Fanmarbh, the wandering death

I am the hollow in the night that devours all light. Even the stars avert their gaze when I ride. I befriended the shadows, they dance with the dark, twirling around the moon, suffocating its silver light. My head, caged in an iron mussel, forever tied to my palm. It cackles along with the thunder when I crack my whip, the whip made from the spine of a man. One crack and the storm is mine to command. No lock can keep me out, no gate can hold me back, there's no wall I can't tear down. The hinges will scream, and the rust will bleed.

I can hardly remember who I was before the night took me, before the darkness twirled and bowed before me, the battlefield, our ballroom. Perhaps I was a soldier. Perhaps I was nothing.

All I remember is her. Seren.

The elf maiden with eyes of sapphire and ivory skin. Sometimes the dawn teases me, the sun's rays stretch out whispering the ghost of her touch, before I smite every beam in the sky around me, haunting me wherever I go.

This is all my fault.

The horse carries me without rest. He does not stumble, though I long for him to falter, to let me slip into the dark and be forgotten. But I cannot. The road is endless, and where the path ends, a life does too.

Sometimes, I envy you. The mortal, the warm, the ones whose stories are still unfolding. I have none left. Only the endless road, and the calling of names.

There was a time when I was free, when I was not bound to this saddle. There was a time my skull was free from my palm. I had a home once. I had her.

And now she's dead.

And it's all my fault.

I ride on through the dark, past the echoes of howling wolves that fled at the sound of my canter. Even the bats keep their distance. Sometimes I tease the moon, like the sun teases me. I use its dwindling light to cast terrific shadows upon the town. I find myself laughing as the fae children scream and run into their homes.

Then i realise, they are right about me. I am a monster. I am cruel. I am death itself. I am the monster in the folks' campfire stories. I am the nightmare that haunts little fae children's sleep.

The storm has spoken to me. A new command from the unseelie king, time to whisper death into the ear of the innocent. In the swiff of cloud there is a farmer, an old man with hair as grey as lead. He stoops over the hay bails, pitch fork wearily lifting up and down. His back is stiff hunched. His face was a map, creased in wrinkles, his lips almost shriveled to nothing.

“This is the man? The dullahans should've got this chap a century ago” it was a wonder he was able to stand.

The cloud shook in reply, shifting the vision to a girl in the back. Hiding beneath the hay bails. She stared right through the cloud, through my eyes, perhaps they would have stared into my soul if I had one. Her sapphire eyes are glowing now.

“Her” the wind hissed. “Serina” Before the cloud turned to ash in my hand.

I ride on through the dark, past the screeches of woodland creatures. I hear the halting footsteps of trotting paws snapping dried out twigs in the distance. They go so quiet I can almost hear their breath. It is a long ride to the barn from the vision. My horse knows the way, and I trust him to bring me there. Meanwhile I sit and contemplate, thinking about her, Seren. Her name will never leave my mind. I am haunted by it. She had golden locks that would float in the breeze as we galloped through these woodlands together. They were once gold and green. Now they were black as night, dead. Not one leaf remained, the wood had begun to burn into the night, bark slowly turned to ash.

The bean nighes had warned us of our fate. The wise ones spoke their words of wisdom and she ignored them. I ignored them. I loved her. I still love her. I still see her dying body in my arms. She wasn't supposed to die. Immortal and fair, but now she is a star in the sky, a star whose light I fold into the darkness with the reach of an arm. She is gone. This was all my fault.

Do you hear it? The pounding hooves, the rattle of the coach? That is the sound of your breath ending. I have no mercy. When I speak your name, it is not a curse. It is a severing. Your life drops like a blade falling through silk.

The barn is in sight, a faint lantern glows by the dusty window pane. The man is leaving just now, hobbling his way back to the house. I could sense the little girl behind the wooden door of the barn. I stood before the knob, watching the hinges disintegrate to ash. The door fell open at my feet and I walked in, parting my lips to speak her name when I felt something. A tight ache in the pit of my stomach, it churned. I looked into her eyes. They were too familiar, her chin was the same round point, her lip trembled at the sight of me.

“Say her nameee” the breeze whispered a hiss.

It couldn't be.

She couldn't be.

Serena died, I killed her long ago.

“Who is this child, why must she die tonight” i spoke in my mind, not to scare her.

“You know who she is.” it snapped. “There is a prophecy, end her before midnight”

“What prophecy?”

“When silver moon and shadow meet,

The headless rider stirs his feet.

A name once spoken seals the breath,

A single word becomes a death.

The maiden lost by lover’s cry,

Still weeps beneath the starless sky.

From love’s own cry the shadow wakes,

The word that kills, the bond that breaks.

A bride of starlight, fair and true,

Fell by the name he never knew.

Her womb bore fire, her blood bore flame,

A hidden child who bears her name.

Yet from her fading breath was sown,

A seed of blood that was his own.

The Bean Nighe wept, the babe was drawn,

From dying arms to secret dawn.

The bean nighe sisters bathed the child,

And bore her hence through night defiled.

Unknowing sire, by grief remade,

Turned heart to ash, in darkness stayed.

Beware the voice, the whispered call,

That strikes the fairest hearts to fall.

For he who rides with lantern grim,

Shall know the past is tied to him.

Ten winters hence the path shall show,

Where grief and mercy both may grow.

If blade is stayed, if silence keeps,

The dead shall rise from where she sleeps.

But if the child by word is slain,

The rider shall be loosed of chain.

And should his mercy stay the breath,

He walks forever, thrall to death.

No grave, no rest, no final bed—

But endless nights with severed head.

Through ages vast his curse shall run,

Till all the innocent are undone.”

Falling to my knees, I couldn't bear to look at the child before me. My once pure blood flowing through her little veins. What have I done? I remember now. And all at once it all made sense. The unseelie court had marched into battle against the seelie court. I left the dullahans of the unseelie court, they had taken their power, a gift from the ancestors into their own hands. No longer messengers of fate, they became murderers. I fought alongside the elves of the seelie court, for months we were at war. I returned to find my lover being dragged away into the distance, calling out her name in a panic. My tongue had killed her. The bean nighes had taken her body, and saved the child within. Rage soared through my body, impulsively, recklessly I attacked. Ten men I fought, five I had slain, five had captured me. The next thing I recall was waking up in dungeons of tar black ice. Grabbing me by my shoulders and holding me down. The soldiers wrapped my face in an iron mussel and I was taken to the unseelie King.

He was a giddy little redcap. With pointed shoes and a ridiculous crown. His face was crazed, large glistening eyes, the sneaky, toothed grin of a mad man.

“I hear you are a mighty warrior Fanmarbh” the king smirked. “Fight for me and you will be greatly rewarded. Not in gold of course” He wheezed, leaning over in a fit of laughter. Not ceasing until he ran short of breath.

Unable to speak, I shook my head in a firm rejection. Never. That earned me a thrash to the ribs.

“You will fight for me, either freely or not.” he chuckled, gleefully skipping down from the throne three sizes too big for him. His brows raised as he grinned a chuckle, skipping towards me merrily with a scythe in hand. Slowly he brought its edge to my throat.

And ever since then I have carried my head in my palms. A constant reminder, it is bound to me like I am bound to him. The body cannot survive without the head, upon the shoulder or not. I killed Seren. I will not kill Serina. My daughter.

“I will never speak her name,” I proclaimed. “I am a soldier of the seelie court. I am a dullahan messenger not a dullahan murderer. No longer will I whisper the names of the innocent. No longer will I fight for you or the unseelie. I am the prince of Lunareth Glade. You will not strip me of my honour. I do not bow before you. I do not serve you. If I am to die, I will die in honor. With dignity. With loyalty to my people.”

“Foool” the storm boomed. “Curse you”

Lightning struck the barn, the hay went up in flames. The little girl cried out, weakly I ran to save her. A strong force pulling me back.

“I am the prince of Lunareth Glade. I serve my people, the seelie court. Until my dying breath I will fight for my people.” I pushed harder “ for my child”

I looked up to see the north star breaking through the darkness. It began to beam down over me. Feeling strength, I persisted. The thunder roared. Its bellow echoing a shake to the earth. I caught hold of the child's arm, her skin was burning. Lifting her over my shoulder, weighing no more than a sack of feed. The walls began to cave in, making it out just in time before the roof collapsed. I dived onto the ground for cover, protecting the little girl's head with my arms.

“You will pay for thissss” the wind hissed. “Mark my words you will pay”

Soon enough the storm had passed, for now. I felt my strength beginning to weaken, I would face my consequences, my fate. I always thought this would be my gift, for the curse of eternal slavery to be broken. To pass into the next life, but now looking at the child before me I wasn't so sure. I wasn't there for her, I wouldn't be there for her. I had abandoned her, I didn't even know of her existence. And now she would cease to know mine.

It was then that the moon spoke out to the kingdoms, a prophecy which echoed far and wide. The true prophecy.

He walked the shadow, yet chose the light,

Sacrificed himself for love’s small spark.

The false words of the Unseelie fell,

And darkness bowed within his heart.

His head restored, his words returned,

His throne reclaimed, his honor earned.

The child, the shard of love, remains,

Fate is won by courage, not by chains.

Light endures where he now stands,

A father, a king, a heart unbound

Light surged around me. Ascending into the sky, the head in my hands fell free, and the iron mussel was torn away. Upon my shoulders I could feel life, I could see again. Truly see. See the child before me, my own child. And I looked up to the heavens in praise.

Descending back down I embraced her, my little girl. She seemed to understand, like a decade of knowledge had been bestowed upon her, and she held on tight. Her little fingers clasped to my ears, looking at me in deep thought. Then a smile.

“Papa”

“Yes my love” I whispered gently, stroking back her golden hair. “Lets go home”