Chapter 8: Older Things Walk the Earth

"Come away, O, human child!
To the woods and waters wild
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than
you can understand."

― The Stolen Child by the Irish poet, William Butler Yeats

Nick seeks refuge in a strange land, a land which turns out stranger than even he could imagine.

Ireland 1916

Perhaps the fox standing on his two hindpaws was far too civilized, but in all fairness, he came from a place where animals had developed an advanced modern culture and that had muted much of his species' natural instincts. Unlike his primitive brethren, Nick Wilde did not have that ancient kill or be killed skills that were necessary to survive the wilds of the strange land around him. Even so, he should have heard the men and smelled the metallic tang of blood. Pressed against a stone wall, he tried not to pant in fear while the humans passed by on the other side. "I've been gut shot, I have!" one of the men groaned in pain as he slowly hobbled along while leaning on the shoulder of another man. "Those English bastards have done me in for sure."

"Patty, you haven't been gut shot!" another of the humans scoffed. "The bullet went clean through your side."

"Then why is the world spinning?" Patty asked.

"Because you almost finished that crock of whisky Mister O'Malley gave us yesterday. Stone cold drunk you be."

"Quiet you two," the man upon whom the other was leaning against snapped. "Those devils may have patrols about! Do you want to get scooped up before we get home? It was a miracle we escaped Saint Stephen's Green, I saw Kevin get mowed down by the machine gun they had set up on the roof of the Shelbourne Hotel."

"He was a good lad," the wounded rebel added. "Still I feel bad that we cut and ran, leaving Michael Mallin and the others."

"The uprising is doomed, there is no way that Pearse and Connolly, along with their handful of lads are going to win because we had no guns. The rifles that we were promised never came."

"But the English came by train from Curragh Camp with plenty of rifles, machine guns, and cannon."

"So they did, now come on we need to keep going while it is still dark."

Nick watched the three young Irish one-time rebels continue down the old dirt road towards the distant village.

"So the mortals are killing each other again?" a soft voice asked in a musical tone from behind the fox. Nick spun around to see a small creature sitting on the wall. It almost looked like a small female human with wings and was dressed in what looked like green leaves.

"What…what are you?" he stammered out as he stared at the creature.

"The question is what kind of beast are you?" the creature asked. "I have never seen a fox walking on its hind legs before and carrying a bundle, nor has one ever spoken to me like a man. I first thought that you might be some kind of púca, but you seem lost and do not act like any of those other mischievous shape-shifting devils I have met before."

The creature took wing and twirled in the air for a moment before gracefully landing nearer to the fox. "No, you are not a púca and yet you are not a fox, at least you don't act like any fox I have ever seen around here and I have been living here a very, very long time."

"What does that mean?" Nick asked as he watched the small dainty looking creature standing on the weathered stone wall before him.

"I am a wood sprite and have seen all, for I was already here before the sons of Nemed came and I watched them become enslaved by the dreaded Fomóire. They were gentle souls and I cried when they rebelled and fled this green land. But their children returned first as the Fir Bolg, who defeated the Fomóire and later as the mighty Tuatha Dé Danann. Those were grand times for us on this green island for the gods ruled with the mortals and great heroes walked the land, but then came the Sons of Miled and they drove the Tuatha Dé Danann underground…" The small winged creature suddenly stopped speaking and in a panic fluttered down against a stone. "HIDE!"

Nick quickly flattened himself against the old stone wall while he looked around. The air had suddenly grown chilly and the stars above darkened even more as if something unseen had flown across the already dark sky. He glanced over at the tiny strange creature and she was frantically looking skyward in terror and following something passing by, it was a threat that the fox could not see.

"RUN!" the sprite screamed out even as she took wing in a panic and fled over the wall.

There was a profound sense of foreboding that overcame the fox while he ran after the tiny creature, it felt to Nick that an unseen foe was breathing upon his neck and his hackles rose in fear. Something cold slammed into his back and he stumbled onto his knees, whatever was attacking him seemed to be ripping at his fur through the shirt he wore and he gave a yip in pain even as he desperately tried to curl himself into a tight ball amongst the weeds. His back now burned in excruciating agony just as if he was being jabbed with red hot irons. His ears flicked when he heard the thundering trod of a horse's hoofs and whatever was tearing at him released their grip. Nick looked up just in time to see a mighty jet black stallion leap over him and watched while its strange rider swung something around him like it was a pale white whip. "Back ye damned spirits!" the rider cried out with a mighty bellow.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The strange whip snapped through the air and Nick felt more than heard the screams of his unseen attackers while they fled from the rider's swings. "Begone ye cursed demons!" the rider yelled. "Get thee back to thy graves!"

The horse made a snorting sound and Nick peeked up at the huge beast, it was then he noticed what the rider had been wildly swinging at his unseen attackers and realized it was the bony spine of a human creature! His eyes widened, even more, when he looked up along the black-clothed jacketed arm and saw that the rider had no head!

"They smelled that evil red book upon ye," a gravelly sounding voice spoke. "The stench drew them to you like a bear to honey."

It was then that the fox realized the rider was not entirely headless for his head was tucked under his left arm. "The dulachán!" he faintly heard the small sprite call out just before he became dizzy from the shock of being attacked and from the sight of his strange ghastly-looking savior.

"Judy?" He called out into the misty darkness which swirled around him. His ears flattened in fear when he heard movement in the dark.

The fox realized that he was once again in his police uniform and drew his tranquilizer gun, holding it towards whatever was stalking him.

"Judy, where are you? I need you, I'm so scared!"

Something moved again in the mist and his paw shook while he took aim with the gun, he pulled the trigger but did not hear the thud of the dart hitting anything. Desperately he drew another dart and fumbled while he tried to reload, dropping the round onto the mist-shrouded ground.

"Is he dead?" a strange voice suddenly asked.

"I don't think so? No, I'm sure he only fainted," a more familiar voice answered and he realized it was the sprite speaking. Was he dreaming or was he dead?

Slowly Nick opened his eyes to see a small pointy-eared man standing there in a green jacket and pants. He looked to be about the size of his friend Finnick. The creature before him almost appeared human but had a more pronounced nose and a thick reddish-orange beard which almost matched his fur's color.

"Aw, he is still alive!" the green-clad creature grumbled. "I wanted his fur if he was dead."

"Seamus, what would a leipreachān do with a fox fur?" the sprite asked.

"It would make a fine blanket on a chilly night."

"I prefer my fur on my own skin," Nick finally said as he slowly sat up.

"Ach, have it your way!" the small green-wearing creature said before Nick rubbed his eyes with his paws.

When the fox opened his eyes again, the leipreachān was gone! "Where did he go?" he asked the sprite.

"He left, they do that. You were still alive and had no money to steal, so he went away!"

"The other one, the headless rider, is he gone too?"

"The dark one has continued his ride towards Dublin. He has many souls yet to reap still."

"What was chasing me?" the fox asked as he stood up on his hindpaws. "Also, I felt them tearing into me as if they were using claws, but now the pain is gone."

"Those were the Sluagh, dead sinners who have returned as evil spirits to bedevil the dying, and they have been drawn like flocks of ravens towards Dublin town. I have not seen so many gathered since the King Killer waged war upon those who live here. As for the pain, it was not your body that they were tearing at, but they were trying to pull your soul free of your body," the small creature replied even while she fluttered up onto the wall again. "So, fox who is not a fox, do you have a name?"

"Nick, my name is Nick Wilde and I am from somewhere else," the fox replied.

"I figured that much," the sprite giggled. "So are you from the lands to the West, where many of those who once lived here fled? I heard that it is a land of milk and honey."

"I am not of this world," Nick answered. "I come from a place where animals walk like me and talk like me, drive cars, fly planes…"

"Aeroplanes?" the small creature excitedly called out with joy, interrupting the fox. "I once saw an aeroplane fly overhead! It is still hard to imagine that these mortals have learned to fly without wings!"

"Anyways, I am lost," Nick continued. His ears drooped atop of his head and his tail curled near his feet.

"Then we will go see Brigid!" the sprite called out in a determined tone. "She is one of the Tuatha Dé Danann and very, very wise."I am sure she will know how to help you. But we will have to be careful for she lives in Kildare, where she was once thought as a saint of the new god."

"You haven't told me your name, I told you mine," Nick replied while he shouldered his parcel. "So what should I call you?"

"Knowing the name of something or someone gives one power over that thing or person," the sprite giggled as she fluttered just out of the fox's reach. "So if you are some evil spirit, I now have your name."

"Hey, that's not fair!" the fox protested before he gave his small winged companion a smirk. "But then again, are you sure I gave you my real name? Nick is short for my real name and where I come from you have three names."

The sprite turned towards the fox and frowned. "You have to be a fox, no other creature can be so sly!" she finally said with a shake of her head.

"Since I don't know your name, I will have to make up something to call you!" Nick continued while he walked along the trail. "Let me see, what is the name for an annoying little insect? Mozzie, after a blood-sucking mosquito…no! Skeeter…no! Gnat! Yes, you are just as annoying as a gnat! A gnat is always buzzing around someone's face, driving them crazy."

"I'm not a bug!" the sprite protested.

"Then what is your name?"

"Beithe."

"Bree?"

"No, it is Beithe."

"Bay?"

"Never mind, that isn't my real name," the small creature sighed out in frustration.

"Then Gnat it is!" Nick snickered while he followed the sprite down the road.

She had lived among the children of Éire for centuries, hiding in plain sight. Stepping through the entrance of her small apartment above the shop of a humble cobbler, she looked like many of the other middle-aged women who lived in the neighborhood. She sighed while she hung her shawl on a peg and ran her hands through her now freed long gray and reddish-orange locks, suddenly changing her appearance to a much younger and prettier version of herself. Reaching for a brush she began to comb her hair, watching in the wall-mounted mirror while the strands of gray hair disappeared. "Much better!" she softly proclaimed to her image in the mirror.

"It is past time ye got home!" a deep voice called out from the hallway and a small almost human-looking creature stood there with his arms crossed. The small creature wore a leather apron, a bright red jacket with dark brown trousers held up with a sturdy black belt that sported a large silver buckle. There were black shoes on his small feet which also had large silver buckles upon them.

"Well, Fergus you are in a foul mood today!" she answered with a patient smile. "I had much to do, for it looks like war is coming again. I was told that some of the townsmen have gone to Maynooth in preparation to march onto Dublin. Why Frank and his sister Eva…"

"Whist! Whist! These mortals always be fighting with each other," Fergus quickly huffed out, interrupting her story even as the leipreachān held up his small hand to silence her. "You have company and not of the humanly kind."

"I made us tea!" another voice called out from the kitchen. It was a strangely accented voice that the goddess who called herself Brigid had not heard for a very, very long time.

The púca or pooka is a supernatural shape-changer, which could take the appearance of many animals and even humans. Often they appear as black horses, enticing the gullible to a wild ride. In Mary Chase's 1944 play Harvey, the protagonist Elwood P. Dowd's unseen or imaginary friend is an invisible pooka who looks like a large rabbit.

The sprite tells Nick a short version of the legendary invasions of Ireland.

The dulachán is indeed a headless rider, who is either mounted on a black stallion or in a funeral wagon. In Disney's classic Darby O'Gill and the Little People (The best Saint Patrick's Day movie for young kids to watch with the talented Albert Sharpe and even a singing Sir Sean Connery), he is the coachman for the Cóiste Bodhar.

My apologies to my Irish friends, but I had to have a leipreachān or two in my story. The small green-dressed one, who wanted Nick's fur, appears more like a modern version of a leprechaun in his appearance. Fergus is dressed in older, more traditional, red clothing.

The King Killer would be Oliver Cromwell, who was called the Lord Protector after the Parliament of England beheaded King Charles I. Cromwell led a devastatingly bloody invasion of Ireland in 1649. "Catholicism is more than a religion, it is a political power. Therefore I'm led to believe there will be no peace in Ireland until the Catholic Church is crushed"

The Sluagh have been described as a pack of unforgiven, unrepentant, dead sinners who fly in like a flock of dark birds from the west to steal a dying person's soul before he or she can be given their Last Rites.

Brigid is a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann and the goddess of wisdom, poetry, healing, protection, blacksmithing, and domesticated animals. Saint Brigid is one of Ireland's patron saints and there are some who believe that she was not a real person, but the Christianization of the earlier goddess. I will leave the theological arguments to those who are far wiser than I to deal with but in this fictional story, she is one and the same.

The champion sportsman Frank Burke and his sister Eve were involved in the 1916 Rising.