Chapter 1: Taibhreamh

(dream)

I wasn't the sort of person to have disturbing, possibly-prophetic dreams. My general obliviousness to things that weren't affecting me easily carried over to when I slept, so I usually dreamed about nice things, like strawberry ice cream and trips to the mountains. My nightmares were few and generally tame.

So all in all, I was a little disconcerted when I had the strange dream the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that—for two weeks, in fact. I started having a few misgivings about waiting to go to camp until the middle of June (it was currently the end of April). However, I don't like to go back on my word, so I made no mention of this to Brendan. I figured that I could ride out the dream. Maybe I was stressed out, or something.

One particular sunny afternoon, I was laying on my bed, perusing some sort of mail order catalog. My window was open to let in a cool breeze, and Deirdre was stretched out on my floor, napping in the patch of light on my floor. It was a Wednesday, and I'd just gotten done with my schoolwork (I'm home schooled, which made things easier for everyone).

Someone knocked on my door. I looked up from the catalog. "Come in," I called. The door opened to reveal a girl much taller and thinner than I am (me being of the short-n-round type), with strawberry blonde hair swinging to her waist and worried brown eyes.

I smiled. "Oh, hi, Ra-"

She cut me off. "Niamh, I need to ask you something."

I blinked, flipping the catalog closed and tossing it to the floor. "Uh, sure. Come on in."

Racheal (that being her name) did so, shutting the door and crossing the room to sit at the foot of my bed. She crossed her legs, looking very prim. I sat on my knees, then laid down on my stomach to face her, propping my head on my fists. "So what's up, Rach?"

She didn't waste much time. "Did you get a letter from camp?"

"Yeah."

Racheal is also a demigod. She's the daughter of Áine, a goddess of love and summer (and also known as the fairy queen). She doesn't go to camp for long in the summer, though—usually only for about two weeks, because not many monsters are after her, and she's a very busy person.

Swinging her foot back and forth, Racheal asked, "And what did it say?"

Kicking my feet in time with hers, I replied "That I was in danger of some sort."

"Nothing else?"

"No, just that. Look, Rach, what are you on about?"

Ignoring me (which she is very good at), she asked me "Have you had any strange dreams recently?"

I looked up towards the ceiling. "Uh-huh, for about two weeks. I hear a voice telling me they have a proposal, something about me helping to bring down the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Olympians. Something about Titans. Be their spy, or whatever. And I say I'd lost everything, or something like that. And they tell me they're not patient."

I rolled over on my back and looked up at Racheal, who'd been nodding thoughtfully. "Got any ideas?"

Racheal was quiet for a long time, looking down at her hands. Finally, I poked her in the arm. "Hello? Ideas?"

She smiled at me. "None at all."

I slapped her lightly. "Why do you have to worry me like that?"

She laughed, pushing my hand away playfully, but then grew silent. "I wouldn't ignore a letter from camp, though. You really should leave." Racheal places a lot of faith in higher-ups.

"I can handle it, Rach. I've been training for years."

Another week passed. I stopped having the dream, so I took it as some sort of freakish event.

I went to attend a play held at East Glendalough School one evening and was walking home when I heard a strange noise: horse's hooves.

Now, there's something rather unsettling about hearing horse's hooves behind you when you're walking alone, at night, on a road cars usually drive on.

In other words, I started walking faster.

Then I looked back over my shoulder.

Then I started running.

Have you ever read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow? Excellent book.

So you might be able to guess at what was currently running me down.

Now, I'm not a very fast runner. I'm lazy and I don't like to run. I'm good at leaping at people unexpectedly if I need to fight, not running around them. Unfortunately, I figured there wasn't much I could do but run, considering that my enemy was the Dullahan. Or Headless Horseman, whichever you prefer. And he was on a horse, as horsemen are wont to be.

The Dullahan was getting closer. I came to a stop just as he came on me, throwing my arms over my head. The horse reared up as the Dullahan reigned it in. I dared to look up.

The Dullahan rode a sickly-looking, black horse. The rider itself was a similarly bony-looking man, dressed in black. Cradled under his arm was his head, which made me want to vomit mostly because the color of its skin looked like old cheese and had a huge grin touching the sides of its face. Flies buzzed around it.

Belatedly, I realized what it meant when the Dullahan stopped riding: it was in a place where a person would be due to die. As soon as he said their name, they would be dead. I backed away, off of the road and into the grass.

I wished I had a weapon of some sort. As it was, I had only my purse, which I flung at the monster. It hit the horse in the head, but didn't really do anything other than make the horse look at me, nostrils flared.

I would have to use magic, but unfortunately, most of the powers that had been passed to me were centered around Brigid's aspect as a healing goddess. In other words, I would only be helpful if the Dullahan needed to be healed.

The Dullahan started riding towards me. I darted to the side, thinking wildly, is it possible to put a head back on a body?

Running back onto the road, I turned towards the Dullahan. He was circling back towards the road, charging towards me. I shut my eyes tightly and tried to imagine his head being lifted from under his arm and back onto his head.

Opening them, I could see that my plan had obviously not worked.

Sprinting to the side again, I tried to think of what I'd learned at camp about the Dullahan. Every monster had a weakness, I knew, but what was this one's?

Gold! That was it, the Dullahan was afraid of gold.

That would help if I had any gold.

I looked on the ground near the road for a rock or anything else I could throw. I found one and, picking it up, hurled it at the Dullahan. It landed in the grass.

Are they afraid of things that just look gold? Where's my purse?

Grabbing another one, I threw it without much care for aiming, looking for my purse. I found it on the curb and grabbed it. Yanking open the zipper, I dug through it, looking for anything that looked remotely gold.

A sparkly yellow gel pen. I held it up, and then threw it at the Dullahan, who was heading back down the road towards me.. Running back off of the road, I extricated my change purse, which had a small tarnished clasp on it. I couldn't remember if the clasp had been silver or gold, but it was worth the try.

I ran at the Dullahan, holding it up, and I was nearly ran over by the horse.

Jamming it back in my purse, I flung my arms up helplessly. I didn't have anything else. My only choice would be to try and knock him off his horse, or something. I dropped my purse and started running.

Unfortunately, I tripped. I landed hard to the ground, on my hands and knees. My wrist buckled under me. I shrieked in pain, and then shrieked again because the monster was almost on top of me and all I could think was oh my god this is the end I'm gonna die and I didn't even get to finish school.

I looked up as soon as I saw the horse's leg in front of my face. The Dullahan held a basin in one hand. I had no idea where he'd gotten it, but I wasn't about to question where something that would presumably be carrying my body parts soon originated.

Skirting his horse to my side, he turned it over and dumped a warm, sticky liquid on top of me. I coughed, recognizing the small and feel of it. Blood.

I really did vomit then.

The Dullahan had galloped away by then. So I wasn't going to die tonight, which was something of a relief. I sat up on my knees, hacking. I stood up, found my purse, and ran as fast as I could all the way home.

Bursting through the front door, Dad looked up from where he sat on the couch reading the newspaper, startled. "Niamh!?" he questioned, staring at me. Jumping to his feet as my appearance registered on him, he hurried towards me.

I waved him away. "Let me take a shower first," I choked out, trying not to breathe. I hurried upstairs to the bathroom.

While I was in the shower, I heard the door open. I figured it was Dad, and we had a curtain, so I wasn't too worried. I heard him picking up the garbage bag I'd thrown my old clothes in (I figured I wouldn't be able to get that much blood out of them) and setting a pile of clothes on the toilet seat.

I probably have never taken such a long shower, but when I was finally clean, I dried myself off, put on the shorts and T-shirt Dad had set out for me, and wrapped my hair up in a towel.

When I went downstairs, I could see that Dad had a mop out and was cleaning up the tiled floor in front of the door. "Sorry about the mess," I commented.

He shrugged, and smiled ruefully. "I was going to clean it anyways. Mind cleaning the bathroom floor for me, though?"

I took the mop upstairs when he was done and cleaned up the bathroom, while he examined the carpet. "Might have to steam clean it," he commented.

I looked at him through the doorway. "We could borrow Racheal's special vacuum cleaner. The one that's like a steam cleaner, or whatever. I'll call her about it."

Nodding, he sprayed some freshener on the carpet and came into the bathroom. "Let me see your hands."

I held them out, palms up. They'd been cut and bruised from my fall, as were my knees. He shook his head. "You haven't fixed them yet?"

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever." Closing my eyes, I imagined the wounds closing up, healing themselves over as if nothing had happened. A tingling sensation spread over any injuries I had, and when I opened my eyes, I no longer looked as if I'd just had a nasty run-in with a very scary monster.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I sat at the table. Dad poured too glasses of water and handed me on, before sitting down himself. "Care to explain what just happened?"

I took a long sip of water before replying. "I was attacked by the Dullahan."

Brendan raised his eyebrows. "The Dullahan? Really? That's a new one."

"Yeah, and not a good new one. It's hard to fight something on a horse when you have no weapon and only healing powers." I traced my finger over the top of my glass. I was worried, mainly because of something I'd remembered in the shower.

Dad noticed this. "There's something else."

"Well, Dad, you know how they don't like being watched when they're riding around? They dump blood on people who watch them, like he did to me. And those people are usually among the next to die. And I was already in the spot where he stopped riding, where someone's due to die." I suddenly laughed, all of the tension that had been built up being released. "It's like I'm double-damned to die."

My father, however, was not so light. "I'd be as careful as possible, then. Carry your dagger with you whenever you can."

I snorted. "My dagger isn't like other people's. They can hide their as pens or pencils or cellphones or whatever. Mine is a regular, non-magical dagger."

"Maybe when you go to camp, you can make a magical one?"

"Maybe."

There was a long silence as both of us thought, and then Dad asked, "So what all happened during your fight?"

"Uh, I was walking on Station Road and the Dullahan came and stopped riding where I was, so I ran into the grass and threw my purse at it...and I hit the horse in the head so that made it angry. And then I tried to scared it off with a pen and my change purse. And I tried to throw rocks at it, but I missed. And I tripped."

Brendan snorted and replied, disbelief in his voice, "You missed? You go to that camp every summer and don't know how to aim?" He laughed, taking a long drink.

I frowned at him. "Hey! It's more than you could have done."

"That's true." He stopped smiling, but I could tell he was still laughing at me inside. Rolling my eyes, I finished off my water and hugged him.

"I'm going to sleep now." Dumping the ice cubes in the sink, I went to bed, exhausted.

That night, I had another dream.

"Niamh!"

"What is it?"

"It's your Dad...come quick!"

The next morning, I called Racheal.

"I got attacked by the Dullahan last night."

"Where!?" She sounded a little panicky. "I haven't heard of them since I first found out. Everyone says they're too rare."

"When I was walking home on Station Road." I recounted the fight, before asking "So, uh, can we borrow your steam cleaner vacuum thingy? I kinda got blood on the carpet."

"Sure. And I don't know what to tell you about the Dullahan, Niamh. Be more careful. And carry your dagger."

I was frustrated with her. "I can't just carry around a weapon, Rach! I know you have that bow and arrow that looks like a barrette, but I don't have anything like that."

"Oh, you're right," she replied. I couldn't help but be annoyed. It should have been obvious that one can't carry a dagger in their purse. You're bound to get thrown in jail for that.

"I have an idea!" she said suddenly. "Why don't I call Duane? I can ask him to talk to someone and have them make you a magical dagger."

"You have Duane's number?" I was a little interested as to how Racheal would be able to call him. Duane, who had written the letter, was one of Cuan Cladach's counselors, heading the group of Irish campers. And he was notoriously antisocial. (Also something of a weenie.) It was, however, extremely helpful to be on his good side if you wanted to get anything done while you were at the camp. So it was certainly a strange occurrence that the person who spent the least amount of time at camp had the least social person's phone number.

"And better idea," I thought suddenly. "Ask Duane if he can send me these things so I can make it myself. Brigid is a goddess of smithcraft, after all. Just tell him the situation." I would be better at making the dagger instead of anyone else, since I was a little skilled with the forge.

"Yes, I do have his number. And okay!" I could tell that Rach was probably smiling very widely. I rolled my eyes and rattled off a list of supplies.

I didn't mention my dream from last night, passing it off as something from the stress of the previous day. Instead, we talked for a little bit longer about who we disliked and why, and what we planned to do tomorrow.

Hanging up the phone, I walked back downstairs. Dad met me at the bottom, holding the newspaper. "Read this," he said, handing it to me. I took it from him.

The headline he was pointing to read Teen found dead on Station Road.

Eyes wide, I read the article. From what I gathered, a teenage girl had been walking along the road when she was presumably hit by a car and killed. I recognized her picture; she'd also been at the play.

I knew that while she may have been hit by a car, her death wasn't just completely random; she was the Dullahan's victim.

I couldn't help but feel sorry. I felt as if I could have prevented it by doing a better job at fighting the monster. There was also a weird sense of solidarity I felt, seeing as how we'd both dealt with death at the same place. I just came out the better.

I handed the paper back to Dad. "Thanks," I said, my voice a little shaky.

I walked back up to my room and sat on the windowsill, pressing my forehead against the glass. It was sunny again today. Deirdre jumped up next to me, purring. I scratched her back, looked down at the street, and wondered.

A week later, a box showed up on the doorstep, addressed to me. It was the supplies for making my dagger.

Taking it upstairs, I dropped it on my bed and opened it. Inside was a letter.

Niamh-

I hope these help. You really should take my advice, you know.

-Duane

Laughing at the letter, I took out the things I had and started working.

It was a little difficult, without access to a proper forge and all, but by the end of next week, I had a dagger that would disguise itself as a blue highlighter. I held it up to Dad triumphantly.

"No worries now!"

All he asked was "How did you manage making a real dagger without a forge?"

"The fireplace!" I replied, grinning cheekily.

"I'm just not going to ask."

Throwing out the scraps, I tucked ti in my pocket. If I lost it, it would come back, as with any magical weapon.

I wasn't too worried at this point about anything. I felt confident now that I wouldn't be found weaponless again, I hadn't had any weird dreams, and I hadn't seen anymore monsters nor read about any other weird deaths.

I laid down to take a nap with no concerns.

The Dullahan: AKA the Headless Horseman, and a fairy of the Unseelie court; he rides around with his head held under his arm and wherever he stops riding is where someone is due to die—all he has to do is say their name. Someones he has a wagon made of bones and such.