Time in the Otherworld is a hotly-debated topic. When Oisín of legend visited Tír na nÓg, was he there for three centuries that seemed like three years? Or was he there for three years that seemed like three centuries?
There’s a severe lack of peer-reviewed research on the topic.
The shadows around us grew and darkened as the stone circle stepped one pace closer. Cloaks parted and grey hands emerged, holding swords and spears and sickles, all coated in the same green moss as the forest floor.
Mab played another tune on her harp; this one a dirge. “We had such fun before. You were smarter than your kind and so nice to me. But the rules give you three questions. To try and cheat? To get six? Oh, so very very naughty.”
“I beg forgiveness,” I said. “I presumed if I brought gifts, a courtesy may be extended. If I was wrong, I withdraw and deeply apologise.”
“What has been said cannot be unsaid,” she whispered. Now we will have to figure out what to do with both of you.”
“Mr. Donnelly had no knowledge of this,” I said. “He should be free to go.”
Donnelly broke his silence. “We are a diplomatic entourage. We came together, and if we have transgressed, we will leave. But-”
Mab raised one hand, palm out, to silence him again. “You will be taken and held until we can decide how to proceed.” She flipped her hand around in a complicated gesture, and the shadows enveloped us.
The next thing I was aware of, Donnelly and I were in a small clearing, about six paces across. We still had the moss below us and the fantastical starfield above, but there was no path in or out and the trees around us were more densely-spaced than I had seen so far.
I approached the widest gap between a pair of tree-trunks, but it seemed to narrow as I approached. Neither tree moved, but the gap shrunk with what felt like a lensing effect; like the closer I got, the further away it became, until I was standing before a slot that I could not fit my arm through.
Donnelly turned a slow circle. “So this is what you planned?”
“I am so sorry, I assumed that if they rejected my request, they would just reject it; that the worst outcome would be our expulsion.”
“At least they left us our belongings,” he said, reaching into his coat to pull out his notebook and pencil. “If you don’t mind…”
“Yeah, go ahead. Write this down, and I’ll do the same. We can compare notes later, just in case they pull any of that memory mojo.”
My gym bag was sitting in the centre of the clearing. I opened it and checked its contents. Nothing missing - even the gifts were sitting untouched. I pulled out my own notebook and wrote a short summary of what had happened so far, silently cursing myself for my stupidity. This had all seemed like such a good idea, before today. Bring some extra gifts and ask if I could ask questions of my own. If she allowed it, get to the bottom of the Buckley-Fae’s prophecies. And if she denied the questions, back out gracefully, no harm and no foul.
“What do you think will happen?” Donnelly asked.
“I really couldn’t begin to guess,” I said.
“But you’ve dealt with this world your whole life.”
I considered that for a time. “The few inhabitants of this place that make it to our world are a different breed, and they follow different rules. They’re Tricksters or Poltergeists or Petty Gods. The ones who choose to remain here are the more… serious-minded… of the Fae.”
“So they should be more predictable, surely?”
“I try not to use words like ‘should’ about this realm and these people, but I suppose.”
“So break it down for me. They follow their own rules strictly?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Their rules define them. The laws about hospitality and gifts, for example.”
“So that’s why they didn’t take our things? They don’t want to accept a gift, as it will indebt them to us?”
“Quite possibly. You have an idea?”
“Maybe. If we can trick them into taking something, they’ll have to repay it. We can ask to be let go.”
I heard a deep chuckle and realised we were not alone in the clearing. In the shadow of one of the trees at the perimeter, a pair of golden eyes were staring at us. As we watched, the shadows around those eyes coalesced and we found ourselves staring at one of the stone figures who had stood guard over the welcome ceremony. This one had the head of a wolf, and as it stepped forwards, the cloak opened to show the body of a warrior, armoured for battle.
“You seek to trick Mab herself?” it said, though its voice seemed to come from all around us.
“I- I- we were just discussing possibilities,” said Donnelly. “My apologies. We would never want to offend her majesty.”
“Oh, no need to apologise to me,” said Wolf-head. “I’d love to see someone finally best her, but I fancy you two do not have what it takes.”
“You want us to beat her?” I asked. “You can help?”
“I can,” he said.
“And what will you ask in exchange?”
“Just that you carry a message to a brother, in your realm, and tell no-one of it.”
“If you can help,” began Donnelly, opening his notebook.
“Give me that,” said Wolf-head, reaching out one hand.
Donnelly hesitated briefly, then handed over the notebook.
Wolf-head flipped through the notebook, tearing out page after page and tossing them into the air where they burst into flame. When he handed it back, only a few pages remained. “The message is that the gateways are all watched, except for the Moonshadow Way,” he said, then added, “you do not need to write it down. Just write down... ‘209’. As for you…” he turned to me and extended a hand.
I held out my notebook and he took it with one long-fingered hand. He closed his hand over it, and it was gone.
“The answers to your questions cannot leave this realm by such… mundane… methods. Write nothing else for your entire stay and you will have your answers after your return.”
“How?” asked Donnelly. “What should we do?”
“I must return now to our council,” he said, fading back into the shadows. “They have debated for many days about how to proceed, but I believe I can persuade them to grant you one more audience.”
“How many days have we been here?” I asked.
“What do we say when they do?” Donnelly said at the same time.
By now, he was just a pair of glowing eyes again. “Simply tell her the truth. Speak of the silver blood that runs in your veins,” he said, and we were alone again.
“What the hell does that mean?” asked Donnelly.
“Oh, shit,” I said, as realisation dawned.
We were left alone in the clearing for some time. The stars continued to wheel overhead, but it was impossible to tell time in those twilight woods. We didn’t get hungry or thirsty, but it could have been hours before we sensed the presence of Mab nearby.
She stepped through a gap in the trees that had not existed a moment before and walked a slow circle of the perimeter, one hand outstretched to lightly brush the trees. Their lights glowed and then dimmed as she passed, causing a strobe effect to encircle us.
We stood in silence until she performed a full circuit. When she stopped, I stepped forward and said, “Once again, I can only apologise. It was never my intention to cause offence or to stray beyond the bounds of our countries’ agreement.”
“But you did,” she said, looking from me to Donnelly and back. “And now there must be a recompense. What if I let one of you go home? We can decide by combat.”
“You joke?” asked Donnelly, nervously.
“Never,” she said, with a sharp-toothed grin.
“But this was a misunderstanding,” I said. Lying to the Queen of the Fae in her own realm. This should work out very well.
“Oh? Which one of us misunderstood?”
“We did, of course,” said Donnelly, “and I forgot to make proper introductions as a result.”
Mab turned to him and raised an eyebrow.
“I represent Ireland and its leaders. Victor is here to represent the ancient Kingdom of the Trolls, who share our land.”
Mab laughed. “You do not claim to be of Ireland?” she asked me.
“I am of Ireland, but more. I am also the last Scion of the Silver Clan; Ancient rulers of the Troll Clans of Ireland. I speak with that authority, and come before you as their envoy.”
Mab screwed up her face in thought. “Your bloodline’s kingship ended a long time ago.”
“That blood still runs in my veins and in my heart. But if you wish to reject our envoy, I shall leave, and take my gifts with me.”
“This is what your people would call a ‘loophole’. A trick.”
“Yet it is the truth,” said Jamie.
“I mislike such trickery,” she said with a pout and strode past us to where a large stone throne now sat in the clearing. “I will take your gifts and answer your questions, but there will be a price for this, Mister Grey.”
“What price?” I asked, as my mouth went dry.
She considered a moment. Then said, “A favour to be named later. Present your gifts.”
I opened my gym bag and took out the gifts I had smuggled in. The bread and salt were mostly the same. The seed and stone was a packet of sunflower seeds I had bought from a garden centre and a piece of sandstone carved into the shape of a fish which I had found at farmers’ market. The wine no doubt cost about a twentieth of what Donnelly had presented, and “song” was represented by a traditional Irish tin whistle. She passed off each gift in turn to a shadowy servant, but tucked the tin whistle behind her belt without playing it.
“I accept these gifts on behalf of your people, Victor Airgid. You may ask your questions.”
“Thank you, my Queen-” I began, before she raised a hand to interrupt.
“Our business is done, Mister Donnelly. You are free to return to your realm,” she said and Donnelly was gone. Like everything else I had seen since my trip here, it happened without a transition. He didn’t vanish in a poof of smoke, as much as he vanished like he had never been there. “Continue,” she said to me.
“My first question is about someone I met four months ago. He claimed to be a man pulled back in time by a wayward spell, but he might have been a creature from your realm, sowing discord. What was he?”
She pondered that for a moment. “He was what you deduced, almost; but not a man pulled back in time. Rather, a copy of that man; a hollow echo given life and form by the spell, and by the well of power of his younger self. He did not come from my Kingdom.”
“Wow. That’s amazing.” I patted my pockets, searching for my notebook before I remembered that Wolf-head had destroyed it. I turned the gesture into a formal bow and said, “My second question is about his prophecy. He said the Magistrate would die this year at the hands of a Troll. Was that correct?”
“We tread now on dangerous ground, young Prince Airgid.” She leaned back in her throne, absently fingering the flute at her belt. “The answers to questions about a mortal’s fate can change the fate itself. I once took a lover from your realm, and he would bring me books on my kind and about your ideas of magic with every visit. Have you heard your tale of The Monkey’s Paw?”
“‘Be careful what you wish for’? I know it, yes.”
“We cautioned you mortals a long time ago, not to ask questions where knowing the answer may change the answer itself. But I will tell you this: Things are in motion now that will result in that prophecy coming to pass.”
“So a prophecy can be changed?”
She readjusted herself on her throne, rotating ninety degrees so her legs dangled over one arm. Then she pulled the tin whistle out and placed her fingers carefully on the holes. “Is that your third question?” she asked.
“No, no,” I said. “More of a random pondering.”
“You should watch your ponderings. They’re going to get you in trouble.” Then she raised the whistle to her lips and played a tune. It was short -- just a few bars -- but so full of joy, I found myself smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. “You have one more question, Mister Silverblood. If it’s the correct question, I’ll forgive you your trespasses so far. Think carefully.”
I thought carefully.
She played another tune that I was sure was the ‘Thinking Tune’ from an afternoon quiz show. This was surely a trick or a test. But as much as I wracked my brain, I could only think of one third question.
“Who will kill Sir Arthur?” I asked before the tune reached its crescendo.
“Oh, no. That’s not it,” she said, making a slide whistle sound from the tin whistle. “You asked the only question I can’t answer.”
“Why not?”
She swung her legs around and sat upright again. “Because knowing the answer changes the answer.”
I didn’t understand. “I don’t understand,” I said.
“If I tell you who kills your mentor, you’ll act differently. You’ll change what happens and my answer will no longer be the truth.”
“But when I leave here, I won’t remember your answers,” I pleaded.
“For a little while, yes. But then you’ll visit the man under the eyes of the Owl, and it will all come rushing back. Tell him I know about his little plan, by the way.”
“Who? What plan?”
“Oh, that’s not for you,” she said with a smirk. “That’s for later.”
I threw my hands up. “I’m confused as hell now. What answer can you give me that results in the Magistrate not being killed?”
“What if my answer resulted in a hundred other people dying? Or caused your own death, or the death of your closest friends? Would you make such a bargain?” She leaned slightly forward in her throne as she spoke, and for the first time since I had met her it seemed like she was asking a question to which she did not already know the answer.
“I’d like the answer that results in the fewest number of innocent deaths.”
“Sir Arthur’s killer will come from the house of Colm Galligan, Chief of the White Clan trolls.”
I did not expect such a straight-forward answer. “Shit,” was the best I could do, but I thought that was pretty good, considering.
She raised a finger and added, “And I can tell you that only seven innocent lives will be lost by giving you this answer.” Then she placed the whistle to her lips again and played a complex tune. I could only describe it as seven dirges at the same time, each different and distinct, their notes intertwining and overlapping to create another tune. I had no idea a simple tin whistle could produce such music. When she stopped, the silence sounded sadder than any of the songs she had just produced. “That’s your three questions, Victor. Are you ready to return to your realm?”
“What will happen If I try to save those seven innocent lives?”
She beckoned me closer, then tucked the whistle away again and stood on her throne. This way, she stood about a foot taller than me and she bent down to kiss me on the cheek. “I expect you to try,” she said. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. Your gateway awaits.”
I turned to see two trees behind me had formed an arch, through which the Phoenix Park was visible. I had entirely lost track of time, but it seemed to still be dawn there, with just a few traces of mist clinging to the grass.
“Should I return next year? As envoy of the Irish trolls?”
Mab collapsed her legs under her and fell back into her throne; extending her legs over one arm once more. “I have not decided yet. But we will meet again, before then, when I call in my favour owed. I might have made my mind up by then. Run along now; the gate is calling your name.”
I bowed once more, for good measure, then turned and stepped into the gateway.
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