~ Chapter V ~
A Life For A Life

Fíohra had to stifle a scream. The man on their threshold—if it was a man at all—stood a full seven feet tall. He was robed in a long black cloak, his face hooded and his head bowed. Behind him, standing in the twilight outside, Fíohra caught a glimpse of a great charger, massive enough to serve as a fitting mount for the dark messenger. It whinnied and tossed its head, and Fíohra shuddered in her sister's arms. No flesh-and-blood horse could make such a sound; it was the screech of iron on stone, ground from the throat of the creature like the gears of some devilish machination.

Morogh's knife hand shook at the messenger's entrance, but he stood firm. "Are you the servant of the Creature in the cave?" he asked the robed figure. But it gave no answer. Instead—to the old man's horror—its massive hooded head turned in the direction of his daughters.

In the space of a heartbeat, Morogh saw it all.

"You will break this vow, though it cost your life."

"I will not!"

"That is because you do not know what it is I ask of you."

Morogh felt his heart torn open in his chest. He had thought—or rather, he had fervently hoped—that the voice was only trying to frighten him with the threat of an unpayable debt. Not once had he allowed himself to consider that the Creature spoke the truth, that he would truly rather die than fulfill his vow and give the required recompense. For Morogh now knew, with that single look, what it was that had been demanded of him.

The messenger had not come for money. It came for his daughters.

"NO!"

He leapt forward at the same moment as the black-cloaked figure, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he raised his knife to strike. Consequences were far from his mind as he brought the blade down on the robed back. In that moment he was a father only, and his daughters would be taken at the cost of his life.

Padraigin and Fíohra screamed in unison as the knife descended.

But to their horror, the blade did no more tear the fabric of the messenger's cloak before it broke, splintering in shards of bright steel that fell to the ground with a clinking sound. His arm aching from the deflected blow, Morogh dropped the hilt and threw himself between the dark figure and his cowering girls.

"NO!" he cried again. "You cannot have them!" He paused. "Take me instead!"

The messenger stopped. Then, slowly, it raised an arm. The sleeve of its robe fell back, revealing a hand made entirely of what seemed to be stone. Morogh felt the blood freeze in his veins as it began to speak.

"Stand aside, mortal. You must fulfill your vow." Like the horse outside, it was a voice not of flesh and blood, but rather of stone, earth and strange power.

"I will not fulfill it!" Morogh cried at the top of his voice. "I will not let you take them!"

"Only one is required, O man. My master not so ungenerous."

"NO! Kill me first!"

The figure did not reply. Instead it straightened, bringing itself to its full height. The stone hand reached out to Morogh, palm flat. For a moment it remained silent and unmoving. Then it pronounced a single word that shook the tiny hovel with power.

Morogh slumped to the floor.

"Father!"

Padraigin threw herself under her father's body, breaking his fall before his head hit the hard packed earth. She could not speak as she cradled his injured shoulder, the tears flowing freely down her face. Unthinking, her sister rose to her feet and ran towards the messenger, her small fists balled in fury.

"BEAST! COWARD! MURDERER!"

The Creature's servant paid her no more heed than a troublesome fly. Using only one hand, it arrested her progress in an instant, the cold stone fingers closing in an unbreakable collar around her neck. It did not tighten its grip, but it did hold Fíohra immobile. As the younger girl tried desperately to remove the fingers from her throat, its hooded head moved from her to her sister. Padraigin was silent and still, her terror paralyzing her more effectively than any power expended at the hand of the messenger. At last the dark figure spoke.

"Your father lives, small ones." It looked again at the struggling girl in its stony grasp. "You will suffice," it said, releasing its hold. Fíohra fell to the ground, mute with the feelings that stirred in her heart at the servant's words. Joy sprang up at the knowledge that Morogh was alive. But the feeling was quickly countered by dread as the stone hand locked itself around her wrist and pulled her to her feet. The servant began moving for the door.

"Fío, no!" Padraigin screamed. "Let her go!" she begged the messenger, torn between staying with her injured father and attempting a rescue of her sister. But the creature continued as if it had not heard her.

It took a few moments for Fíohra's panicked brain to realize what was happening. By the time she had, her kidnapper had already crossed the threshold. Desperate, fear gave her strength she never knew she had. "Let me GO!" she cried, pulling against the manacle that held her.

But she might as well have struggled against the mountain itself; the messenger was unmoved, its grip on her wrist unbroken. With scarcely the effort it took to lift a feather, the dark cloaked figure hefted her into its arms, disregarding her cries for help and pathetic attempts at wounding its stony flesh. Mortal burden in tow, it approached the charger waiting in the street.

Suddenly understanding her captor's intent, Fíohra redoubled her efforts to escape. But it was useless. Reaching the creature, it lifted the girl onto its back and swung up after her, pinioning her to its chest with one arm. It spoke a word and touched the beast's head as the unnatural whinny pierced the still night air. The creature leapt forward. Unprepared for their sudden departure, Fíohra's head slammed backwards against her captor's chest and she slipped into darkness.

Padraigin reached the door just in time to see the horse-like creature leap the village wall in a single bound, bearing the black-cloaked kidnapper and the unconscious body of her little sister into the dark unknown of the forest.

~o~

Fíohra did not understand what was happening. Her head hurt, her eyes refused to open, and there was the most unusual noise all around her, like the flowing of fast water. It was cold, too, and she shivered.

"You are awake, little mortal."

With a jolt, she remembered everything. Wrenching her eyes open, she was greeted with a disorienting onrush of dark shapes and shifting shadows, accompanied by a powerful wind. The voice that had addressed her was flat and bloodless, and it chilled her more than the wind. She was astride the enchanted charger, a prisoner of the cave Creature's stone servant. The thrill of dread seized her heart and she swallowed, unable to reply.

"Do not think of escape," the messenger warned in absence of her reply. "We are moving too quickly. You would break your neck if you hazarded a leap from the beast."

Pulling her wits about her in spite of her fear, Fíohra saw that her captor spoke the truth. Whatever the creature was that they were riding, it was certainly no mortal-born animal. She could feel its skin beneath her hand, and it made her shudder. Neither stone nor metal, it was cold to the touch and impossibly solid. Judging by the blur of dark forest that flew by on either side, Fíohra could see that they were moving faster than any horse could gallop, faster even than an eagle could dive. It would truly be suicide to attempt any leap to freedom. Besides, her captor held her too tightly to allow for such thoughts.

"You wonder where it is we are headed, do you not?" it asked.

Fíohra swallowed again. It clearly intended her to speak, and she feared to disobey. "Aye," she managed with some difficulty.

It answered immediately. "Take comfort, small one. You are the ransom for your father's life. We go to the mountain, to present you to my master."

"W-what…w-why…?" Terror seized her tongue a second time, and her question was stillborn.

Though it continued to speak in a disturbing, emotionless monotone, the stone servant did not reproach her. "Ask on," it said simply.

"W-what does your master w-want of me?" Fíohra managed, though her whisper was nearly swallowed by the wind.

"That is for my master to disclose. I am only a servant."

Its evasive answer was not reassuring. Nevertheless, her need to know what awaited her at the end of the strange journey mastered her fear. Fíohra spoke again. "And will I ever see my family again?"

The stone servant paused before answering. "That is for my master to disclose. I am only a servant," he repeated at last.

Fíohra bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping desperately that it was all a dream. Her captor's words extinguished even the tiny flame of hope she had kept alive in her breast, and without it, she felt as good as dead already. More than anything she wished to wake in the old hovel, with the ragged blanket clutched to her chest and the sound of her father's snores soothing her as well as any lullaby. But it was no dream. She opened her eyes again, the tears pushed away from her eyes by the sharp fingers of the wind.

"Little mortal, prepare yourself," the messenger warned, interrupting her despair. "We will arrive in moments."

It was well that it advised her, Fíohra reflected in passing. No sooner had she tightened her grip on the servant's restraining arm than the charger came to a sudden halt. Caught unawares, Fíohra would have been thrown forward against her captor's limb, knocking the breath from her lungs in the process. As it was, she rocked forward a bit but suffered no more discomfort than a bruised elbow.

They had arrived at the edge of the clearing.

Fíohra felt the servant's arm loosening around her, and for one wild moment she thought it was releasing her. But just as she was preparing to leap off the beast and run for the shelter of the trees, her captor spoke. "You must not do it, mortal. Stay and you will live; run from my master and you will die." It dismounted, leaving Fíohra unprotected on the creature's back. "The wolves of this wood have a taste for human blood," it continued. "And my master will not frighten them away again, as he did for your father."

Fíohra's plans of escape withered in her brain and she hung her head, despair closing over her once more.

The stone servant took the bridle of the enchanted beast and spoke a word to it that Fíohra could not hear. Then, in an action that took her by surprise, the messenger threw back its hood. Fíohra felt her heart sink even further in her chest as she took in its appearance. Though she could discern some human features in the moonlight, it was as unlike a human's as the creature she rode was unlike a mortal horse. It was made of stone and showed no emotion, even as it looked up at her to speak.

"Take in the taste of this forest air, small one, and drink your fill of the sight of the moon. You may not see her face again for a long time."

But Fíohra was far too lost in her panic to heed its words, wondering what it meant by 'a long time.'

Seeing that she made no move to take its advice, the stone servant—in another gesture that took its prisoner by surprise—inclined its head. "Very well. We will enter now. Do not open your eyes until I tell you, little mortal. It will not be long."

The beast below her began to move forward, towards the yawning darkness of the cave. Fíohra squeezed her eyes shut once more as they passed out from under the open sky, willing herself to be strong. I will not cry, she told herself. I will not run. I will be brave…I will be brave…I will be brave.

It was the hardest task she had ever set for herself.