Page 4 of The Source of Storms

“No! I can swim better than you! And fight better too!”

“Show us then!” encouraged Móraí. “Show us your fine spear skills!”

The two boys eagerly snatched up sticks near the hearth and squared off against each other, whacking their makeshift spears together with loud cracks as they tried to poke one another. They stumbled into a basket of carded wool in which a cat slept; it startled awake, then stretched and yawned. Móraí laughed.

“Are selkies real?” Noirin asked, watching the jousting children.

“Of course they are,” Mureal answered. “Just like the fae and the dryads, the naiads too. They are real, but they are secretive. They live in the spirit world, and they only show themselves when the Veil is thin.”

“Like it will be soon, right?” Noirin asked. “Samhain is coming, when the Veil is thin and we can speak to the fae.”

“That’s right,” Móraí confirmed. “Some meet the fae folk. But they must be careful if they do. The fae are not always as nice as the selkie woman of the story, and dealing with them can be dangerous. The fae are tricky folk, always looking to bind humans into some sort of deal to their own advantage. This is why you must never accept food from them, nor a favor, not even a dance, oh no. Always politely decline. You know, it’s said that people who are fae-touched, like your mother and Halja, have eyes like theirs because they had dealings with fae in the past.”

“I don’t know that our past relatives made any deals with them,” my mother countered, “but somewhere in our bloodline, our ancestors were fae.”

“Our ancestors from the north?” I asked.

My mother nodded. “From my side of the family. The old seafaring bands of the Svanr Isles, and this coast. Where your name comes from, Halja.”

Noirin’s eyes sparkled. I could almost see the images of selkies, dryads, and mysterious fae princes in her mind. I glanced at my mother, but she was staring blankly into the fire. Orange flames danced vibrantly in her black eyes.

“Were all fae folk only in the north, in Seonaid?” Noirin asked.

“No, no.” Móraí waved her hand dismissively. “They were everywhere. You know, it wasn’t always such that the fae stayed on the other side of the Veil. Oh no, they once ruled this land. Long, long ago, they lived here alongside humans. They had whole cities, with castles grander than anything you’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Noirin asked.

“Really, child, really. My great grandmother used to tell me stories of them, those who walked among us with long, pointed ears and strange, ethereal beauty.”

“Sigurd says the fae weren’t real. It’s all just made up stories,” Irial interjected.

“They were real, child. Just as real as you and me,” Móraí said.

“Then where did they go?” Noirin asked.

“They left. Crossed the Veil, and closed it behind them. The fae and humans didn’t always get along, you see. Many fae wanted to keep humans out of their cities. They didn’t trust them, oh no, didn’t like them. Didn’t want to share their food and space with them. It led to many wars between humans and fae over thousands of years,” Móraí explained.

But Mureal chimed in, “Not all fae despised humans, Móraí. There were the legendary Lane and Lorelei.”

“Who were they?” Noirin asked eagerly.

“Warriors,” Mureal answered. “Leaders of an army that fought in the wars between humans and fae, before all of the fae left for the other side of the Veil. Lane was a human, and Lorelei his fae partner.”

Móraí picked up the story. “Legend says that alone, they were each more powerful than any other fighter, fae or human. And together, they were unstoppable. They led a legion of both humans and fae that fought together to protect the weak. But when the last war ended and the fae left, when they abandoned their cities and disappeared, Lane and Lorelei disappeared too. Nobody knows what happened to them. Some tales say they departed with the fae, and Lane gave up his place among humans to go with his fae partner. Other stories say they remained here. Disguised themselves, and lived out their lives among humans.”

“They disappeared? Just like that?” Noirin asked.

“Just like that,” Móraí repeated. “Lost to the ages of legend and lore.”

CHAPTER TWO

Father returned from the Skeioholm market two days later, just as heavy, wet flakes of snow began to fall. He brought a cart full of winter supplies, and hitched to the back of it was a new horse. He was a beautiful blue roan, salt-gray as the ocean after a storm, with a black head and a little white star on his forehead.

“My girls!” Father called as he stepped off the cart, pulling me into a strong hug. My muscles tensed––an involuntary but learned reaction to his touch––but I hugged him back.

“How was it?” I asked, looking over the cart of goods to the new horse as he released me.

“Good!” He seemed in a cheerful mood, which eased my guardedness. “Successful, had enough of a surplus to buy a new horse. He’s young, and a little small, but I think he can learn to work the plow all the same. He’ll just need some training. Oh, and all of your yarn sold.”

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