The Shadowmagic Trilogy

‘You think Cucullen fell off his horse and got old quick?’

‘There were rumours that he forgot and got off by himself. He never was the sharpest arrow in the quiver.’

‘So if your foot touches the ground in the Real World and you become the age you would be in The Land, then how come my father didn’t dust-it? I get the impression that he has a few hundred years under his belt.’

‘That is a question for him and your mother – as are most of the other questions I can almost hear flicking through your mind. Before I send you to bed, Conor of Duir, I shall answer one more question – it is the first question you asked of me. You asked if I could help you find the Fililands. The answer is yes. Many people think the Fililands are a myth, a story to scare children, but they are real. Long ago the Fililands were sealed off by your grandfather, Finn, but since then a new frontier has opened. I think you may be able to enter the Fililands through the Reedlands.’

‘The Reedlands?’

‘The Reedlands came into being when your Uncle Cialtie chose the Reed Rune.’

‘I thought I heard Cialtie say he held the Duir Rune?’

‘He does now. But his first rune was the Reed Rune. After your father and then your grandfather went missing, he repeated the Choosing and chose the Duir Rune. People thought it was strange but he does hold the rune now.’

‘What happened to the Reedlands?’

‘Cialtie explored them, renounced them and left them to fallow. They lie just past the Hazellands and I suspect they border the Fililands. If I am right, the border will not be sealed there. You should be able to enter the Fililands from the Reedlands.’

‘Can you take me there?’

‘Me?’ Gerard laughed. ‘Good gods! The last thing you need is me giving you directions. No, I know someone who could get you there. Sleep tonight and tomorrow I shall see if I can persuade my guide to accompany you.’

‘Thank you, Lord Gerard.’

‘No, thank you, Conor.’

‘For what?’

‘For being the son of Cull and Duir. For a long time I have feared for the future of both of those houses – less now.’ We stood and he put his arm around my shoulder as we walked to the door.

‘Did you really like the beer?’ he asked.

‘To be honest, sir, I would like it a little lighter and colder – oh, and fizzier.’

He opened the door. A servant was waiting. Gerard instructed him to escort me to the tower and to give me a shot of poteen to help me sleep. As Gerard closed the door I heard him mumbling to himself, ‘Lighter and fizzier – hmm.’

The tower turned out to be a very comfortable room with a bed big enough for a football team. It wasn’t until I saw the sheets that I realised how exhausted I was – I wasn’t going to need the poteen. I undressed and got under the covers, and the servant put a small glass of clear liquid on the bedside table. Sleep was seconds away when I remembered something that Cialtie had said to my father. He said the last time he saw Finn he was on horseback on the way to the Real World and that he had stabbed the horse! He killed him, he killed his own father. He killed my grandfather. Rage enveloped me, my blood boiled and my thoughts turned to revenge. Sleep was no longer an option. I sat up in bed and fantasised about the different ways I would kill Cialtie. My hand shook as I grabbed the glass and thoughtlessly knocked back the poteen. Instantly, Cialtie didn’t seem like such a bad guy after all. I laid back and put my hands behind my head. I thought, Why make such a fuss out of everything? I started to count my blessings. I was asleep before I got very far.

I awoke to a slap in my face – considering the dream I was having, I deserved it. But this slap in the face wasn’t from Essa in dreamland, it was real. I opened my eyes to see a fully dressed Fergal passed out next to me in the bed. He had rolled over and backhanded me in the face. I threw his arm over to his side, only to have it come back and whack me a second time. I made a mental note never to sleep with Fergal again and got out of bed.

A servant was waiting in the hallway. He showed me to a bathroom kitted out with a steaming Olympic-sized sunken bathtub. Ah, life’s simple pleasures. I had a feeling I had better enjoy it while I could – the trip to the Fililands didn’t sound like it was going to be a Sunday afternoon stroll.

When I got out of the bath I noticed that my clothes had been replaced with linen underwear and a soft leather shirt and trousers. Well – when in Rome.

Breakfast was busy. Obviously many of the partygoers had stayed the night, or more probably hadn’t gone to bed at all. I saw Araf sitting with Essa, and joined them.

‘Good morning,’ I said.

Araf nodded.

Essa said, ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Sir? What happened to Conor? Sir is my dad.’

‘Good morning – Conor, I have to go now,’ she said and left.

I turned to Araf. ‘What was that about?’

He shrugged.

If I hadn’t just taken a bath I would have sniffed my armpits – she acted like I had just cleaned out the elephant stables.

‘Have I done something to upset her?’

Araf shrugged again.

‘You know, you’re a real pleasure to chat with, Araf – and by the way my head is fine. Thank you for asking.’

This got a nod.

We ate in silence. I had a billion questions but I knew trying to strike up a conversation with Araf would be like trying to build the pyramids on my own. I was almost finished when a servant informed me that I was wanted in the armoury.

I followed him to a different wing of the castle until we arrived at a gymnasium-sized, glass-roofed room. Hanging on racks around the chamber was an impressive collection of weapons: swords, bows, crossbows and an entire wall of banta sticks. In the centre of the room stood the same old man who had taken our weapons from us when we first arrived at the party. He was holding my sword belt. He motioned me over.

‘You are Conor?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘This is your sword?’

‘Yes.’

‘Put it on.’

I fastened it around my waist.

‘So, Conor of Duir – son of the one-handed Prince Oisin – BE AT GUARD!’ He drew his sword and assumed an attacking stance.

I raised my hands. ‘Hey, I’m not going to fight you.’

‘Pity,’ he said, ‘I so dislike stabbing an unarmed man. Oh well – so be it.’

He drove the point of his sword directly at my heart.

ELEVEN

THE DAHY

I jumped to the left, just in time to stop myself from being pierced. ‘Hey! Let’s talk about this.’

‘I’m not here to talk,’ the old guy said. ‘If I were you, I would draw my sword, or duck.’

He came at me with a high backhanded cut to the head. Not only did I duck, I hit the floor and rolled to my left. I quickly got back on my feet in a crouch.

‘The roll was good,’ my attacker informed me, ‘but the position is not.’

I took a quick glance around me and saw what he meant. I had boxed myself into a corner.

‘Since you like to talk so much,’ the old man said, ‘I will tell you one more thing. I am going to come at you with a forehand mid-cut. It will be too low to duck and too high to jump. The only defence is to draw and parry, or run and bleed.’

I only took a microsecond to realise he was right. He cocked his sword way back and then came at me with both blade and body. I drew my sword, deflected the attack with a low parry and retreated to the middle of the room.

Our chatting phase was obviously over. He instantly attacked me with a series of sweeping and powerful cuts, alternating high and low. I blocked and back-pedalled. To be honest, I was terrified. For as long as I could remember my father trained me in sword fighting, and I had also won a few local fencing tournaments, but this was the real thing. The swords were steel and the points were sharp. One sloppy parry and I was dead! Then my father’s words came back to me – ‘In a real sword fight, son, all thoughts of winning and losing must be suppressed. Keep one eye on his eyes and the other on his blade. Be aware of your surroundings, block and counter until your opponent tires.’

I used to laugh at him when he said stuff like that. ‘When will I ever be in a real sword fight,’ I’d say, ‘and for that matter, when were you ever in a real fight?’ I take it all back now, Pop – if I live through this.

I forced my father’s advice into my head and the fight attained a rhythm. In fact it became familiar. This old guy’s forearm attack was very similar to my father’s favourite assault. My father would start a major attack with a flurry of forearm cuts, then change into a reverse grip, like he was holding an ice pick, then follow through with an elbow to the chin. He called the move a Dahy Special. Sure enough, that’s exactly what this guy did! I knew from experience that the sword in this manoeuvre was less dangerous than the elbow. I parried the sword hard, forcing his arm to straighten, and then ducked the elbow. I sent the old guy off balance and then started a counter-attack of my own. I came at him with a series of low cuts. I like swinging up – it’s unsettling for an opponent. It leaves my face exposed, but I’m pretty good at bobbing and weaving. The sword felt good in my hand, like an extension of my arm. The old guy parried the cuts with grace, but I could see that I had him working. He parried my last cut and countered with a high downward thrust that caught me by surprise. By the time I blocked it, I was down on one knee. We locked swords – pommel to pommel. I racked my brain for a means of escaping – I knew that as soon as our swords disengaged I was very vulnerable. The sweat was streaming into my eyes and my arm was starting to shake. I couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

‘That’s enough!’ came a shout from the door.

The old man pulled back and Gerard entered the room. I dropped my guard, sat on my feet, and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

‘How is he?’ Gerard said.

‘Not too bad,’ the old guy said, ‘his left side is weak but his footwork is good. Nothing that cannot be fixed.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I said, ‘this was a test?’

‘It was indeed,’ Gerard said. ‘I wanted to make sure if I was going to risk my best guide, that you could at least take care of yourself. Dahy here is my master-at-arms.’

‘Dahy! You taught my father.’

‘Yes, I did. And may I say, my student taught you well, but not well enough.’ He addressed Gerard. ‘In two days I can get him to a minimum preparedness.’

‘Conor, you are under Dahy’s tutelage now, so work hard. You shall leave for the Fililands in three days’ time,’ Gerard said, and left us alone.

‘Now, Conor,’ Dahy said, with a gleam in his eye that I wasn’t sure I liked, ‘we begin.’

The next two days were the hardest of my life. Dahy drilled me like an SAS sergeant gone berserk. We worked on swordplay, archery and banta stick fighting. My biggest difficulty was my left hand. I had always fought with my non-sword hand empty but Dahy taught me a method of using the sword in my right hand and a banta stick in my left. It made my head spin and my muscles scream. Luckily I found a supply of willow tea that helped me make it through the days, and some poteen to help me through the nights.

At mealtimes, I met a handful of people who had still not gone home from the party. Discussions of politics were outlawed in the castle, but when Gerard was out of earshot I learned that my Uncle Cialtie was universally hated. It seemed that Castle Duir sat on The Land’s only gold mine. My grandfather Finn used to allocate a stipend of gold to each of the lords. The gold was used to fuel necessary magic. As of late, Cialtie had refused gold to most of the families and cut back considerably to the rest. The question was – what was he was doing with all of that gold? No one seemed to know.

I only saw Essa twice. Once I caught her watching Dahy and me from the viewing box above the armoury. I looked up and smiled. Dahy hit me painfully in the shoulder with a stick, and by the time I looked back, she was gone. The second time was at lunch on my second day of training. I spotted her sitting at a table and sat down next to her. She immediately stood up to leave. I grabbed her wrist so I could talk to her – big mistake. The next thing I knew, I was face down in my lunch with my arm twisted painfully up my back and her forearm pushing my head into a bowl of salad.

‘Don’t ever grab me again,’ she hissed in my ear.

‘What is your major malfunction?’ I spluttered.

She pulled my head back by the hair. ‘What did you say?’

I wasn’t sure if she hadn’t understood the phrase, or if the face full of greens had screwed up my diction, so I rephrased. ‘What have I done to make you act like this?’

She put her mouth close to my ear and whispered, ‘I know who you are.’

‘Who told?’

‘My father.’

‘Man, he’s telling everybody.’

‘Just me and Dahy.’

‘So let me guess,’ I said, wincing from the pressure that was still on my arm, ‘unlike your father, you’re a prophecy fan and you want me dead?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then go ahead.’

‘My father has forbidden it.’

‘Then let me go.’

She let go and walked away. I picked lettuce out of my nose with as much dignity as I could muster. ‘Oh yeah,’ I called after her, ‘well, that tunic makes your bum look big.’ It was a stupid thing to say. She didn’t look back, but it did make her stop for a second before she continued off.

The afternoon light was disappearing on my second day of training when I received a message to meet with Gerard in his library.

Before I left, Dahy said, ‘I have a gift for you.’ He handed me a banta stick with copper bark and a pale knob.

‘Do you recognise the wood?’ he asked.

‘I don’t, it’s too light for oak.’

‘It is hazelwood. Light enough to be used for walking, but strong enough for a fight. It was given to me by your grandfather Liam. I want you to have it.’

I looked at the lacquered finish. It almost looked like the skin of a snake.

‘Did you know him – my grandfather?’

‘Yes, he was a good and wise man.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘He was also stubborn and careless. For ages I tried to get him to set up a garrison in the Hazellands, but he would not hear of it. “The House of the Tree of Knowledge is a place of learning, not war,” he would say. Well, I was right but there is no comfort in that.’ He sighed. ‘I know he would have wanted you to have the stick. Now go, Conor, Gerard is waiting.’

‘Thank you, Master Dahy,’ I said, and I bowed my lowest ever bow.

I was surprised to find Fergal and Araf sitting with Gerard in the library. I had not seen Fergal since he had woken me up with a backhand. I had seen Araf around, but as usual we didn’t gossip much.

‘Sit down, Conor,’ Gerard said. I did and almost disappeared into an overstuffed chair. ‘It seems that the fates have thrown you and Fergal together. Not only did you meet by chance on the road, but your future paths also seem to be linked. Fergal here would like to meet Deirdre too.’

‘Why?’ I said, a little shocked.

Gerard replied for him. ‘Fergal’s motivations are his own, as are yours. I know why both of you seek an audience with Deirdre, and I can assure each of you that the other’s reasons are noble. If you wish to tell the other, that is up to you. For now, I need to ask you, Conor – will you accept Fergal as your travelling companion?’

It didn’t take long for me to decide. ‘As long as he promises not to stab me, or hit me with sticks, or steal my shoes, or sleep with me – then I’m fine.’

Fergal’s smile matched my own. He stood up and then, seeing me struggle, helped me out of my chair. We shook on it with both hands and then he slapped me on the back.

‘And you have to stop slapping me on the back.’

‘OK,’ he said, and then he did it again.

‘Araf has agreed to accompany you.’

‘As our guide?’

‘No, Araf does not know the Eastlands. I am having difficulty procuring you the proper guide – but I will. You will leave the day after tomorrow.’

‘How will we travel?’ I asked.

‘I will provide horses,’ Gerard said.

‘Oh – I can’t ride.’

‘What!’ Fergal and Gerard said in unison.

‘It’s not my fault. They didn’t have horses in … where I grew up.’

‘Right,’ Gerard said, ‘you have a day to learn to ride. Araf, will you teach him?’

Araf nodded.

I looked at Araf. ‘In order to teach me, you might actually have to speak, are you prepared for that?’

He gave me one of his hallmark blank stares.

‘This calls for a special toast.’ Gerard climbed the ladder to the top of his wine rack and found a bottle. He blew the dust off and placed it in a gold bucket. As he went to the cabinet to get glasses, the cork slowly rose out of the bottle by itself. He poured us each a glass of the blood-red wine.

‘This is a very special vintage. I pressed these grapes when Essa’s mother was pregnant with her. I have saved most of it for her wedding, but I steal a bottle now and again for special occasions.’ Gerard raised his glass. ‘To your success and a safe journey.’

We drank. Man, was it good. Even if Essa looked like Porky Pig I would have considered marrying her, just so I could have another glass of that wine. As things stood, she wouldn’t even talk to me – so I guessed that marriage was a long shot.

That night I dreamt that Sally and Essa had a banta fight. They both kept looking at me – wanting me to root for one or the other. The problem was I couldn’t decide who I wanted to win. It finally made both girls so mad, they stopped fighting each other and came at me …

I was shaken awake in the darkness. When my eyes adjusted I saw that it was Essa.

‘I was just dreaming about you.’

‘Get up,’ she said. ‘We have to go.’

‘We? Go? Where?’

‘We leave for the Fililands – now.’

‘You are coming with us?’

‘I’m your guide.’

‘Cool, but I thought we were leaving tomorrow.’

‘Change of plans,’ Essa said. ‘We leave now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Cialtie and his Banshee witch are on the way. They will be here for breakfast.’

That popped me wide awake and out of bed. I threw on some clothes. ‘Does he know I’m here?’

‘I’ll go and ask him, shall I?’

‘Hey, unnecessary sarcasm. Are you going to be mean to me this entire trip?’

‘We’ll see.’

I grabbed my sword and hazel stick. ‘Seriously, do you have any idea what Cialtie is doing here?’

‘I think he is coming to see me,’ Essa said.

‘Why you?’

‘Rumour has it, he is going to ask me to be his bride.’

‘Yuck!’ I said. ‘We gotta get out of here.’

TWELVE

ACORN

Araf and Fergal were waiting for us in the hallway. We followed Essa down a narrow stairway that was concealed behind a tapestry. With every step the smell of horses became stronger. A short passageway led to a bale of hay that we pushed aside, and we found ourselves in the stables.

Gerard and Dahy were almost finished saddling the horses. Let me tell you – the horses in The Land are just huge! I had no idea how I would even get up on one of those guys, let alone ride it. The thought terrified me.

Gerard bid Fergal and Araf goodbye and then gave me a hug so he could whisper in my ear. ‘When you see your mother and father, tell them they are welcome here. Take care of yourself, son of Duir, and take care of my daughter.’

‘Yes, sir, and thank you.’

Dahy presented me with a knife. ‘It is a throwing dagger,’ Dahy said. ‘The gold tip assures that it hits its target. Only use it as a last resort. Remember, when you throw a weapon, your enemy can pick it up and throw it back. It’s bad form to be killed by your own knife.’

That was Dahy’s idea of a joke. I smiled, bowed and stashed the knife in my sock.

‘OK,’ I said, ‘how do you get up onto one of these monsters?’

Essa broke off from her goodbye embrace with her father and said, ‘You don’t know how to ride? I don’t believe it!’

‘Maybe I should have a T-shirt with I CAN’T RIDE printed on it. That way it won’t come as a shock to everyone that finds out around here.’ Araf pointed to a horse to my left. ‘Is this one mine?’

He nodded. I examined the magnificent stallion. He was light grey with a wild white mane. As I craned my head back I wondered if I would actually be able to make it all the way up to the saddle.

‘Don’t you have any ponies? I rode a pony once at a birthday party.’

Araf interlaced his fingers together to give me a step up. I put my foot in his cupped hands and he hoisted me up over his head. I had an inkling that Araf was strong but I didn’t realise just how strong. He damn near threw me over the beast without the slightest hint of effort! I arrived on top of my horse and unceremoniously hung onto its neck until I got some semblance of cool.

‘Does he have a name?’

‘Acorn,’ Gerard replied, and smiled at me. ‘From a tiny acorn grows a mighty oak. He belonged to my son. Acorn here wandered back from the Hazellands after it was destroyed. He is the only thing to have made it out of there alive.’

I patted the enormous neck in front of me. ‘Well, Acorn, you and me are going to be pals – right?’

Acorn turned his head and gave me a look with a plum-sized black eye that I unmistakably read as – ‘We’ll see.’

A servant appeared and informed us that Cialtie’s entourage would be arriving at first light – in about half an hour. Gerard and Dahy pushed aside a wall of hay bales, revealing a back door.

‘Do you have any advice on riding this thing?’

‘Hold on,’ Araf said, and started through the door.

Acorn seemed happy to follow the other horses, which was fine with me. I leaned down and whispered in his ear, ‘You just follow those guys and we’ll be OK.’

He gave me a snort, as if to say, ‘Don’t tell me my business.’

Even though the doorway was massive, I still had to duck as I went through. My confidence level was low. I couldn’t help thinking what a long drop it was going to be when I fell off this monster. The back exit of the stables led almost directly into a path cut through a field of towering grain. We didn’t have to hurry – the vegetation hid us completely. Just when I thought this horse riding lark wasn’t too bad, the horses broke into a trot. Never in my life have I ever been bounced around so much. I figured another ten minutes of this would ensure that I never had an heir.

‘Is riding supposed to be this uncomfortable?’ I asked Araf with a jiggling voice that came out higher than normal.

‘Stand up in your stirrups every three gaits,’ he said.

I did, and what a difference it made. I got into the rhythm of the strides and started feeling like a rider.

We rode silently in single file for about an hour. I was behind Fergal, Essa was in the lead and Araf brought up the rear. The sun was fully up when we cleared the field. We entered a vast open meadow dotted with two-hundred-foot spire-like poplar trees. The land was green and rolling, a vast emerald carpet scattered with massive poplar exclamation marks. Essa gave what I now know is a hand signal and all of the horses broke into a canter – including Acorn. I grabbed the reins for support and Acorn ground to a halt, pitching me over his head. I flew butt over noggin and landed on the grass – still holding the reins. Luckily the grass was as soft as a gymnastics mat and I hurt nothing. It was probably the first time that I learned a lesson in The Land without pain. An upside-down Acorn gave me a look of pity. The company turned around and rode back.