Them Old Mountain Stories Ch. 01

When their thighs burned and they thought they could take no more, the meadow ended before a towering white lodge. It had a porch the size of a rich man's field, with a roof held over it by columns as thick as old oaks. Every one of the hundred windows winked with glass and what Padraig first took to be coats of pristine whitewash over the bricks and beams was something much finer still.

"Porcelain," he said, running his hand down one smooth column. "The whole thing is made from porcelain."

"Ho there, guests," called a liveried guard from the porch, who in one light could be easily mistaken for the shadow of a tree and in another could be seen as nothing but a slim, dark man with sickle blades for fingers. "Come in and wash for the banquet, the Duke's been expecting you some time now."

Padraig, Colm, and Night-Eater came under the cool shadow of the porch, grateful for relief from the relentless evernoon sun. A wide china basin waited, filled with water, beside cakes of soap and clean washcloths. Colm went to scoop his hands into the basin, but was stopped by a flick of Night-Eater's snout.

"Things are different that come from here. They are the idea of being what they are."

Colm hadn't the slightest idea what that meant, but Padraig caught the answer.

"This water's for cleaning," Pad explained, "so that's what it will do. Even a single drop knows its purpose." He touched the surface of the water with the tip of one finger and was all at once fresh and scrubbed, from his red hair to his bare toes. Colm did the same. Night-Eater was a wolf, and a wolf is always wearing his finest suit, so he didn't bother with the water at all but only shook a great lot of dust off his coat.

"What would have happened if I'd splashed my whole face?" Colm asked.

"You would have washed your face off down to the bones. Or cleaned your memory out back to when you first learned to talk," Night-Eater said, casually. "Or perhaps nothing more would have happened but that you'd have a wet face."

Padraig touched Colm's arm to steady him as they walked to the door the shadowy guard held open for them. "This is a place where the laws mean a great deal but precedence means nothing."

The Duke of the Summer Sky's banquet hall shone with all the fire of his domain and the table set before the hungry group groaned with fruit, sweets, and joints of rare meat, all on the Duke's exquisitely painted porcelain plates. It was set for thirty guests on each side, with the Duke seated in the center. Alana and Molly sat to the right of the Duke's enormous chair, their backs unnaturally straight and their palms pressed to the top of the table. Colm's Making hammer rested on the table between them.

"Come in, my guests! Take your seat at the table and enjoy your feast!" boomed the Duke, the sleeves of his shining gold coat trailing so far down that he didn't notice they'd tattered from dragging along the floor for twenty years. He was tall and slim with a severe chin and white hair that drifted to his shoulders like Spanish moss. His eyes burned, not in the way a man's might with lust or determination, but with the brilliance of the summer sun. Looking directly at his face left blobs and strings of colors on the brothers' eyelids when they closed them.

"I came for what you took from us this morning," Padraig said, bold, but even.

"Well, sit a while and rest and we'll talk about whether what I took belongs to you or recovered what belongs to me." The Duke smiled, beautiful porcelain white teeth, more of them than a human mouth could ever hold. Padraig took his seat and Colm followed suit. Night-Eater sat on the floor between them.

Padraig had heard the law of many places, and the wash water on the porch had put him on his guard. "Eat nothing from a pottery plate, bowl, or cup. If you do, you accept the Duke's dominion over you and you won't be leaving."

"Then how are we supposed to be polite enough long enough to spin a tale that'll get us out of this?" Colm asked.

"This is Si food," Padraig replied, "pay it enough compliments and it will eat and drink itself out of curiosity."

So all three raved about a banquet they could not eat and let their mouths run dry on the praises of wine none of them could taste. The Duke looked pleased, though whether it was from the compliments to his hospitality or from being outwitted, none could say. Just as Padraig had said, their plates cleared without anyone taking a bite.

"I imagine," the Duke said, brushing his hand through his pale hair, "that you'll be wanting to talk business now, then? That is the problems with you Other Folk, always in such a hurry to get back to throwing yourselves into living and dying. You never want to stay a few seasons to dance."

There were many stories Padraig had heard about those who danced with the Aos Si, some of them were even true. Not a one of them ended with the dancer grateful for the experience.

"If it please you, Duke," Padraig replied, "your hospitality has surpassed the legends, but business is our purpose here."

Very well, then. Padraig Connelley, you are the son of the witch-woman Margaret Two-Heart?"

"I am."

"And Colm Connelley, you also are her son?"

"Aye," Colm responded. "Padraig's father and mine were full brothers, he is my half-brother."

"Are you here today to recover for yourself what you have lost from carelessness?"

"Yes," Padraig said, "though I don't think Colm exactly misplaced them."

"Ah, that's not what I said. You know words have such meanings as must be carefully chosen. I said he 'lost' them from his carelessness."

"Shining Duke, please tell me how? Colm's not a gambling man, so I don't think he lost to you in a game or a wager. He's not a proud man, except that's he's proud of the three things you've taken from him, so I doubt he lost to you through boast." Colm let Padraig speak for him, for it was his gift.

"He broke the ancient pact," the Duke hissed, the lights around them dimming for a moment. "I gave your ancestors an earthen jar, a very dear one, as payment for a favor done. The rules were clear - the jar would save your families from sickness, so long as the price was paid. If it was ever used for other, common tasks, the pact would be broken and I'd take whatever drank water from it as final payment on our contract. Colm used my gift to carry water from the spring like a common bucket. He used to quench his Making hammer. His wife and apprentice both pulled a dipper of water from it. By the ancient pact, they are all mine."

"But Duke, I broke no pact with you and they are mine as well." Padraig knew the words that turned many hearts. "I stood as Colm's best man when he married Alana two years gone, and made a vow I'd protect her as I would my own sister, for that's what she became. Breaksong, the Making hammer, it was forged by Colm's father as a tribute to my mother. It belongs not just to me or to Colm but to our whole holler, for it's made every wedding ring and baby charm and door lock that keeps out the devil. Molly is..."

"Enough," the Duke said, dismissively. "Padraig, I have always made lawful pacts with your people, no matter where you roamed. Today is no different. If you can prove your lawful ownership of anything I've taken from Colm, you can take it back. If you can't make your claim by the time dessert is finished, then I keep my prize forever and we go our separate ways."

Remember, Padraig knew the law for many places. "Colm, the law of ownership in the Court of the Summer Sky," he whispered, "to be yours, a thing must bear your blood within it or your name upon it. Nothing else will do. The Duke may call for dessert to be served in a minute or a week, but I don't want to take that chance. I need time to think."

Night-Eater had been listening carefully, so he knew the right question to ask at the right time. "Duke of Summer Skies, I must ask, how did you replace Alana, Molly, and the hammer with porcelain doubles? Wolves don't use such traps, so I'm impressed by your illusion."

"No illusion at all! Just copies, in living porcelain. Colm couldn't tell the difference and never would have, but for the touch of iron. A skillet, an anvil, a pair of tongs - they are like poison to all things Si. It is no fault of mine that odious substance is so common in your world."

"Truly, lord? Is iron so awful to you?" Night-Eater asked, his head tilted in curiosity. "Then how do you plan to get rid of her ring?"

The Duke laughed. "A good question, for sure. I suppose I'd have to make another bargain, yes? Perhaps with you? I've heard tales of you from before you wore a wolf's form, Iain Connelley, when you wore deerskin and carried a long rifle. The Aos Si, we tell stories of men's clever bargains the same as you tell stories of ours. Yes, that could be very amusing, but I fear I am, above all things, a lawful lord. I can only let you take those things from my estate which are yours by law."

"Then I claim the ring for Colm, for his name is inscribed upon the inside of it, along with hers. That is our tradition, and I know he keeps it well."

The Duke squinted at Alana's hand. "So it is. Very well, Colm may have the ring. It is his by law."

"My lord," Colm could not keep his silence any longer, "a wedding ring is of no use to me without the wife who wears it. I will not have another. That's why my name is written with hers in the iron of the band."

"You have no claim to her, Colm, just the ring."

"But lord, she bears my name. On our wedding day, she put aside the name O'Toole and became a Connelley instead."

The Duke laughed hard enough to make his too-many porcelain teeth chime together in his mouth. "And a name that could be so easily put on? What kind of name is that? I imagine she wore a new dress that day, too, shall I say she's a dress? Shall I say she's the primroses she twisted in her hair? You Other Folk and your easily-given names."

"Then offer him some other thing as payment," Padraig jumped in to keep his brother from saying something they would all surely regret, "and we'll take the ring when we take our leave."

The Duke of the Summer Sky was eager to be rid of the ring, for he knew that though he held her still and silent now, Alana was a forceful and spirited woman. The moment he released his hold on her, she would hit him with anything that would do him harm; even he could not hold her still forever. It wouldn't do for her to still be wearing the most dangerous weapon in the room on her hand. "Then I will make you an offer, Connelleys. I'll give you the vessel of greatest worth in my realm as payment."

Now, the Duke was well known for his pottery, as I've said, but nothing else produced by his invisible artisans could compare to the jar that held all the fires of the southern sky. Many had sought it before, many had walked away disappointed - that was how Padraig knew of him at all, through stories of those seeking the jar. The Duke was always glad to have them try, however, because he loved to win at games of wit but he loved even more any chance for Si magic to run wild in the Other Place.

"We accept, lord," Padraig said. "And I'll claim Alana as Colm's by law because she bears his name upon her."

"I do not care to hear even good arguments more than once. I will not suffer bad ones. I told you already her marriage name is no true name." The Duke frowned dramatically into his wine.

"Colm," Padraig whispered to his brother while the Duke was distracted with his displeasure, "call the spirits of Iron and Fire."

"What?"

"Into her ring. Do it now. I can't, for they don't know me. They won't answer my call."

Ah, but they knew Colm for sure, Colm who started and ended each day calling on their blessings and doing their work. Colm opened the part of his mind that was born a smith and saw his forge at home and all forges that came before, back the first one that was just an open, banked fire. He grabbed at the edges of the spirits of dancing, elusive Fire and solid, unyielding Iron and pulled them close, blowing their path out through his pursed lips toward his wife's wedding band.

Alana couldn't speak, couldn't nod, couldn't raise her hand to fight her enemy or embrace her husband. But the Duke hadn't taken her sharp hearing, so she knew everything Padraig said about the Duke's laws and calling the spirits. A wolf may know how to find an invisible trail and a man may know how to strike a deal, but a woman who's lived long enough knows the value of a scar. Alana's face gave nothing away as the iron ring heated red around her finger. It scalded her skin and her blood pooled under her hand. By the time the spirits Colm called were done, both of their names were neatly branded into her charred skin.

"I claim her, Duke," Colm said, tears brimming in his eyes for the pain he'd caused his love. "For she bears my name upon her and now she always will."

The Duke's disposition clouded for a moment before a smile broke out across his face. "Well done! Well done! Your wife will be returned to you. But I still have the hammer and the girl, and I know neither of those have your names on them. You will have to forfeit them when you leave."

The Duke had been right before about Night-Eater. He'd been a man and a wolf, and he knew the secrets of many things. "Summer Duke, Breaksong, the Making hammer, is of the brothers' blood. I was there when Colm's father made it for their mother. She was my...niece? I have...forgotten if she was my sister's daughter or her granddaughter. It doesn't matter, she was kin to me, and her man made that hammer so their children would have iron made in the right way."

"Being made for a bloodline isn't enough for ownership," the Duke dismissed. "The law is clear."

"It's the blood, not line," Night-Eater insisted. "It's hidden inside, a secret whispering to my nose. To bind the spirits to the hammer, Colm's father used what was dearest to him, their mother's blood, to temper the metal. It's blood as red and as much theirs as what's in their own veins. You said yourself, Duke, that's the law."

"He's right, your grace," Padraig added, "if the metal has our mother's blood in it, the hammer must come with us. It can't be separated like Alana and her ring."

"Right again," the Duke said, his smile reaching less to his eyes now than before. "I suppose you will have to take the hammer, too. The same cannot be said of the apprentice girl, though. She's no blood of yours."

What none had said but all had thought was this: that the Duke of the Summer Sky had no actual use in his court for a Making hammer for iron he could not bear, or Alana, who'd find a knife she could actually stick between his narrow ribs at her first opportunity. He'd lost nothing in giving them back because he'd gained nothing in taking them. The smith's apprentice, Molly, was a different matter altogether. She was strong, very pretty, golden-haired, and fair-looking in more than one way. Her family, the O'Barrows, was full of weather witches and far-seeing men and all manner of strange doings. She had been the target that had lured the Duke's attention and the prize he wanted to keep. The Aos Si, they never grow old but they also have no babies. Every new soul must be taken from somewhere else.

Padraig looked long at his brother, unsure if he had the courage to say what he knew he must for the first time in the Duke's hall. He saw the terror in Molly's silent, pleading eyes - they had both been raised on stories of Aos Si lords and ladies who forgot their human baubles needed to eat daily or needed to breathe when underwater. He had heard more than one tale about the Duke of the Summer Sky tying a torch to unfortunate human prizes and turning them loose to run when he was bored because he preferred to ride hunt when the fields was burning around him. This was no time to hold a secret.

"Duke, Molly O'Barrow does have my blood within her. She is two months caught with my child." This was a shock to Colm, not because he hadn't seen his brother making eyes at Molly from time to time, but because when he kicked in his door that morning, Padraig's much-loved young wife and baby were still sleeping in the cabin's single bed.

The Duke laughed at Padraig's discomfort. "Ah, full of surprises. I like you. So I'll let you decide how you'll take what's yours. For surely it's the child who will bear your blood and your name, not the mother. You may leave the girl here as she is now, or you may take your son with you," the Duke gloated, certain he had found a double victory, "provided you cut him out yourself."

"I will take the child," Padraig said, without hesitation. Tears rolled silently down Molly's cheek, the Duke's magic still clamping her teeth before her tongue. Colm stared at his brother in shock and anger. "Prepare the things we've won and proven are lawfully ours already."

"A most unexpected result! Delightful!" The Duke drew a wicked silver dagger from his belt and laid it on the table in front of Molly, then clapped his hands together. "Now, as I promised you, here is the jar that holds all the fires of the southern sky. It is yours for taking the iron ring out of my domain and bothering me with it no more."

Two servants materialized from a twilit corner of the Duke's hall carrying a lidded alabaster jar between them. It was magnificent, the surface glowing and swirling with the fires inside. Each one of them saw its usefulness when they gazed on it. No story had ever done justice to what all the fires in the southern sky actually were.

Colm saw that it was a fire like no other, one that could protect every home and every family, that when kindled in his forge would make each piece that came from it as true and strong as if they'd been made by the spirits themselves.

Night-Eater was not much for fire, but in this one he saw intelligence, that it only burned when and where it was needed. A fire like that could be used like a scalpel, both to cripple enemies and cut out what was old and sick in the world. He had seen much of both in his long life.

Padraig saw the songs and stories the fire knew, for it had never forgotten anything heard told around any campfire that had ever been. It would remember and sing back his voice after the bones of his children's children were dust.

"It is," Padraig found his mouth dry from hanging open, "it is a lovely thing, your grace, but it is not what was promised."

"What?" thundered the Duke. "Do you deny this vessel is the one that holds all the fires of the southern sky?"

"Not at all, lord. Only that what you promised was the 'vessel of greatest worth' in your realm, and this, though impressive, is not it."

"What new thing do you play at, Padraig Connelley?"

"Molly O'Barrow is the vessel of greatest worth in your realm, lord. She carries my child and she's worth more to me even than all the fires in the southern sky."

The Duke sputtered for a moment, but knew when he'd lost under the law of his own promise. "Then I must let you go with all the things I've taken, since you've won them or proven they are yours. As a show of my goodwill to your people, I will even renew the pact of the jar that I gave your ancestors, the pact Colm broke when he used it for base purposes. Place the jar in a clear spring for thirteen full moons to cleanse it from being used as an ordinary vessel, then put it away somewhere safe until you need it. It will save all who drink from it, as it did your ancestors, when the time is right and the price is paid."

"It's been so long, Duke, no one remembers what the price of using your jar is anymore," Padraig shrugged. "What will it cost us?"

"You will see when the time has come."

The Duke released Alana and Molly from the hold he had on their bodies and mouths, though his shadowy guard watched quick Alana closely as she crossed the hall to her husband.