerbell, are you?’

  Mrs Mullarkey gave a dry barking laugh. ‘Tinkerbell, indeed. I wish, child. I wish that the Good People were all wee Tinkerbells. No – they’re very real, and they’re evil, the lot of them.’

  Pogo glared out unseen from behind the curtain, and bared his little teeth at her.

  Bansi wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement. ‘Hang on – what do you mean, the good people are evil? That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘These . . . beings we’re talking of,’ Mrs Mullarkey said impatiently. ‘If you name them by one of their true names – if you call them what they really are – they will hear you. You don’t want that, young Bansi. You don’t want to come to their attention, believe you me, for they are evil – or at the very least, full of thoughtless mischief. They have uncanny powers. They can take on different shapes, and bewitch people and much else besides. And they use these powers for wickedness. That’s why folk began to call them the Good People, for whatever else they may be, they’re certainly not good.’

  Bansi felt they’d got a little off the point. ‘All right, Mrs Mullarkey – but what has this got to do with you and my granny creeping round my bed at midnight boiling water in eggshells?’

  Mrs Mullarkey said nothing. She suddenly looked a little sheepish.

  Bansi waited, patiently.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’sake, Nora,’ said Granny, kneeling to turn off the camping stoves. ‘If you won’t tell the child, I will.’ She paused, but still Mrs Mullarkey said nothing. ‘Very well,’ Granny went on, turning to Bansi. ‘What it is, sweetheart, is this: according to the old stories about the – the Good People, one of their tricks is to steal a human baby from its cradle and replace it with one of their own kind – a changeling. And Nora here thought that perhaps . . .’

  ‘Thought that I might be a changeling?’ Bansi almost laughed. ‘And the eggshells help you find out?’

  Mrs Mullarkey, not quite meeting Bansi’s gaze, nodded. ‘The surest way of telling a changeling from a human child is to let it see you boiling water or brewing beer or cooking a meal in hollowed-out eggshells. If the child really is one of the Good People, it’ll say something like, “Six hundred years have I lived in the Land of Youth” – or Tir na n’Óg, or F-A-E-R-Y; it’s all one and the same – “but never have I seen the likes of that!” ’

  ‘And then it flies up the chimney and vanishes away back home, or some such nonsense,’ Granny added.

  ‘And this works every time, does it?’ Bansi asked.

  ‘Without fail!’ Mrs Mullarkey declared.

  ‘So – are they really that stupid?’ Bansi asked.

  Mrs Mullarkey’s eyebrows shot up like a couple of startled pheasants. ‘What on earth do you mean, child?’

  ‘Well – for one thing, if they’ve lived six hundred years in the land of whatever, wouldn’t they be clever enough to know not to tell? Especially if every so often one of their changeling friends comes back home and says, “You won’t believe what I’ve just done! Remember the eggshell trick? Oldest one in the book, and I just fell for it again ”. . .’

  Mrs Mullarkey pursed her lips. ‘It’s not a matter of clever, young lady,’ she announced disapprovingly. ‘It’s tradition. Some things just happen because they’re supposed to, and no amount of cleverness or knowing things can change them. So there! Like the use of iron. Who knows why they fear it, or why it cancels their magic? But they do, and it does, and there’s an end to it!’

  ‘Iron?’

  The old woman nodded. ‘It’s the surest defence against them there is. All the old stories agree.’

  ‘What about steel, then?’ asked Bansi curiously, drawn in despite herself. ‘Does that work, too?’

  ‘Steel?’ Mrs Mullarkey demanded stiffly. ‘What on earth do you mean? It’s iron that works against them.’

&nbs
p; ‘Yes, but steel’s made out of iron,’ Bansi pointed out. ‘We did it in science last term. So surely if iron works then steel should too?’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense! Iron is iron, and it’s only iron that’ll keep you safe! Any more silly questions?’

  ‘Well – yes, actually.’ Bansi was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘What about . . . um . . . B-R-O-W-N-I-E-S? They’re “Good People” as well, aren’t they? Are you telling me that they come and tidy your house as part of some evil plan?’

  Mrs Mullarkey glared scornfully at Bansi. ‘Brownies,’ she said tersely, not noticing the sudden twitching from behind the curtain, ‘are wee girls who come round selling biscuits. The creatures you’re referring to don’t exist, and never have. Little men coming at night to do your housework for you, indeed! As if any of the Good People would want to do a single thing to help mortal humans! In any case, how would they get in your house?’

  ‘Um . . . through the door?’ Bansi suggested.

  Mrs Mullarkey shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Do you know nothing, child? The Good People can’t enter a human dwelling unless they’re invited.’

  Granny chuckled dryly. ‘Well, they can come in my house, and welcome,’ she said, ‘along with the man in the moon and the Wizard of Oz. I could do with some help with the housework.’

  Mrs Mullarkey turned in fury. ‘Eileen O’Hara, of all the foolish things to say! You’d better just pray that none of them is listening! For they’ll take that as an invitation, you can be sure! Now you’ll need protection! What have you in the house that’s made of iron?’

  Eileen O’Hara rolled her eyes. ‘If you must play your silly games, Nora, I’ve an old iron skillet above the stove in the kitchen and a poker by the fire. And thinking about it, now, there’s a couple of boxes full of junk metal that’s been in the garage about twenty years; if you’d like to take all of that, you’d be doing me a favour . . .’

  ‘Right,’ Mrs Mullarkey said. ‘I’ll start gathering all that together. You stay here and mind the child. And keep your silly old mouth shut, if you can!’