~ Chapter VI ~
Maeleachlainn

Thankfully, her captor had not lied. The sounds of their passage into the cave had not gone on for more than a few minutes before Fíohra was aware of a change in the light. She dared not open her eyes, but she could sense that the dark was lessening. Also, she became aware of the strange warmth of the place, as well as its unsettling smell. But these sensory revelations were driven far from her mind by the sound of a second voice, calling to her captor. It was very like the first stone servant's voice, equally devoid of emotion and humanity. Yet it was different, too. Fíohra could not decide if it was the variation of pitch or the volume, but she had the undeniable impression that the speaker was feminine, though still of the same kind as the first.

"Is this the mortal's ransom, maeleachlainn?" the new voice said.

"It is, maeleachlainn. I am to deliver her to you to prepare her for an audience with the master."

For a moment Fíohra wondered if she had misheard, thinking it unlikely that both creatures were named Maeleachlainn. But the second continued before she could consider it further.

"Maeleachlainn, you do poorly. The human child is frightened and confused."

Still not daring to open her eyes, Fíohra felt the unnatural chill of stone hands under her arms, lifting her off the beast. For a moment she wanted to kick and fight, but her reason got a hold of her and told her to keep calm. Though cold, the servant's hands were gentle, and Fíohra felt soft sand beneath her feet as she was placed on the ground.

The feminine voice spoke again. "She has done well, maeleachlainn. She keeps her eyes closed in the face of the unknown. Perhaps we should try to comfort her." Fíohra felt an inhuman touch on her shoulder, and it was far from comforting. "You have shown courage, little mortal," the unseen voice said, the words sounding strange without the accompanying emotions that signified approval. "Lay aside your fear; we are bringing you to your palace."

For a moment, terror was superseded by bewilderment. Fíohra followed the voice of her guide, noting how the cramped echoes of their previous conversation had suddenly dissipated. It seemed they were entering a wider part of the cave. The girl desperately wanted to see what they meant by 'her palace,' but the servant's praise for her obedience strengthened her resolve to keep her eyes shut. They walked a little ways further before the give of sand beneath their feet changed into the smooth resistance of stone. There, the new servant brought them to a halt.

"You may open your eyes, brave one."

Fíohra did. And she was utterly robbed of words as the sight of the place worked its wonder on her.

The first servant did well to say that they were going to the mountain, though it might have been more precise to say that they were going into the mountain. Before her stretched a vast cavern. Fíohra shivered in awe at its very immensity. The vaulted roof disappeared into darkness, miles above her head. But the rest of the cavern was not dark. Bowls of fire embedded in shelves in the walls cast a warm, flickering light over the lower cavern, and cold globes like stars lit the upper cavern at irregular intervals.

In the very center of the cavern, a great pillar of stone thrust its spire towards the roof. It was as wide as the entire village of Baláirdh Drún, and Fíohra lost its summit in the darkness above. She dropped her gaze to keep from getting dizzy. An immense arched doorway barred by a door of dead-black wood stood silent at the base of the pillar. Curious, Fíohra gave it a closer look. At the apex of the doorway there was carved into the pillar the figure of a great bird, its wings stretched protectively over the passage it guarded. Lights hanging from niches in the pillar cast a dull bronze glow over the carving, making it seem almost alive.

"The Túráthú, child," the servant explained, seeing her gaze. "It is the heart of the mountain."

Fíohra tore her eyes from the magnificence of the pillar and looked for the first time at the second servant, whose stony hand had been guiding her since they entered the cavern. It was draped in a plain white robe of coarse linen, and the carven lines of its face seemed softer than those of the first servant, though still without expression. The white-robed servant had brought Fíohra and her companions out into what seemed to be a stone porch, carved into the wall of the main cavern. To the left and right of the antechamber, two doorways opened into darkness.

She looked down. As she had noticed before, the floor was smooth; they were standing on polished pavement. It was of the same color as the stone pillar, though here she could see it was veined with gleams of gold and green. Yet as beautiful as the floor was, both it and the walls were unadorned. Fíohra wondered what sort of place it was, and what function it served—someplace at once so magnificent and so plain.

But more importantly, she wondered what sort of Creature it was that lived there, and what it wanted with her.

To Fíohra's surprise, however, her previous fear had largely been swallowed by wonder. Fear itself seemed somehow insignificant before the grandeur and the sheer size of the mountain cavern. Fíohra felt as if the very stone would laugh at her fear and ask, if it could speak, what account should it give to the feelings of a young and ignorant girl such as she? She was nothing to the splendor of the vaulting stone, the very living rock. Fíohra swallowed, ashamed of herself. It would do no good for her to be frightened, she decided. Her resolve hardened and she repeated her earlier commitment. I will be brave, she thought. I will.

The white-robed servant saw the wonder in its charge's face and removed its hand. "What do you see, little one?" it asked.

Fíohra took a few moments to find her voice, pulling herself out of her reverie. "I…I see the mountain," she said at last.

The black-cloaked servant with the stone beast spoke behind her, addressing its fellow. "She sees well, maeleachlainn." It turned to Fíohra. "This is Drún, mortal, as none of your kind have seen for many millennia."

"Why…why am I here?" she asked.

"That is for our master to tell you, little one," the white-robed one said, replacing a hand on Fíohra's arm. The girl willed herself not to shiver. "And we must proceed. I am to show you to your chambers."

Once again, puzzlement overtopped anxiety. As her guide led her towards the left-hand door, she voiced her confusion. "I…could you tell me…?"

"Ask without fear," the servant encouraged her.

"What do you mean by my chambers and my palace? I don't understand."

To her surprise, her guide paused at the dark threshold and turned to her. The stone eyes without expression searched her face, thoroughly unnerving her. Fíohra found she could not hold their gaze and she dropped her own to the floor. It took a moment for the servant to answer, as if it was considering its words. "Little mortal, you have ransomed your father at the cost of your life," it said at last, and Fíohra felt her blood run cold. But her guide continued. "You live here now. You belong to the mountain. You will not be allowed to return to the world outside of Drún."

A tear slid past Fíohra's downcast lids and dropped to the polished stone floor. It was all she could do to speak. "N-never…never again?"

"No. What is this rain from your face, small one?" The emotionless voice had hardly a trace of the proper inquisitive intonation, and it took Fíohra a moment to realize the servant had asked her a question. She wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"It…it's called crying," she informed the servant, disheartened with both the loss of hope for return and the confirmation of her companion's inhumanity.

The female servant reached into the dark doorway and drew back its hand, clutching an unlit stone torch. It touched the tip of the torch with its other hand and said something Fíohra did not understand. Then, in an action that rather astonished its mortal ward, the servant swung the article in a wide arc. Pale gold fire burst from the end of the torch and settled in a cheery ball of flame, bathing the two in its magical light. The servant steadied it as it swung perpendicular to the floor and motioned for Fíohra to follow. "What does this crying signify?" it asked as it stepped through the doorway. Fíohra saw a winding staircase inside, and she looked over her shoulder. The black-cloaked servant and the stone beast had disappeared.

"Where did they go?" she asked, surprised in spite of herself.

"The maeleachlainn has taken the carraiglas away. It is required elsewhere." Fíohra wondered later if carraiglas was the name of that particular beast or the name of its kind. But she was unable to ask her guide, as the steep ascent had thoroughly winded her. Using her hands as well as her feet, she climbed after the stone servant in silence for what seemed like hours. At long last, the winding stairs straightened and Fíohra was able to see beyond the bulk of her guide into the space ahead.

They had climbed to the doorway of a great portico, its stony balustrade overlooking the open air of the central cavern. More stone torches lined the walls, their golden light creating the illusion of a late evening sun shining in the underground hall. But the servant did not linger, and Fíohra was not allowed to absorb the sight. She followed her guide across the portico and into another darkened doorway, though this had no stairs. Instead, it cut through the wall of rock and led to another portico, very like the first. Again, the pair did not linger. Fíohra followed the servant through yet another dark hallway leading to another portico, and then another, and then yet another. She thought it would never end.

Then, just as she was about to ask for a rest, her guide took an unexpected turn, taking her down the length of a portico instead of across it. At the far end was a doorway, but this was different from the others. It was wider, for one thing, and taller—even the enormous servant could walk through it without ducking. But also unlike the previous doorways, this one had a real door. The dark wood reflected none of the torchlight, and strange characters were worked on it and above it, cut directly into the stone of the wall. Fíohra could not read them, but they made her shiver. There was power in the words they formed.

Her guide stopped at the door and spoke. "This is the door that leads to your chambers, little one. It is strong and well guarded. You need not fear undesired guests." Fíohra wondered if she would have to fear them elsewhere, but she said nothing as the servant continued. "I may not pass without your blessing," it continued to explain. "If you have need of my assistance, you must first invite me inside."

"Can you open it?" Fíohra asked.

"No. But you have only to command it and it will open for you." Her guide lifted the torch higher to allow its light to fall on the full length of the runed door. "Tell it to open, small one."

Fíohra swallowed. Her voice, when she managed to untangle it from the lump in her throat, was hoarse and hardly authoritative. "Open," she tried, unsure whether or not she should add a 'please' at the end. But to her surprise, the door swung in smoothly on its oiled hinges. More golden light flowed from the staircase inside.

"Enter, child."