Journey to the Hill of Dark Sorcery
The story I tells to me grandkids continues...
'Beannaithe rides from her home in Lyndelby to the Great River, crossin' at the ford. She continues to the eaves of the Greenwood before enterin'. She follows the windin' path through the forest. A league or two east into the wood the lass turns south. The path climbs steadily upward before reachin' the more haunted portion of the dark and forbodin' woods.
Ridin' east again Beannaithe passes the foundations of wooden cottages that had been burnt to the ground years before, ruined fortresses that were long deserted, and ancient standin' stones carved with strange swirlin' patterns...'
'What do the swirlin' patterns mean, Granda?' asks Dooli.
'No one knows for certain for they were made by unknown folk what lived long ago,' I answers him. 'Some say that they are maps of the stars in the heavens.'
'And what do you think, Granda?" asks Daibhdh.
'Honestly, lad, I haven't the foggiest notion,' I sadly tells him. 'They're interestin' to think about, though, aren't they?'
'Aye,' say Dooli and Daibhdh together.
Continuin' me story...
'The lass glances at all these things as she passes but remains intent on reachin' the fortress atop the Hill of Dark Magic where, reportedly, dwelt Balor of the Piercin' Eye.
Beannaithe and Mac come upon yet another ruined fortress, yet it were not as ruined as others she'd seen, and it were not completely deserted. Strangely, the lass hears lovely voices that could only belong to the Fair Folk. Those voices contrast greatly with the harsh, croakin' voices of goblins. The lass decides to investigate.
She is stopped at the entryway by a pair of sentries. Although Beannaithe is not held at arrow point as she were once before, she instinctively dismounts then raises her hands in surrender. The Fair Folk sentries are both amazed and amused.
"What is she I wonder?" says one to the other in their own tongue. "She's no goblin, that's for certain," his comrade answers in the same tongue.
Seein' their confusion, the lass slowly turns to display the sword in its scabbard that's strapped across her back. The sentries immediately recognize the scabbard as the handiwork of their kinsmen. The sentries wave Beannaithe inside, for surely someone with such a fine scabbard has the favour of the Lady of Light.
Inside the ruined fortress walls Beannaithe finds a small garrison of Fair Folk and, even more surprisin', a handful of Dwarves. The lass knows that Dwarves and the Fair Folk have a long history of animosity with one another.
Beannaithe is immediately drawn to the bearded Dwarves for, as ye know well, when she were but a wee lass she spent ten years among Fitka and his kindred. On the other hand, the tall Fair Folk with their almost otherworldly beauty are a far more recent acquaintance. The Dwarves are similarly drawn to her, for they've heard tales of a Halfling lass that were raised among their kind.
"Are you she?" one of the Dwarves asks her.
Beannaithe, puzzled, stares back at him.
"Sorry, lass," says a Dwarf with kind eyes. "What my comrade means to ask is whether you are the one called 'Fitkasdóttir'."
Smilin' broadly, the lass vigourously nods her head.
"I thought as much!" says Laekir, for that was the Dwarf's name. "You are most welcome to sup with us."
Beannaithe, her belly growlin', gladly accepts the invitation.
Between bites of their meal of salt pork, cram and ale one of the Dwarves asks Beannaithe, "What brings you to this terrible place?" Laekir nearly chokes on his food after hearin' his fellow's lack of tactfulness.
"Forgive my comrade's rudeness, lass, he's a bit green as he's not yet reached his fiftieth year. We'll teach him yet how to have polite conversation with those he's just met." Beannaithe giggles to think that at fifty years a Dwarf is still considered "green".
Beannaithe stands up from her place by the fire, brushes the crumbs off her armour, turns and points toward the Hill of Dark Sorcery. The faces of the Dwarves turn white. "Lass, no one goes up there," says Laekir. "And if someone were to be so foolish, they surely would not return."
Just then one of the Fair Folk, who happens to be passin' by the Dwarves' campfire, overhears their conversation. "The Dwarf is right," he says, "no one dare approach that dreadful hill."
Readin' the puzzled expression on Beannaithe's face, the Fair Folk fella explains, "You are wondering why we are here?" Beannaithe nods. "Surely it is not to assault the hill. No, ours is a defensive position. We are here to watch the road, and delay those who may attempt an assault on the Golden Wood." Havin' said his piece, the fellow walks off to join his comrades.
A strange expression then comes upon the lass's face, a look that Laekir keenly observes. "You're not thinking of going up there, are you?" he asks Beannaithe.
Beannaithe grimly nods, assuring him that is what she intends. Laekir thinks a moment before sayin' "I'm coming with you."
Beannaithe shakes her head, extends her hand towards the Dwarf, palm out, and says' "Hoo!" The meanin' was clear. She intends to go alone.
"I'm coming with you," Laekir repeats.
"Hoo!" was again the lass's reply.
"I'm coming with you," the Dwarf insists.
Beannaithe looks into the Dwarf's eyes. He is serious as can be. Knowin' somethin' about Dwarves and their stubbornness, the lass relents with a sigh and a reluctant nod of her head.
"All right," Laekir says. "We'll wait until the morning before beginning our assault.
Beannaithe smiled.'
'And it will make me smile when I see these wee lads and lasses safely tucked into their beds,' me daughter Ériu interjects.
'Won't we all, sister!' says me daughter Banba with a sigh of exhaustion.
'Aye,' answers me daughter Fódla, 'that we will.'
Me grandkids groan their objection to the end of story time, but obediently follow their mothers to their beds.
'Oíche mhaith, me wee darlin's,' I calls after them.
'Good night, Granda,' they wearily answer.
