Part X
Oh no, what's this?
A spider web, and I'm caught in the middle,
So I turn to run,
The thought of all the stupid things I'd said.
They spun a web for me…
Trouble, Coldplay
Something wicked this way comes…
If the bartender was surprised by Sarah's reaction he didn't show it. Sarah rolled her eyes, wavered like she was about to faint, and then proceeded to swear with a vocabulary and a fervour rarely achieved by even experienced Rugby players.
"…Shit."
"Is something the matter then?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Not a damn thing. Everything's just peachy." She truned away and whispered angrily. "Did you hear that, you bastard?" It was directed to nobody in particular and someone quite specifically. "Well? Did you? This is a game? Let's play then!" Her voice rose shrilly, catching the attention of some nearby patrons.
The bartender eyed the girl warily. "I think maybe ye've had enough, Miss," he cautioned, reaching for her glass.
"Back off, Paddy!" Sarah hissed. She snatched the pint out of his reach and returned to her table.
The bartender just shook his head. "Americans."
Only after downing her pint and glaring at the bartender until he reluctantly pulled her another one, did she begin to relax again. No flash of lightening, no crystal balls. Nothing. Just a deranged tourist who had inadvertently reinforced a stereotype. Sarah cringed in remorse.
Still brooding on it, she caught the first bars of a song coming from the other room in the pub. Mrs. Gannon had mentioned that some live music was going to be performed, and from what she could hear it was wonderfully traditional. And blessedly instrumental. Grabbing her pint and casting the bartender an apologetic look, she followed the music into the other room.
Three men and a woman were set up on a makeshift stage. One of the men held a Bodhran, another a tin whistle and the third a guitar. The woman nestled a fiddle under her chin.
They were in the midst of an Irish reel and several of the patrons were dancing in time. Sarah sat and watched, a smile brightening her sullen expression. This was something she loved. Tapping her fingers along with the beat, her foot following suit, Sarah effectively forgot her grumbling stomach and her earlier outburst.
She laughed heartily when they played 'Dirty Old Town' and tears pooled in her eyes when they did a particularly sombre rendition of 'Parting Glass'. She drank two more pints over the next two hours. The bartender didn't bat an eyelash.
Between one of the sets the bodhran player stopped by her table. "Are ye likin' the show then?"
Sarah smiled. "Oh yes, it's great!"
He smiled back. "Wonderful. We want ye to have a grand time. And 'tis good practice fer us. Fer the festival and all."
"Festival?"
"Ah, sorry. The festival fer Samhain." He pointed at a wall. "Guess ye missed the posters."
A glossy print advertised the band playing on Tuesday night.
"But I thought Samhain usually fell on October 31st? That poster says it will be in three days." She arched a brow. "Aren't you a week early?"
The musician's lips twitched. "Yes and no. Ye see Samhain is an old holiday and it always followed the harvest, not the calendar. It marks the last reaping of the year – and that changed year to year depending on the crops and the weather. The new age version of the holiday matches it to Hallowe'en, as ye Yanks call it. Here at Tara we follow the old ways," he finished proudly.
"I see. So what's involved in the festival? Is it just music or is there more?" asked Sarah, fascinated by the tradition.
"In days passed, t'was always celebrated here at Tara - hosted by the royal court itself. It lasted three days. They'd light a bonfire on the Hill of Tara and that signaled other people gathered atop hills to light bonfires all across Ireland. T'was a mighty site to see, I've nary doubt. Dancing and drinking t'il all the wee hours..." The musician's voice once again swelled with fierce emotion.
"I'm confused." Sarah frowned. "At the cultural centre the film said that lighting fires in sight of the Hill was once illegal."
"Oh yes, t'was illegal fer a time. St. Patrick made it law – t'wasn't a very Christian practice to call upon the fey afterall. But times are changing and we may see it happen again soon." The musician grinned. "Fer now we play music and we dance and we give thanks fer our blessings. Mostly we drink."
Feeling the heady effects of alcohol without food, Sarah smiled flirtatiously. "It's a pity I came too early then. Sounds like a good time."
"I wouldn't say that," he winked playfully. "I'd say yer right on time." He wished Sarah a good evening and then returned to the stage to play the final set.
A moment later, Sarah's belly gave a loud gurgle. Four pints on a nearly empty stomach was rarely a good thing. She'd have to find food somewhere. At the very least she could ask Mrs. Gannon. She'd have something on hand if she ran a B & B. Nodding at the musicians in parting, Sarah left the pub more than a little light headed, and wandered down the street.
The stars lent everything an ethereal glow and the night air was lovely and mild. Turning the corner to head back to the boarding house, she spotted a small cart on the side of the road. It had pumpkins, gourds and fresh fruit of all variety. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was after nine. This would have to do. They must just be closing as it was. A short balding man was packing up some sacks.
He looked up as Sarah approached. "Help ye, Miss?" he asked with a nearly toothless grin.
"Thank you, yes! I'm starving." Sarah perused the selection. Deliberately ignoring the peaches, she grabbed an apple and a few pears. "Just these, please."
"Enjoy, enjoy, young lady. Fresh as can be, they are!" He grinned again as he took the money and handed Sarah some change.
She wolfed down the apple and one of the pears as she walked away, wiping her wet mouth with satisfaction. She made it half a block more before a feeling of languid tranquility washed over her, and she began to yawn uncontrollably. After tripping twice on the cobblestones, she decided she should probably call it a night. She'd risen earlier than usual that day and drank too much on a nearly empty stomach.
Climbing into bed less than fifteen minutes later felt like Heaven. Sarah was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Clink, clink, clink…
Sarah's head shot up. "What the…"
Clink.
Sarah stared at the window as a sizeable rock bounced off it. The clock beside her bed flashed 1:30AM.
Clink.
"Those little brats! What is this, 'torment the tourist' day?" she grumbled. Hopping out of bed, she stormed to the window and threw it open, intending to yell down at them. A rock whizzed by her head.
"Son of a...!"
She peered down at the street but couldn't see anything in the gloom. None of the street lights were on. She shivered as the cold night air seeped in. Stomping back to the bed, she grabbed her jeans and threw them on, angrily stuffing her nightgown into them. Pulling on her coat and boots, she padded downstairs quietly, trying not to wake her hostess.
When she opened the door she heard sniggers followed by footsteps running away, but not before a rock struck the door. Without thinking she blindly dashed down the street. She made it half a block in pursuit, but couldn't find any trace of the little delinquents. Cursing, she turned around and headed back to the house, but stopped short at the door. It had locked behind her. She knocked quietly. Nothing. She knocked again, louder this time. Nothing. Fantastic.
"It's not fair!" she fumed, kicking the door in frustration. She turned and leaned against it, trying to regroup. The front of the house was far too smooth to climb and the lower windows were firmly locked. All the lights on the street were off. The pub looked equally dark and she didn't relish facing the bartender sloppily dressed in her nightgown anyway. Looking in the other direction she spied a faint light at the church centre. Maybe a caretaker was still up. At the very least she knew they had a phone. She could call Mrs. Whelan and have her call Mrs. Gannon. Hope restored, she set off down the lane towards the church.
The night was silent and dark, the moon masked behind clouds. The church shone out like a beacon in the distance.
Sarah trudged into the church yard, vainly trying to stuff more of her nightgown in her jeans and coat and smooth out her bed-mussed hair. Just as she neared the door to the church, all the lights went out. She heard a snigger from her right. She'd kill them. She'd bloody well do their parents a favour and kill them. A shortish shadow passed right in front of her. She dashed after it, epithets flying. Grabbing the figure by his collar, she pulled him backwards and spun the kid around to face her. The clouds parted and the angry threat died on her tongue.
She was holding a goblin.
Sarah released her grip and the creature fell to the ground, stones falling from its pockets. It smiled up at her with a mouth full of wood splinters and then tore off into the night.
Heart beating wildly in her breast, Sarah almost didn't hear the sound behind her or feel the warm breath on her ear.
"Hello Sarah," drawled a hauntingly familiar voice.
AN: What a teasing way to end it, I know. Let the games begin
Please Read and Review. Helps me to procrastinate from real life.
Bonus: There was a reference to the film The Matchmaker in this chapter. Kudos to those of you who got it.