Gail Wagner

Army of Sorrow

Chapter 1

 

Brea O’Brien yanked on the wrench and the pipe fitting finally moved a little.  With a feeling of victory, she spun it around.  A smile spread across her lips.  Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.  As she let go of it, a barrage of dirty water and gunk poured over her head.

 

“Ahh!” she screamed, scrambling out from under the sink.  And maybe it is…  “Mam, I thought you said this would be simple, that humans do it all the time.”

 

Her mam, Maeve, looked down from where she sat on the edge of the toaster, shoulder deep inside, jiggling one of the heating elements.  Her auburn hair was tidy in its bun and her hazel eyes sparkled.  Brea had the distinct impression she was trying not to laugh. 

 

“I can’t even rinse off since now the drain pipe is undone,” Brea complained, pulling a potato peel out of her hair.  She shuddered, trying not to think about what else might be in it.

 

“Well, now you have more of an incentive to get it fixed, don’t you?” Maeve said, brushing crumbs off on her red pants.  Her smile was unmistakable now.  Brea huffed and wriggled back under the sink.

 

She had to work for more than an hour to get the pipe back together so that it didn’t leak every time the water was turned on.  Her mam had long since finished with the toaster and had moved onto the flower beds outside.  It wasn’t technically her job, but she loved to do it.  She had also glamoured herself into human size.  It’s hard to work on rose bushes when they’re equivalent to the size of giant trees.  One of the downsides to gardening as a leprechaun.

 

Mam had a way with plants though.  They seemed to bloom under her fingers.  They tried to commit suicide when Brea went anywhere near them.  One more thing she sucked at.  It wasn’t surprising though.  The things she couldn’t do made a pretty long list.  Starting with being normal.

 

Normal in her world would start with being the first or second child in her family, but no, she was the third.  Again, normally that would be awesome but not for her.  All leprechauns had one of four powers so that a family group always had all of them: weather, healing, mechanical, or languages.  Her sister, Una, could practically heal a bone by looking at it and her brother, Orin, could speak any language as well as to any kind of animal.  As the rare third child, a trian, she should have gotten something bigger, better.  Nope, she got nothing.  Not even one of the typical four. 

 

That was why she now stood in the doorway of Bramblewood Cottage with potato peels in her hair.  Her mam had this bright idea that if she learned how to do everything the hard way, aka the human way, her gift would just magically appear.  After over 500 years, Brea had pretty much given up on that idea.  So had the rest of her family.  No one really talked about it or what it had cost the family.

 

Before Brea had unexpectedly arrived, the O’Briens were one of the highest ranking families in Ireland.  Her da, Liam, had fought in the battle of St. Patrick and for his loyal service he had been given the responsibility of taking care of the descendants of one of the druids who had fought alongside the fey.  It was a great honor.  Most leprechauns simply used their gifts at their discretion to help Ireland in general.  Typically that meant they stayed out of it, especially as the world got more advanced and people forgot about them.

 

It bothered her just a bit that leprechauns didn’t get any credit for all the work they did. Most people thought of leprechauns as little old men who sat around hoarding gold and hiding it at the end of rainbows, not really believing in their existence. First, leprechauns were made up of equal numbers of males and females, and second, why would anyone hide their money at the end of a rainbow, especially after everyone knew about it? That was just asking for someone to steal it. It all seemed rather silly.

 

“All done?” Maeve asked as she stood, brushing the dirt off her hands.  Brea nodded.  “See, I knew you could do it.  By the time you get married and leave, you’ll be an old pro.”

 

Brea held back a snort.  The thought of her ever getting married was hilarious.  No one wanted her.  Brandon Coyle had made that quite clear when he’d broken off their engagement a couple of decades before.  They had been betrothed since shortly after her birth.  The Coyles wasted no time procuring what they thought would be a powerful match for their son.  The arrangement had come to a screeching halt when it became clear that Brea’s powers weren’t as great as they thought.  It still stung.

 

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll see you back at the house,” Maeve said.  Brea smiled.  Her mam knew she had a weakness for modern conveniences, particularly hot running water.  She ran back in the house and jumped in the guest shower.  Mr. Bradigan let her use it as much as she wanted.  It made the small room with a wash stand in her own home seem archaic.  Now if I can just talk Mr. B into getting a computer…online shopping would be awesome!

 

It took longer than she would have thought to get all the gunk out of her hair.  She always kept a few things at the cottage and pulled clean jeans and a t-shirt out of a drawer in the guest room.  Her family made fun of the fact that she dressed like a human but human’s just had better clothes.  Sweeping her waist-length hair into a ponytail, she was ready to meet Orla.

 

Orla had been her best for friend for the last century or so…well technically she was her only friend.  Their friendship bordered on being offensive to those around them since Orla was a sprite.  They tended to be solitary creatures, more so even than leprechauns were.  Brea had promised to meet her after her chores were done.

 

Brea shrunk back down to her natural 10 inches and sped along a tiny trail towards the woods, keeping an eye out for Orla’s colorful figure.  Sprites prepared the earth for season changes and their clothes reflected whatever they worked on.  Since it was fall, she had her work cut out.  A spot of violet caught Brea’s eye as it darted among the branches of a tree.

 

“Orla!” she called, waving her arms back and forth.  The sprite flew down and landed lightly next to her.  She gave Brea a hug, her iridescent wings still vibrated from her flight.  Orla looked just like what humans thought faeries should: long golden curls, beautiful shimmery dress that perfectly complimented her periwinkle eyes, and enormous wings that rivaled a butterfly.  Not for the first time, a twinge of jealousy twisted in Brea’s stomach as she looked at her best friend.

 

“Did you finally finish?” A playful smile spread on Orla’s angelic face.

 

“Yes, no thanks to my mam. I swear, she’ll be the death of me. I wonder how bad she’ll feel when I get electrocuted by a small appliance or something.”

 

“You know your mam would never let you get hurt.”

 

“Yeah, only because she’s smart enough not to let me near anything electrical.” Brea aimed a kick at a small pebble. It bounced a couple of feet and landed among the roots of a tree. Orla watched her quietly for a moment.

 

“Well, what would you like to do? I have the rest of the day.” She glanced at the sky then slyly said, “Although that’s not that much time now.”

 

Brea stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. “How about you do the plumbing job next time?”

 

“I’m just kidding.” Orla laughed, holding her hands out in a peace offering. They strolled up the small path, deeper into the woods. Orla explained that she had been experimenting with a new shade of leaves while Brea expounded on the horrors of her day. They were a good distance from home and nearing the stream when Brea suddenly froze in her tracks. A faint sound drifted toward them on the breeze.

 

“Do you hear that?” They both tilted their heads trying to hear clearly. The noise reached them again, starting and stopping in a sort of rhythm. “There it is again.”

 

A bewildered look crossed both girls’ faces. It sounded like music, but not from any instrument they were familiar with. Brea took a tentative step in the direction it seemed to be coming from. Orla grasped her wrist, fear twisting her features.

 

“We’re on faerie land. It can’t be a human. They’re not able to come here, and I want to know what kind of creature would be playing music out here.” Brea kept her voice low, trying to reassure Orla. Sprites had strict orders not to be seen by human eyes.

 

The lilting melody drifted on the breeze. Brea turned toward it almost in a trance. Who or what could possibly play so exquisitely? It was like…Brea struggled to think of a description. Like a rainbow sounds. That was the closest she could come. She skirted between bushes and behind small trees. The music grew steadily louder until she was peeking around an ash.

 

Sitting on a boulder was a young man. He looked to be in his late teens. Sunlight filtered through the forest foliage and glinted off his honey-tinted hair. He seemed to be playing a penny whistle, but Brea had never heard one sound like this. Eyes closed, lost in a world of his own, he swayed in time. Absolutely enchanted she stepped closer, though whether by his music or by him she wasn’t quite sure. How could a human have gotten through the magical barriers?

 

Completely unaware of what she was doing, Brea began to move out from her hiding spot when a hand pulled her back. Slightly irritated, she turned and saw Orla shaking her head vigorously. Leaning closer, Orla mouthed, “What if it’s a trap? Maybe he’s a kelpie. They love to take human form. Or what if he’s a decoy for some mountain trolls?”

 

“His hair is dry. You know kelpies always have wet hair,” Brea breathed back. “As for mountain trolls, we’re too far from the mountains. Be reasonable.”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to be.” Orla was beginning to look frantic.

 

“It’s okay. I’ll change to my human form. He won’t even know what I am.” Quickly before Orla could talk her out of it, she shot up several feet. Orla was no longer in sight. The gift of invisibility must be nice, Brea thought sourly. She stood with her back to the tree for a moment and then timidly stepped out.

 

She stood about ten feet from where the boy sat. He was, as yet, unaware of her presence, blissfully lost as he was. Brea walked forward, her feet making no more sound than the wind stirring the grass. Thinking it might be best to announce her arrival in the small clearing, she intentionally stepped on a twig. The resulting snap was not very loud, but the boy instantly stopped playing. His eyes flashed open and darted around him. They paused when they landed on Brea, who was standing very still. Whatever she had told Orla, she wasn’t entirely sure he was safe. He looked like a human, a drop-dead gorgeous one, but looks could be very deceiving.

 

His face relaxed into an easy smile when he saw Brea. “I’m sorry. Was I disturbing you? I wanted to try out my new whistle…” he trailed off as he surveyed the girl in front of him. “Do you live nearby?”

 

Brea ignored his question. She took a small step in his direction, a hand halfway raised. “Who are you?” The question came out in a quiet whisper.

 

The boy stood and confidently closed the remaining space between them. He slowly raised his hand, as though not wanting to scare her off. “I’m Caith. Caith Hennesy. I live over in Donegal.”

 

Brea stared at the outstretched hand. Then looking up, she was mesmerized by the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. They were like melted chocolate—dark chocolate. That was unexpected in someone so fair. He still looked at her expectantly, although now he looked a little worried as well, probably questioning her sanity, being out in the middle of a forest presumably all alone. Without thinking, she timidly placed her hand into his much larger one and shook it. It felt warm and comfortable—like coming home.

 

She smiled shyly. “Brea.”