Land of the Fae and Fauna

THE FALL OF HEROES

The sun ascends over the horizon, illuminating the valleys of Tara. But the absence of a dawn chorus makes this morning atypical. Not that either Fae or Fauna are around to listen, for they have long fled with no urgency of return. The silence would be deafening if there were anything alive to listen. Even the Flora appears dishevelled, lacking hunger for fresh light. The once-green grass is unnaturally browned by mud and other organic matter while the trees daren’t sway, for what occurred upon these hills the previous days was nothing short of cataclysmic.

Yet post-apocalypse, Life resurfaces, taking advantage of death. Several hundred thousand maggots scavenge on flesh and rotten blood. The late blooming summer flies escape suspended animation for an unexpected autumn feast. However, this soon becomes a shared meal as brazen crows retake their territory and swiftly return sound to the air, be it a sinister vibe. As vulgar as these parasitic pests may appear, it is advantageous to have someone clean up the mess of several hundred rotten corpses scattered across the battleground. The mild temperatures accelerate decomposition, and the stench of decay lingers in the air, awaiting a breeze of dispersal.

As the sun stretches to its highest point, a handful of humans begin rummaging through the wasteland, collecting anything of value: swords, armour, clothing and personal artefacts. More able muscles focus on the bodies themselves. They don’t randomly collect, drag and pull. Instead, they selectively prioritise, gently laying four or five onto carts. Others are lugged onto more cluttered carts while the rest are pilled up and either burnt or buried en masse. The more perished ones are abandoned to the crows. Who said everyone was equal in death?

Days, weeks and months pass, and the rain washes away the evidence of the battle fought and the lives lost. But the fall of Heroes at the Battle of Gabhra tore deep scars into the souls of those left behind, and Eiru would be changed forever.

We waited too long… DAYS before we collected the bodies. We were just too injured, too scared, too broken. Of all the battles… before and since… nothin’… NOTHING was like this one… It was survival savagery… Caílte was stooped over a jug of ale, reciting the same old tale to anyone who would listen for what must be a quarter of his life. He is well known to humans and Leprechauns for wasting away in a select few taverns just for company. Admired by his peers, they empathise with his loss but struggle to tolerate his perpetual sorrow, for time advances and people press on.

The Leprechauns take pity on him and more of his ageing days are spent ‘among the fairies’, or so his friends would say. The Leprechauns enjoy the company of the last of the Fianna. For they savour the countless tales of battles past, the foes faced and how he brings to life mundane experiences. His band of warriors are no more, yet duty-bound, he continues a routine of mediation between two lands, that of the human world and the Leprechaun, for they are the mediators to the Otherworld. Though drunken and depressed it's less an exchange of diplomacy and more narrating history. Lost all me sons that day. Why the Gods spared me I’ll never know.

The two Leprechauns sitting on each side of him, pat his back. Their tiny arms like those of an infant reminded him of when his boys were children, learning to walk and becoming increasingly affectionate. Caílte was a giant amongst them, sitting on two stools barely visible under his enormous-looking buttock. One of ‘em was so decomposed… we had feck-all left ta burry… Pausing, Caílte grunts as if holding back a hiccup. But what cut right through me was me eldest… barely cold. He stammers as tears slide down his hardened cheeks.

The Leprechauns looked confused. Why is that, Caílte mac Rónáin.

Means he clung ta life… for days maybe, alone among decaying corpses.

For what it's worth, Caílte mac Rónáin… Not a maggot woulda’ touch ‘em. They never, not ta livin’ flesh, said the younger of the two Leprechauns with a sweet smile, trying to bestow a degree of comfort yet knowing it offered little.

Ah, you're right, laddie. Crows didn’ bother ‘em nighter. But the smell… the sufferin’. He puts a hand on his mouth as if to weep or vomit, or both. Telling this part for the thousandth time still ignites trimmers in his heartbeat. The same young Leprechaun moves closer to Caílte, with wide teary eyes like that of a kitten. He places his hand on Caílte’s shoulder.

Never found yer’ uncle? Asks the older Leprechaun.

Na. Like ta believe he’s still out there… somewhere… But the great Finn McCool died that day.

Died in body… but not in spirit Caílte mac Rónáin, says the younger Leprechaun. For his is a story that will never die.

That be true… but we need more than just spirit for what’s ta come.

The two Leprechauns move closer to Caílte. What do you mean, Caílte mac Rónáin?

Caílte pauses for a gulp of his fermented concoction, nervously tapping his middle finger on the beaten oak countertop, causing a subtle vibration across the entire bar, drawing the attention of the other Leprechauns. A curious silence fills the room. After we fell… no surprises, people panicked… sure we’ve been keepn’ ‘em safe for generations. From outsiders across the waters, from themselves, from your lot. The knee-jerk offended expression from the Leprechauns was quickly replaced by an embarrassed acknowledgement of their role in tensions among humans. Caílte realised the harshness of his generalisation, Well… your… wha’ yea call ‘em. The ones who keep pestering… an’ trickery⁠—

Clurichauns.

That’s them… Doh ye’r not the worse offenders in da grand scheme of things.

The Leprechauns blush, gesturing to continue. Those bloody creatures from the Otherworld… they're the real terror…. I’ll not be forget’n’ that first Samhain after the battle… So focused on human pranksters they were… no one expected chaos from the dead. Those Otherworld spirits truly terrified Eiru…

The Leprechauns cringe, breaking eye contact with Caílte, thinking, "Spirits of the dead are not the worst that could come from the Otherworld." Caílte notices, but is happy to remain ignorant, for he has seen enough during his time with the Fianna to only imagine the horrors.

Then the blamin’ started, followed by the fightin’… we’ll more fightn’… nothin’ new there, I guess. Caílte chuckles. Then this new ideology starts seeping in. Where it came from, I’ve no idea… I’ll tell yea, no good will come of it… no one likes their deities pissed on.

The Leprechauns hide their impatience as the conversation keeps drifting from its original point. Caílte’s warnings of impending doom and a collapse in society were becoming less cogent in the absence of actual case-in-points. Eventually, Caílte draws himself back.

Yous wanted more on this Queen Medb, Caílte grunts as he slugs the last from his jug. I’ll tells yea, she’s a force ta be reckoned with… Particularly when desperate… and desperate she is.

How so? The Leprechauns move close in, but as Caílte opens his mouth to speak, the doors burst open. The Leprechauns whisper amongst each other as a group of knighted Leprechauns parade in making space for a more senior position to arrive. The younger Leprechaun turns to the older using Caílte as a way of discreetly speaking when they should be silent

Isn’t that⁠—

Yep, Aodhan, Eiru’s new ‘Glór ar dtús’.

An’ wha’ does Glór ar dtús mean? moans Caílte, looking down at the two infant-like figures concealing themselves at his naval.

First voice, whispers the younger Leprechaun. First voice to our king. King's closest advisor and proxy. You wanna speak to the king, he’s the first.

So, just another gob-shit coming in ta preach… Caílte blurts loud enough to be heard by Aodhan, recognising Caílte, giving him an eye-rolling glance. The two Leprechauns shrug their shoulders and smile awkwardly.

Aodhan readies himself and begins to speak. Let it be said, here and now. That the world of the Leprechaun has united. Five kingdoms under one rule. Bound by friendship. Past quarrels swallowed and resources coalesced for the sake of our sacred duty. The floor salutes.

Homage we granted to the originators, Our high king Oisin O’Gara and his regional proxies… Kings of the old Eiru. From ash, we built the Kingdom of Eiru, and on this, the solstice of Midwinter, it is fitting that we celebrate this momentous new age for the Leprechaun as our days become longer once more!

The room cheers in unison.

Well, that was an eggless omelettes, Caílte moans. Where were we?

Medb.

Ah, yes… well after her little fuck up in Cooley, she’s desperate for a power boast.

What’s new there? says the older Leprechaun, slugging the last drop of whiskey from his cup and pouring himself another from a cracked porcelain jug.

Caílte notices this strange brownish liquid but a burp of repeating ale distracts him. Ah, but wars are costly, an’ both her and the hubby are on the prowl for something from the Otherworld.

Both Leprechauns cringe at those words… mindful of what they already encountered with Queen Medb earlier that year. Humans hav’ been searchin’ for the Otherworld since the dawn of time, how is this any different, they ask, merely to confirm their own suspicions.

Caílte sighs. Since the fall of the Fianna, a power vacuum is escalating the desperation… and Medb seems to have cracked somethin’ or at least has knowledge of it.

The Leprechauns are pale and nervous, they draw out as much as they can from Caílte without giving anything away themselves.

You two’v gone quiet… think she’s onto something?

We have our… theories, Caílte mac Rónáin.

Well, I warn yea… somethin’ bad is comin’… I feel it in me bones. Caílte shakes his empty jug toward the tavern keeper. Word has it she’s after some sort of Otherworld Treasure.

Caílte pauses as a fresh jug of ale is placed before him… He picks it up and takes a long deep slug. The Leprechauns remain silent.

Are yea at least gonna share your theories?

The Leprechauns turn to Caílte, their faces a paler shade of pale. We expect she just wanted gold… said the older Leprechaun. But then the slaughter…

The younger Leprechaun interprets, Booty… revenge… supernatural extortion… That’s the norm… from any human.

So, this Otherworld Treasure… it's bigger than all this? Caílte asks, now confused, staring blindly at the two Leprechauns… their pale faces in the dim light induce a tingling feeling along his spine and neck.

What’s her reasons… can’t be just power, the younger Leprechaun thinks aloud. The older Leprechaun scratches his head… We need to learn more about this Phantom Queen, Caílte mac Rónáin… Tell us everything about her.

CHAPTER ONE

FIRST SAMHAIN OF THE FALL

Medb pulls her head out from under her blankets, face groggy. She emerges from a deep sleep. Her dreams are a foggy memory as the real world takes grip. For a moment she questions if she was still in dreamland as the sounds around her had blended into her mind as she slept. She crawls from her bed, wearing a baggy cotton garment. Her long blond hair extends down to her chest, covering her newly acquired bulge, something she hasn’t climatized to yet, forever fated to abstain from her favourite sleeping position for comfort or fear of bursting her newly acquired traits of womanhood. To her, it's as if overnight she gained two bumps, but to her family, particularly her father, the transition has been slow enough to go somewhat unnoticed. The thought lingers as she glances towards her sheets for fear of her first bleed. It's a bittersweet experience for a girl her age, an emblem of finally growing up, but a painful reminder of her inevitable destiny of which her father will write. He loves her and she idolised him, but the roles of king and princess rip these bonds apart. She knows coming of age is inevitable.

Her infant brother and younger sister are already perked up, observing the commotion outside through a tiny square window in the wooden wall. What’s going on? Medb asks, stretching as she yawns. Her infant brother, Aiden, barely able to stick a sentence together, mumbles enough sounds for Medb to figure that the courtyard outside is flooded with farm animals being shunted into their assigned pens. Medb rolls her eyes. Get ready for the stench of shit and piss until Imbolc’s Day, she teases as she tickles her little brother. He giggles and shouts.

Not a very lady-like tongue, our Medb, Eithne sighs sarcastically. Do I too dislike the smell. Eithne always tries to be more ‘grand’ than her tomboy older sister who makes little effort to be ladylike despite nature giving her every advantage in the eyes of Eithne.

Ze nanams safe fom ghosts. Aiden mashes his words, trying his best to communicate at a level like his siblings. Eithne repeats his sentence in proper words; Yes, we have to protect all the animals from the big bad spirits that go boo in the long dark nights.

Aiden’s going to find a goat in his bed tonight, Medb teases affectionately as Aidan's stare turns from horror to giggles, his ability to decipher satire developing with each passing day. He may be an infant, but he’s quickly become streetwise to his sister's pranks.

The cries of animals become louder as they adjust to the confinements of their forced hibernation.

Cattle and sheep are crammed into one area while the highly valued horses, the Draft and Hobby, are placed into their separate thatched holdings. Already climatized to indoor comforts, they certainly have the better deal, even as far as enjoying a higher standard than some humans. The horse's quarters are second only to the highest-ranking members of Cruachan, the court of the human realm Kingdom of Connacht. But it is fitting for such a valuable resource, for the Hobby could navigate through the rough Eiru landscape, making it perfect for hunting and warfare. The Draft was for farming and transport. Both earned their keep. Healthy beasts made for a healthy kingdom. Their living arrangements were envied by many a human, who often chose to sleep among them for warmth. Do it might also have been the convenience next door to the great hall, where many would fill their long nights drinking and feasting, something only going to increase from today, the last of the lighter side of the year, the final day of harvest.

Ah, Samhain, I can’t wait for the bonfires, the music – oh no, wait, the games… yes, games are the best. Oh my, I almost forgot… the wedding. Eithne, giddy, hops in front of her siblings as they exit the bedroom. Medb too is restless, but for different reasons.

Or maybe the spirits will haunt the shit out of us all. Medb sighs.

Nonsense… when have you ever seen a ghost?

Everyone is on edge this year… somethin’ ‘sup.

Oh, our Medb, you’re ever so cynical… everything is perfectly normal.

Wandering into the great hall for breakfast, they find themselves alone. Plates are abandoned, and as they exit through the main archway they find a deserted courtyard absence of even the dogs. All that remains are the last of the fruits and vegetables gathered from the fields and orchids. A distinct division among the lot: two groups, a larger stockpile ready for winter storage and a smaller batch for the night's ‘shindig’.

Medb turns to her muted sibling. You were saying?

There is an eeriness to the morning. The subtle behaviours common for a Samhain Eve just didn’t feel right. As the harsh breeze veers, they hear dogs barking and murmuring coming from behind the gates. It fades as the wind changes direction again. A large gathering has formed at the palace entrance surrounding the king and a stranger on horseback. The siblings dash towards the group, and as they get closer, murmurs become words, words of fury loudening across the commotion of dogs barking. Outrageous!

Scandalous…. You're a disgrace so you are!

Go back ta ‘Teamhair’, yea bollox!

The Hobby horse supporting the well-dressed messenger becomes agitated by the aggression in their direction… Their only defence from an angry mob is Medb’s father, King Eochu, who desperately tries to keep the peace. People… I agree, but let's not heckle the messenger, he begs, waving his arms in the air.

We can’t afford this… several scream.

It’s their fault… they started that bloody war.

Medb pushes her way through the crowd, but it becomes too dense to penetrate so she retreats.

Medb! Eithne shouts from the safety of her mom's embrace, Aiden in her arms.

What’s going on? Medb demands.

The high king is demanding more taxes, barks a grumpy old woman. Those feckers fucked up the whole thing, now we’re expected to pay for it.

Tell… the King of Kings… Connacht has paid her dues, King Eochu now barks at the messenger firmly. My people will not suffer for the mistakes of his dead father.

Eiru needs defending, man, cries the messenger arrogantly.

You bloody fools slaughter Eiru’s defence.

LONG LIVE FINN AND HIS FIANNA! scream the crowd, seconded with cheers.

Those thugs were a liability… they need quashing, the messenger shouts sheepishly.

Yet happily used as mercenaries by King Uilliam’s dynasty for years.

You must comply. The messenger sounded desperate. Your safety⁠—

OUR safety… Yous didn’t give two shits about our safety when Daddy goes on a vengeance rampage… killing Eiru’s best defence against enemies foreign and fae. Gets himself slaughtered AND NOW Uilliam expects us to pay more taxes… for what… fund more mercenaries.

I’m just saying… don’t expect us to come to your rescue when the fae plays havoc this winter.

We never relied upon the help of others, especially from your lot… now get the fuck off my land.

The messenger nods sullenly then gallops off into the distance.

King Eochu turns to his brother Niall; they both share charming and handsome looks, be it Eochu less boyish than his younger sibling. Rally our allies… I want to know their thinking.

Niall hesitantly asks what message should be sent.

If willing… And only if… We go to war and overthrow that bollox.

Niall remains hesitant, questioning how urgent his task is.

Don’t worry, dear bother, your wedding will go ahead as planned, go get yourself ready.

Sunset, and both flora and fauna are safely packed away behind closed walls for the long, miserable Eiru winter. With the last of the harvest chores completed, Niall and Eili’s matrimony can begin unsullied by the morning's drama. A large gathering assembles around an ancient monument close to the court, nestled amidst rolling hills and dense forests. The crisp autumn air is warmed by the sun's rays casting a golden glow upon the crowd. Niall and Eili stand in the heart of the weathered stone circle next to Cathbad, an elderly bearded man dressed in a threadbare white cloak adorned with intricate Celtic symbols, the kingdom's Druid.

Weddings were Cathbad’s favourite ritual, and his eyes gleam with ancestral wisdom. We gather here on this sacred eve of Samhain, when the veil between worlds is thinnest, his words laced with reverence, to witness the union of Niall and Eili, who honour the eternal dance of love and the turning of the wheel.

As Cathbad continues to ramble with his ritualistic words, Medb observes the gathering, the sounding scape, and allows the gentle breeze to flow through her hands. Like Cathbad she too loves weddings, but she never lets on to any one of this truth. She listens to the rustles of the remaining dry grounded leaves blow along with a crinkle.

Cathbad picks up a wooden stave adorned with symbols of the harvest and rebirth and begins to circle Niall and Eili, drawing an invisible boundary that encapsulates their union. Within this sacred circle, we invoke the blessings of Clíodhna, Aengus Óg, Danu and Dagda. May the gods smile upon this sacred union. Niall and Eili exchange their vows as Cathbad gathers a bundle of dried herbs in his hand and ignites them from the small bonfire he had smouldering since before the ceremony began. The smoke billows forth, through the couple, and tendrils through the air. Let these herbs cleanse and bless this union, he chants, his voice a soothing invocation. May they carry away any remnants of the past, purifying the path for a new journey, filled with love, growth, and infinite possibilities.

As the smoke dances around the couple, Cathbad raises his hands to the sky, chanting in Gaelic, honouring the spirits of the land, sea, and sky. With a final incantation, Cathbad concludes the ceremony. Niall and Eili embrace before an electrified crowd adorning the newlywed in cheers. Medb couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the sight of Eithne in tears of joy.

Eochu pushes forward before the crowd timidly to not overcast the beauty of the moment. Now that nightfall is upon us, you’ll all be eager to commence the annual feast of Samhain.

The crowd cheer even louder and make haste toward the Grand Hall. The honouring of the dead unfolds with the living relishing food and drink spread across the banquet table. The smell of smoked meats fills the air. Musicians are giddy for a ceili setting up their instruments around children bobbing in sheets pretending to be ghosts. As if spirits couldn’t tell, joke several of the depressed cynics from the crowd. This year such moods are rampant with many only celebrating despite themselves. Beyond the Grand Hall, treats left by the doors of every hut to appease the spirits are devoured by the voracious dogs never satisfied with their fill, the annual fooling of the residents thinking their hospitality has brought them favour with the wandering spirits. However, older generations take this ritual with great solemnity, going as far as one such lady who ceremonially sets her table with four places: one for herself and one for her husband, who died of a heart attack upon hearing of their son’s death, lost in a past war. His empty seat is accompanied by the fourth, that of her youngest, killed this very year in the Fall of Heroes. On this night when the void between realms is at its thinnest, she hopes for a brief visit.

Others were fretful of such superstition, as their ghosts were more malevolent. Those people tended to stick with the company of the banquet, celebrating as a pack until sunrise. Disappointedly for this Samhain, outdoor activities look set to be crammed inside the thatched wall-less workshops, sheltered from the inevitable rain likely from the heavy grey clouds creeping across the navy