~ Chapter XIII ~
Maelail of the Carraiglas

Their dagger practice continued for only another hour before Maeleth gravely announced that she had completed her first day of training. Exhausted but pleased at her progress—no matter how infinitesimal—Fíohra could only nod as she returned the dagger to the wall of weapons. When Maeleth had done likewise, it led its student out of the armory and back to the Westward and her rooms.

Fully expected to part with her instructor at the door, Fíohra's heart dropped to her toes as it informed her of the plans for the rest of the day. "You have a quarter hour to eat and refresh yourself, little mortal," Maeleth said, ignoring the look of disappointment that crossed its student's face. "I will wait for you to finish and then lead you to the maeleachlainn of the carraiglas."

"Why?" Fíohra said, her expectations of a hot bath and long rest slipping from her mind.

Though unaccompanied by the human expressions she knew, Fíohra had become familiar enough with the maeleachlainn's face to know that Maeleth was confused. "The master desires that you be made familiar with the care of the creatures," it answered simply.

"Aye, I know that. I mean why now?" she amended.

Maeleth looked at her closely. "What else have you to do, little mortal?"

Fíohra sighed, remembering what Mórdúil had said the night before. The dragon had told her to remind both him and his servants that she needed food where they did not. She wondered if there was more required in that quarter. Though the maeleachlainn often called her mortal, Fíohra realized they knew little of what mortality actually entailed, besides the occasional meal. Secure in their invincible skins of stone, they had likely never known what it was to feel weakness.

"I have to rest," she said at last. "I'm exhausted."

"Ah." It seemed the maeleachlainn had indeed forgotten the fragility of its charge. "I understand," it said, and Fíohra felt a flood of relief. "It is now about an hour before noon, small one," Maeleth said after a moment's consideration. "I will return for you an hour after noon. Will that be satisfactory?"

Fíohra nodded gratefully. "Aye. Very much so. Thank you, Maeleth."

It inclined its head in response as Fíohra opened her door. "I will inform the maeleachlainn of the carraiglas. But rest now, little mortal. I will return in two hours," it reminded her. "Do not forget."

~o~

Despite Maeleth's warning, she nearly did forget. Deep asleep after her bath and a meal, it was the wardrobe that saved Fíohra. She was wrenched from her dreamless slumber by the banging of wood. Thinking for a moment that she was back in the armory, Fíohra threw up her arm to fend off Maeleth's blow. When she felt nothing, she blinked away the sleep from her eyes and sat up, her muscles aching in protest. It took a minute for her to remember where she was and what she had forgotten, but when she did, it brought her to her feet in an instant.

Hurriedly re-buckling her sword belt around her armored tunic, Fíohra spared a glance around the room to discover the source of the noise that had woken her. To her amusement, she saw that the wardrobe had flung its doors open in a makeshift alarm. As Fíohra made for the waiting maeleachlainn, she offered the article a grateful pat. It was the second time that day it had proven both useful and friendly.

With a sigh, Fíohra turned from the wardrobe to the door. Maeleth and the caretaker of the carraiglas were waiting.

"I thought you had forgotten, little one," Maeleth intoned dryly as Fíohra fell into step with her guide. "It is difficult to judge the times within the walls of the mountain, even as a maeleachlainn."

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and wincing as her muscles protested the movement, Fíohra shook her head. "That…the wardrobe woke me up," she clarified, glad of the spark of conversation. "I nearly did forget," she mumbled.

To her great surprise, a deep, gravelly sound worked its way out of Maeleth's stone throat, echoing in the empty halls in what seemed to be maeleachlainn laughter. Fíohra looked up at the servant, astonished at the sudden display of emotion. Maeleth caught her gaze and the laugh stilled. "Forgive me, little mortal," it said. "I do not mean to offend."

Fíohra shook her head. "No, I'm not offended. I just thought…I didn't know you could laugh." The words emerged clumsily and she lowered her eyes, hurrying to keep up with her guide as it continued down the labyrinthine passages of the mountain.

Maeleth considered a moment before answering. "I understand, small one. The maeleachlainn are not like humans, as I believe you have judged for yourself. Our Maker has not endowed us with the mortal spirit, but there is also much we share with your kind." Maeleth paused and Fíohra bit her lip, unable to think of a response. Maeleth turned its head and continued without slowing its pace. "Does this bewilder you, little one? Speak freely."

Raising and lowering one shoulder, Fíohra obeyed. "Then…you do feel?"

"Feel?" Maeleth spoke the word slowly, as if tasting it. "What do you think I should feel?"

"Emotion, I suppose."

It took time to think before replying. "My master has spoken before of this mortal experience, but I confess I have yet to grasp it." Slowly, it shook its head. "The maeleachlainn do not feel emotion as you would call it."

"But you laughed!" Fíohra pressed.

"Laughed?"

She knit her brows. As taciturn as Maeleth had proved in the armory, it now made up for in exasperatingly cryptic responses. "Aye, just then. When I told you of the wardrobe."

"Ah." At last understanding seemed to have dawned on Maeleth's stony head. "I see, young one. The sound I made." Fíohra nodded, biting back the desire to sigh in relief. Aye, that sound. "I acknowledged the irony."

"What irony?" she wondered aloud.

The maeleachlainn spoke as it ushered its charge through an archway near the lower levels of the cavern. "The wardrobe in your chambers has long been an article of frustration among the maeleachlainn. It has been said by others of my kind that it would take nothing less than a human to tame the wardrobe's capriciousness. When you said that it had woken you, the irony was not lost on me. The maeleachlainn were right—indeed, it did take a human hand to tame it."

Fíohra made a face. "What did I do?"

"That I do not know. But if it took the trouble to make you punctual, it must be growing fond of you."

She opened her mouth to answer, then shut it quickly upon realizing that she had nothing to say. Shaking her head, she followed as Maeleth led her to the entrance of the stables. Dragons who aren't quite dragons, ironic servants of stone and wardrobes that show fondness for their owners—it was too much to understand all at once. She decided not to try.

"This is the maeleachlainn of the carraiglas, little mortal," Maeleth said in introduction as they entered the torchlit chamber of the stables, their previous conversation ended. It extended its hand to a second servant, an enormous male in worn breeches and a stained tunic. The maeleachlainn was leading one of the creatures for which it was responsible back into the iron-sheathed stall. Upon its introduction, it halted and bowed.

"Well met, young Fíohra," it said, and Fíohra could not help but note the difference in the voices of her two maeleachlainn guardians. Maeleth's was terse and clipped—like flint, Fíohra decided. This new maeleachlainn had a voice of marble—smoother, more varied, yet just as hard. It was an interesting discovery, and in her contemplation, she hardly noticed that the maeleachlainn was the first servant to use her proper name.

"Hello," she said in reply. "Well met to you too, I suppose."

The new maeleachlainn bolted the carraiglas it was leading into its stall and came forward. "Do you ride the mortal horsekind, young one?" it asked without prelude.

Fíohra shook her head. "No." She did not add the fact that it was due to their poverty that she had been deprived of the skill. It seemed irrelevant.

"Ah. That is good. You might have had to unlearn much before mastering the art of riding these creatures." It laid a heavy stone hand on the stall door. "They may have the spirit of mortal horses, but they are wholly themselves. You must learn to see them as such."

Fíohra nodded and stepped up to the stall, not noting that Maeleth had left without a farewell. The carraiglas within the enclosure was neither eating nor drinking, as a real horse might have done. Indeed, she saw neither food nor water in the stall. Instead, the beast was standing stock-still, watching Fíohra with its intelligent coalblack eyes. "Do they have names?" she thought to ask her teacher.

The maeleachlainn leaned next to her and studied the carraiglas. "Names? Why would they require such things?"

Fíohra's brow furrowed. "To tell them apart," she explained.

Her teacher shook its head. "The naming of creatures is a task not to be undertaken lightly. There is power in a name, and great meaning."

"Oh."

The stone servant looked down to the human at its side. Its voice remained both as hard and unfeeling as marble, but its words were kind. "But if you wish, child," it conceded, "you may speak to the master on this. He may think it fitting that a mortal bestow a name on the carraiglas you choose."

Fíohra's face brightened, the impossible task of distinguishing the enchanted creatures from one another now made a little easier. She raised a grateful glance to her teacher. "And what may I call you?"

The maeleachlainn returned its attention to the carraiglas and waited a moment before answering. "Maelail," it said at last. "You may call me Maelail."

~o~

To her surprise—and great relief—Maelail did not ask Fíohra to ride immediately. Unlike Maeleth, it seemed to understand that Fíohra's inexperience would only serve to endanger her around the great stone beasts. Instead, her teacher bid her watch as it rode one down the long, torchlit aisle of the stable hall. From what Fíohra could judge, the carraiglas moved much as a real horse would, though the creature was swifter and more tireless than its mortal cousins.

She then took note as Maelail dismounted and described for her the tack of the carraiglas. The saddle and bridle were of iron-bound leather, and did not look comfortable in the least. But Maelail bid its student only to practice lifting the articles from the back of the creature—a feat Fíohra found more difficult but less impossible that she'd believed. Maelail then had her clean the tack, brushing the metal and rubbing the leather with a soapy substance that reminded Fíohra of the little bottle Maelé had given her for the bath. When her task was complete, Fíohra was released from her lesson with the maeleachlainn.

"And you know your way to the Westward, little mortal?" Maelail asked before they parted. "Or do you wish me to accompany you?"

Fíohra shook her head. "No, thank you. I'll be a'right." She thought it wise to keep from her teacher the fact that, while the shadowy halls of her new home and their unknown dangers frightened her, she was determined to earn her independence, from both the maeleachlainn and from her fear.

Maelail bowed. "Good day, young Fíohra. I will see you this evening. The master has requested that you sup with him again tonight."

"Oh." She steeled herself to the thought. "Aye. Tonight then." And with that she parted with the maeleachlainn.