Sex and Murder Magazine

By Mike Phillips

Set high in the mountains was a pillar of stone. Long ago it had been put there, sent into exile in a land where few troubled or dared to go. Only the old ones knew the reason why and their memories were fading with each passing day, becoming little more than a fireside story that may or may not be true. For the rest it remained a tribute to nothing, a monument without purpose in the lonely wilderness.

The mountain winds had howled and cracked, scouring the pillar like the cruel thongs of a taskmaster’s whip. Over endless days and nights the wind did its work, breaking the pillar into grains of sand, scattering the pieces like the feathered seeds of dandelions on a spring breeze.

But for all the long and torturous years of wind and rain, heat and cold, something inside the pillar endured. A spirit was caught within, doomed forever to inhabit each fragment, spread to the far corners of the world until it could no longer be a danger. And for just cause had this vengeance been fixed. The evils the spirit worked had been many and the suffering it caused had been great.

Unable to escape its fate, the spirit waited. Sometimes when storm clouds gathered, the pillar would lose its shape amidst the gloom. But when the sun came out again there it would be, a gray monolith that always seemed to be reaching for, but never quite touching, the sky. Though only a few beetles or other, many legged things with backs as hard as the rock on which they lived found refuge there, the spirit knew that some day its chance would come. Some day it would be free.

*****

From the valley below came a fluttering shape, a small, winged creature riding the currents of the air. It was one of the faerie folk, a young man that had once shined with the light of the sun. But now his light had been diminished and spoke of private sorrow.

As the sun rose the faerie came to the top of the mountain, landing before the pillar of stone as he wiped tears from his eyes. Buffeted by the harsh wind, he put a hand to the pillar to steady himself, feeling the pulsing of the life force within. Resolute, he removed his hand, taking from his pack a thick book, bound with leather and inlaid with gold script.

With reverence the faerie placed the book on the ground before him, propped open upon a rock that once had been a certain fraction of the pillar. He had no need to look for the page, having marked the place with a single rose, once red and full, but now as crushed between the pages as the young man felt in his heart. Seeing the rose, remembering, he became more steadfast in his purpose than ever.

Turning away from the book, he took a moment to look upon the thing he had come to join. It was pocked and cracked, in some parts fallen to the ground in great hunks of stone. Somehow over time the fractured pillar had grown to resemble the ominous figure of a man, tall and ruthless, frightening to all creatures with the mind to see it for what it truly was. For an instant the vision terrified the young faerie man and he withdrew, the red petals of the broken rose falling from his hand, castaway on the wind.

But remembering the events of the night past, he wiped still more tears from his eyes and ignored the fear in his heart. Taking a brush and paints from his pack, he began to copy sigils from the book upon the stone. As he did so, the rock under his touch began to quiver with delight, growing anxious and expectant with each stroke of the brush. Soon the signs were all in place, the words of power spoken.

As the final act he cut his hand and spread his blood upon the stone. The spirit began to seethe with pleasure for it knew the proper rituals had been preformed; it would soon be free in the world once again. At last the faerie blew his magic dust over the pillar and threw himself upon it, commanding the spirit to be released.

The blackness of the spirit arose from every rock and every grain. Like a vapor it came, gathering from near and far, a shapeless midnight cloud in the full light of day. It swirled and turned, collecting itself, yet subject still to its captor, the wind. But not for long, not now that it had been loosed once more.

The spirit spoke a single word, all that was needed to make the spell complete, permission to take the offer that was freely made, the choice that must be decided for the magic to be consummated, “Join?”

“Yes,” the faerie cried, “yes, yes, join with me.”

If it could be so, the shapeless spirit might have smiled, showing the pleasure it took from being free, what it knew was to come. For in the joining it would be the more than what it had been. It would have all that it had once had and now, from the gifts of this young fool, so much more.

And so, a new Shathowein was born.

*****

The light of the setting sun was shining on the calm surface of the millpond, giving the water the luster of gold as its last rays faded into night. Patrick Donegal sat on a stone at the pond’s edge, peering intently through a curious sort of silver spyglass with a rainbow colored lens, watching the play of light upon the water, occasionally taking a moment to write formulae or to sketch diagrams in a small notebook he carried.

Patrick had been there all day making observations, and though he would soon lose the light, the object of his studies, he felt no eagerness to leave this place and be on to other things. It was going to be a fine night, and he had yet a half bottle of wine, some good bread and cheese, and a slice of rhubarb pie from the Corn Flower Inn, the best in the entire county.

The warmth of the summer’s day was pleasant with the slight breeze that blew across the valley, on its way to high peaks and places distant. The crickets had already begun their songs, anxious to begin the night’s romances. The first frog croaked, as if in response to the call of others of a like mind, and soon the millpond was alive with the longing cry of all manner of night creatures.

Something crashed through the weeds from the cart path down the way. By the sound it was something large and awkward. Patrick sighed, folding the notebook and put it into his pocket. Clapping his hands, he made what remained of his provisions disappear. There was nothing else to do but wait until Danny Gorman had his say.

“Hallo, Danny,” said Patrick in a kindly voice when his good friend arrived, but he didn’t turn away from the millpond or stand to offer a hand in greeting.

A bit flustered for having been discovered so easily, Danny said, “Yes, uh, well then, hallo Patrick.”

Turning around to give Danny a smile, Patrick was astonished to see how the faerie was dressed. Rather than his usual leather jerkin and breeches, Danny wore a pair of black trousers with black socks and shiny black shoes with large, silver buckles. He had a white shirt with fine creases and starched cuffs and collar, his fat stomach straining at the confines of a wide, black belt. A yellow necktie was done round his neck. His red hair was combed and oiled, and his face freshly washed. Most remarkable of all, Danny didn’t have his tool bag with him, though he brought it with him everywhere, even to church on Sundays.

“Well, look at you. What’s all this about, then?”

Not knowing what to do with his hands, since he hadn’t the strap of his tool bag to hold on to, Danny fidgeted nervously and said, “Ah, yes, well, Missus Malone said as you might be down this way, at the pond all day long and wanting maybe a bit more to eat than what she sent for lunch. And since I was out for a pint or two after work and hadn’t planned on heading home for a while, and with all her folk as busy as they are, and so I said that I’d come by and have a word or two with you, see how things were getting along.

“You know, Patrick, you’re out here making more of those observations of yours and whatnot, though I thought you’d be having a wink or two of sleep knowing how’s it is you’re up at all hours and out doing lord knows what with these,” he waved his hand vaguely, “astrololicial-type things you seem to be so interested in that...”

“Out with it, Danny,” Patrick said impatiently.

“Well, uh, yes, that festival is tonight, the big dance at the village green. The lights are all up and it’s a beautiful night, not as right a night has there been in a month of Sundays and here you are, down by the millpond all by yourself and so Missus Malone and I got to talking about how hard you’ve been working at, well, whatever it is that you do, and so we thought that…”

“Danny,” Patrick interrupted sternly.

“We just thought as you might need a night out, have a little fun, that’s all.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I have plans for the evening.”

“Right. What’s that? Sit out here by your lonesome all night long?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Patrick said with heat. “There is so much knowledge that we have lost. Our people cling to ignorance like heirloom china. I was so secure with the possession of my library, the Copernicus, the Kepler, the Galileo, and my goodness, especially the Newton, and it’s all gone, my every book and manuscript, and everything else I owned, gone. I just thought that there might be something of value for us, for our people to learn from it all. That’s what’s so important. I’m trying to put some of it back together. That’s how I’m spending my time, Danny, so you and Missus Malone don’t need to fuss about me.”

“But we’re faerie folk, Patrick, what do we need all that for? We’re here now, safe and sound from all the big bombs and aereo-planes and other stuff the big people make such a fuss about. We enjoy life, make magic. That’s what we do. And if I may say so, you could use a little livin’. Look how pale and thin you are. All this scientologic’s no good for the likes of us.”

Putting on a big smile and elbowing Patrick in the stomach, Danny kindly urged, “Come on, for me, just tonight. Just think of all those young lady friends of yours you’d be disappointing if you didn’t come. It’d be a crime, to be sure. Come out and have a bit o’ fun, Patrick. What do you say?”

Giving Danny a hard stare, Patrick screwed up his face into a meaningful scowl, but finally relented, “Goodness! Oh, all right, I’ll come.”

*****

Though Patrick was himself a faerie like Danny, he had lost his wings in a terrible accident long ago. But, as Danny was as much one for walking as for flying, it didn’t make much of a difference. The two found their way up the cart path back to town at a walk, enjoying the good talk and companionship.

The lights in the trees of the village green seemed the twinkling of stars and the music as lively as beetles on the water. Missus Malone was there to meet them with a pewter cup in each hand, her five daughters blushing warmly and looking at their toes. Danny gave Missus Malone a sort of covert nod and a wink, which Patrick dutifully ignored as they accepted the summer ale, toasting her masterful skill in this most honorable of professions. The night was indeed fine and all the folk from near and far had turned out for the celebration. The green was a blur of dancing figures, twirling and swooping both on the ground and in the air.

No sooner had Patrick finished a swallow or two of the ale than he produced his violin, saying, “I suppose I should play a song or two and give that old Jim Duggan a little rest or he will be all in by midnight.”

“Oh no you don’t, laddy,” said Danny. “Jim Duggan’s as good a man and twice the fiddler than most. He came all the way up from Mud Creek for this, and I won’t be having you stealing his thunder. You’re here for the party, bless the lord. Give it a rest.”

“But I’ve worked up a few songs of my own that I’d like to try out,” Patrick explained in a self-deprecating sort of way, giving the strings of his violin a pluck.

“Hushathee now, Patrick. Nobody wants to hear that caterwauling of yours tonight.”

Patrick was taken aback. His mouth gaped.

“What I meant to say,” Danny went on after a long swallow, “is that high art of yours isn’t much appreciated when the beer flows and the ladies need dancing. What tonight is all about is giving the young ones an excuse to run a bit wild, under proper supervision and within certain limits, of course. That means music that can be danced to, not something they have to think about. No, what the folk want tonight is songs they’ve all heard before, something from when they were young, something they can sing along to, if you take my meaning. So what I believe I can say, with the utmost respect for your obvious talents, and I’m sure the others will agree if you ask them, is that you should save it for some other night.”

Patrick opened his mouth but then closed it again. Danny’s words had come out in such a rush that Patrick was still trying to puzzle out exactly what Danny had said when the conversation was cut short.

A scream rose from the crowd. The music stopped abruptly and there came more screams, with many of the folk pointing upwards and talking excitedly.

Putting his violin away and quickly downing the rest of his ale, Patrick sped to the source of the uproar with Danny close at his heels. A young man was falling from the sky, and Patrick only managed to save him by using his faerie craft of speed.

“Now everyone, give us some room,” Patrick said, having a look at the young man once he was safe. “Goodness, he’s all cold, like the life’s all sucked out of him.”

The crowd gasped in horror. Continuing his examination without pause, quickly feeling the young man’s cheeks and forehead, Patrick spent a few anxious moments searching for a pulse. “He’s not dead, but it’s close. There’s some devilry here. Someone gather a litter, he’ll have to be carried home.”

Laying the faerie upon the soft grass and moving back a little to give himself room, Patrick said a few quiet words and blew some of his magic dust over the young man. The faerie gasped, his eyes opened wide in shock, but he settled down again, breathing regularly, fast asleep under the workings of Patrick’s art.

The folk were all standing about, struck dumb or muttering worriedly over the strange and frightening event. There was much speculation and an abundance of troubled scrutiny of the sky, but no one did much more than ask the obvious questions in hushed tones to those around them.

Then someone finally did it right. Danny said in a loud voice, “Does anybody know what happened?”

As if in response, a desperate cry for help came from high above. Her dust trailing behind her like a comet, a young faerie woman came racing toward them from far away in the night sky, something dark and terrible chasing after her.

“Look!” someone shouted. “A Shathowein, a Shathowein!”

Faeries have excellent vision, especially when they put their mind to it, which often needs doing because they forget that their exceptional abilities are due to magic. So it was that, even at such a great distance, their faerie craft allowed them all to see what was happening high above them in the night sky. It was a terrible sight to behold, the young woman being chased by such a horrible thing.

The joining of faerie and spirit had manifested in the shape of some horrible bird from the land of nightmares. Its wings were broad and covered in black feathers that seemed to shimmer like the scales of fish that live in dark pools. It had a long tail, forked with many tines, which swept far out behind it like the train of a royal ball gown. Six legs with claws twisted away from each other, made for tearing more than for clutching prey, dangled from underneath like some dead thing that had not yet fallen away.

Though by their craft faeries can make themselves as large or small as they will, the size of the manifestation was daunting nonetheless. It was as big as a whale to folk of their stature and a giant to someone man sized.

Worst of all were the heads, two awful heads, the first of which kept changing, its features were at once like a nose or a mouth, appearing one moment in perfection only to turn into something ugly and misshapen the next. The other head was in some way the more terrible because it was still so much like a faerie in aspect, so much like the young man it had once been.

The Shathowein pursued the faerie woman as she descended from the level of the clouds, but she was the faster of the two, steadily making her escape as she drew closer to the lighted trees and the safety of the crowd.

The folk below were in a panic. Women were scooping up young children and running to the safety of their homes. Men were going for their weapons, though many secretly planned not to return once their escape had been secured.

Only a few remained steadfast, though frightened enough by what they would soon be facing, unsure what they could do. A Shathowein was a terrible thing, the joining of the two enchantments against all the laws of God and nature. It had powers beyond any of them, and there was yet no known way for the creature to be defeated.

*****

“So what are we going to do?” said Danny finally, looking expectantly to Patrick, as were the others.

“I don’t know why you’re all looking at me. Isn’t that what the sheriff’s for?”

“Where’s he now?” one of the faerie men asked.

“Off hiding somewheres already, most likely,” someone replied.

“No, he’ll be in his cups by now,” said another.

“Besides, Patrick,” added Missus Malone, “there’s sorcery here to manage, not a dispute over milking cows or the price of turnips. I’d dare say that’s right down your alley. We’re behind you all the way, but there’s not a one of us who knows what to do.”

Jim Duggan said, “Yes, that’s right enough. We all know about that boy you saved from the Shadow Moon, if we heard the story right, though you two never say a word about it yourselves. The baker’s son says you nearly tore that beast to shreds before it got rid of you, a pity you didn’t finish it off.”

Blushing slightly at the exaggerated praise, Patrick took out his spyglass and, turning the lens, assessed the situation as the others looked on in silence, following some invisible course from the sky, across the tops of the trees, and finally to where they stood.

After a moment, he said, “Flynn, get a blanket. Go on now, fast as you can, and meet us down by the tables at the far end of the green.”

“So what do you plan to do?” asked Danny as they hurried on their way.

“You remember, Danny. Try to split the two apart. Once I get hold of the spirit, the faerie should be handled easily enough by the rest of you, no problem at all. Just pull them apart and the worst is over.”

Danny’s memory of their last encounter with a Shathowein was not as bright as the local stories made it out to be. “Might I point out how unsuccessful it was the last time you tried that?”

“The boy got in the way,” Patrick said dismissively.

“That thing almost knocked your head off.”

“Yes, but it would have worked, I think.”

“And this is the plan you’ll be using, then?”

“Yes.”

“Goodness gracious, we’re all dead, to be sure.”

“It’s best not to think these things over too much, Danny,” Patrick said with a grin. “It ruins the creative process.”

“Well then it’s a good thing we’ll be starting off down by the tables. The keg will come in most useful, might as well get the anesthetic started early.”

“Not a bad thought, that.”

*****

“Here she comes,” Patrick announced moments later, folding the spyglass and returning it to the breast pocket of his jacket.

As suggested, they had all taken a turn at the keg. It would have been a shame to let it go to waste, and such work brings on a thirst in folk. Danny had two mugs and was working on his third. But he was Patrick’s right hand man, and would be in the thick of the action when the time came and would need his wits well lubricated.

“She’s got a good lead on it,” Patrick observed with satisfaction. “Missus Malone, if you would be so kind as to take charge of a few of the lads here and get that young lady away safe now, down to the churchyard as quick as you please. It’d dare not come on holy ground, I’ll warrant. The rest of you are going to have to be on your toes. If we don’t surprise it, we won’t have a chance.”

Patrick looked from one to the next, nodding to each and saying, “Good, if things go wrong, then everyone best get to holy ground as fast as may be. Got it? Oh, and here’s Flynn with the blanket, just in time.”

Taking possession of the blanket, Patrick spread it out upon the ground, noting the stout pattern of the weave, the good wool. He couldn’t have chosen better himself. Satisfied with his work, he sent up a beam of green light to get the young lady’s attention, calling her to him as he waved his arms. The others joined in, shouting encouragement to the girl or insults to the Shathowein as they waved their arms.

With a final burst of speed that would have been a blur to all but magical sight, the young woman was suddenly amongst them, breathless and faint from her efforts.

“Got away,” she said, gasping, leaning on Missus Malone as she came to take her to safety. “Oh, it’s Davy, what has he done to himself?”

Danny said, “Tell us what happened, lass.”

“Oh, I told him that Billy and I are planning to get married and he just ran off. The poor thing, who’d have thought he’d go and do a thing like that? The beast has got him now. Oh, can’t anybody save him? He’s a good man, and doesn’t deserve this, not because of me.”

“Don’t go blaming yourself for the foolishness of a man,” Missus Malone said, smoothing the hair from the young woman’s eyes.

“We’ll put things to rights,” Danny assured her, looking over to Patrick who was dubious but quickly mumbled a weak assent.

“He never would have hurt me,” the girl said as she swooned. With quickness practiced over years of saving dishes from drunken clods in the common room of the Corn Flower Inn, Missus Malone took hold of the girl’s arm and held her up, waving a hand in front of her face to give her air.

“Better be off, then,” Patrick said gently.

“No, not yet,” insisted the girl, trying to stand on her own. “He’s fighting it, I’m sure. That’s got to mean something.”

Patrick said, “Aye lass, we’ll do what we can for him. Now go.”

Accepting no more arguments, Missus Malone took the girl and was off, down the lane to the churchyard as quickly as she could manage. A small escort of the men followed close behind. Their pitchforks, rakes, hooks, and other hastily gathered weapons were bristling and ready for action, provided their hands weren’t otherwise occupied carrying mugs of ale.

*****

“All right, get ready now, gentlemen,” said Patrick as the Shathowein passed above.

Taking a deep breath, he blew a great quantity of his magic dust high up into the night sky, a shower of twinkling lights brightening the darkness.

Passing into the cloud of dust, the Shathowein reeled back, twisting and contorting in pain. It gave a terrible cry, full of longing and despair, clawing at its skin like a fevered animal to be rid of the source of its misery.

“Well, well, that’s promising, to be sure,” said Danny, watching as the Shathowein writhed in anguish. “Would you look at that, Patrick?” he went on, pointing to a faint blur that appeared at the edges of its makeup, as if images overlapped were showing their seams.

“Hurry now,” said Patrick stepping onto the blanket, the starlight in his eyes shining fiercely. “Give us a good toss, will you?”

Up Patrick went, shot like an arrow toward the Shathowein. As he came to the outermost fork of the beast’s tail, he saw that his dust had indeed accomplished much. The two natures were coming apart, splitting into light and dark, faerie and spirit, a broad band of indeterminate colors fading in and out between the two.

It couldn’t have happened by his dust alone, Patrick knew, not so easily once the two were joined. But if the union was newly made or if there was doubt, regret, maybe even repentance, then he might have a chance of saving the young man from his fate.

“Davy!” Patrick yelled as he caught hold of the scale-like feathers of the tail. “You have to fight it, Davy.”

The spirit head screamed and bent back over its shoulder to try to bite Patrick, but faeries are quick of body, and the beast’s jaws snapped shut on empty air as Patrick dodged the attack. Now fully upon one of the places where his dust had separated the two natures, Patrick took hold of the spirit and began stripping it away, the horrid, glistening feathers peeling off into his hands and melting back into nothingness. Just as the spirit head was about to take Patrick into its gaping maw, it gave a cry of surprise.

Davy had grown a savage mouth of his own and had taken the spirit head by the neck. Seizing the opportunity, Patrick hurriedly tore away the Shathowein body while Davy clamped down with teeth like swords. The Shathowein’s claws warred for mastery, each nature against the other, ripping its own, grotesque flesh to shreds.

Patrick was shocked by the sudden feel of warm skin. He peeled away more of the beast to reveal a foot, a gloriously pink, five toed, faerie foot. Smiling broadly, Patrick called out, “Here he is, lads. Get him free of this mess and we’ll have this job done as quick as you please.”

Danny and the others were there to help in a moment, flying quickly but cautiously, trying to avoid the teeth and claws of the Shathowein as it battled itself. By then, Patrick had succeeded in exposing the lower portion of the faerie’s leg, and was working out where the other leg must be. Digging through the softening flesh as Danny took hold of the foot and pulled, Patrick shouted with delight as he found what he sought.

“Come on, the rest of you,” Patrick said, exposing the other foot. “It’s coming loose. Now for it. Give us a good tug and he’ll be free.”

“Shall we use our dust?” Jim Duggan asked as he landed nearby.

“No, anything but that,” Patrick said quickly. “You’d cause more harm than good unless you’ve got the knack. Best put your muscles to work and see what that can accomplish.”

The faeries either grabbed the leg or someone who did, pulling with all their strength as Patrick continued tearing away pieces of the joined flesh. By then the Shathowein was a mess. The two heads were still fighting. Though the spirit had taken the worst of the hurts, it wasn’t finished yet. It had grown a horn from the side of its head and was digging into the Davy head even as his jaws tightened upon it. Three of the legs were gone, clawed away, and the under side of the body was a mess of ruined feathers, torn skin and muscle.

The places where Patrick’s dust had separated the two natures were growing father and farther apart. Shifting colors danced around the widening gaps and small bolts of electricity crackled in the air.

The faeries pulled at Davy’s legs, and though it was a struggle, they seemed to be gaining. With each pull, a little more of the faerie was exposed, until when they had gotten as far as mid thigh, the rest came out in a rush. Davy was free at last. With a sound like the intake of breath of some ocean going behemoth, the Shathowein began to lose shape, then dispersed as the union was unmade.

“Help!” Patrick screamed as his footing went out from beneath him. He fell, grasping desperately at what no longer existed, the pull of gravity taking hold. “Danny!”

Leaving the unconscious Davy with Jim Duggan and the others, Danny swooped down, taking Patrick under the arms and setting him safe upon the ground. “Always there to help a friend,” Danny said with a laugh.

“Thank you,” Patrick said regaining his dignity, smoothing his jacket where Danny’s manhandling had wrinkled it. They had landed in a farmer’s field on the outskirts of town. The straw around the tomatoes was fresh from stalls in the barn and Patrick wrinkled his nose, saying, “I got myself into a bit of a spot there, didn’t I? I must confess that I hadn’t thought it through to that point.”

“It could have happened to anyone,” Danny replied, chuckling, “though I suppose that was always a weakness in the plan. Still, everything turned out right as rain so you can’t make no bones about that.”

“Yes, but we still have the spirit to deal with.”

“Oh, ah, yes, I forgot about that, not another weakness in the plan I hope?”

“No, that eventuality I did predict. It may decide to leave us unavenged, but I doubt it. I expect it will not be in a very charitable mood.”

“But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” Danny said nervously, turning his head while he stretched out his collar with a thick finger.

“I have a trick or two if it decides to get feisty,” Patrick replied. “Don’t worry overmuch. The spirit will be as weak as the lad. Well, look now, I was wrong. Here it comes. Is Davy safe?”

Danny looked toward the church. “Yes, I reckon so.”

“The others?”

“Ah, most of them’s gone that way, yes.”

“Good, this should protect the townsfolk,” said Patrick as he drew symbols of emerald green fire in the air. When finished, he gave the symbols a push, sending them high above the village.

Danny swallowed, “That’s a good thing, to be sure, but what about us?”

“We’ll take care of things.”

“Begging your pardon, of course, but wasn’t it your job to handle the spirit?”

“Danny, I need your help. We can’t let a monster like that loose in the world. You’re not going to abandon me now, are you?”

“Ah, no,” Danny said, looking down at his shoes. Though often a reluctant participant in Patrick’s adventures, he had much more courage than he liked to admit to, and was not at all afraid of this spirit as long as Patrick was nearby. “Go ahead, then. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Starting to walk toward town, Patrick thought about the problem for a moment, and said, “Go get that keg of ale for me, will you?”

“What do you want that for?”

“I’m going to trap it inside until I can figure out what to do with it permanently.” He added, “Trapping spirits in a keg, pretty good, don’t you think?”

“And waste Missus Malone’s ale?” said Danny indignantly, ignoring the pun, concerned with more important matters. “That’d be a crime, it would. You can’t mean it.”

“I can and I do, now go. I have to prepare myself for the spell.”

*****

Danny returned with the keg a short while later. It was yet a third full, though by the way he was wiping his mouth and brushing a stain from his shirt, the keg was likely much fuller prior to his efforts. Danny was ever contemptuous of waste. The volume of the vessel mattered little, however, for the spirit had no true physical form, and could be made to fit in any space.

When Danny returned, Patrick was peering into his spyglass. He hadn’t gone far from the field where they had landed, just as far as the road, but he had scribed a circle upon the ground, into the center of which Danny delivered the keg.

“There you are, and more’s the pity,” Danny said. “If only I had the leisure to empty it proper, but I know how you’re an impatient man, and I suppose these times do call for swift action.”

“Thank you Danny, well done.”

“So if you don’t mind my asking, what now?”

Patrick replied, “We are going to have to lure it in.”

“Oh,” said Danny, “and how are we going to accomplish that might I ask?”

“A good question,” Patrick said, considering. “The spirit may be weak, but we have nothing to offer for it to feed upon, except ourselves.”

“Might I point out again how you said handling the spirit would be your job?”

“Yes, very funny, but it won’t come to that,” Patrick said, getting to work. Onto the keg he drew the devices necessary to his intent, symbols that would trap the spirit inside. “Don’t worry, there’s no need to sacrifice ourselves like the young man did. I think instead we must find some way to appeal to its honor, make it angry enough to come after us.”

“You mean make fun of the blasted thing? Act like a couple of bullies in the schoolyard and get it riled up enough to teach us a lesson?”

“Goodness, Danny, that’s precisely what I mean.”

Swelling with pride, Danny said, “Well, we best be on with it, then. So are you going to, well, whistle or something? You know, to get its attention.”

“Something like that,” Patrick said, smiling. Lifting his hand, he sent balls of fire streaming through the air and into the spirit. “That should get its attention. A feeble attempt at sorcery, but it should be angry enough to try to get back at us.”

The trickery had its intended effect. The spirit had been weakened after being separated. It hovered in the sky above the village, a cloud of darkness in the night. But the apparent attack made it angry, slowly approaching, not yet given over to its rage.

Patrick and Danny began shouting at it, doing their best to be vulgar, their taunts and jeers so unlike their true character that it would not befit their dignity to record. At the last the spirit lost its temper and sealed its fate.

Toward the faeries the spirit came, gathering a maelstrom of debris as it went, bits of wood, brick, stone, and dust swirling together at rising speed before it. Patrick and Danny had to clutch each other to keep from being blown away but they stood fast, shouting more insults and waiting for the moment to act. The storm cloud of night was finally upon them. From the swirling mass, red, catlike eyes appeared, staring at them with menace and intent.

“I thought that circle was to protect us,” Danny said over the noise of the gale.

“No, that was a bull’s eye.”

“A what?” said Danny, thinking the sound had kept him from hearing correctly.

“That was just to show you where to put it,” Patrick admitted. “Another good idea that, a protective circle. I should have thought of it. You really are getting the hang of this sort of business. Soon enough and I’ll have you trained up to do it yourself.”

“Not on your life. I’m a simple woodcarver, that’s all. I’ve got a livin’ to make, can’t play around all day like some.”

“Close enough,” Patrick announced, pulling the cork from the keg, the symbols he had written glowing furiously.

A beam of light shot into the sky, turning wide the higher it went, fixing upon the whirling maelstrom. With a horrible scream, the winds stopped abruptly, the wreckage the spirit carried falling to the ground like rain. At first the spirit seemed able to resist, but the more it tried to pull away, the more it was overcome by the light. At last the light pulled in upon itself, slowly descending, taking the spirit with it. Down in a swirling tempest the light receded until it was wholly locked within the keg. Patrick slapped the cork into place, there was a brilliant flash, and the magic sealed tight.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Danny said, wiping the sweat from his brow. Patrick didn’t answer right away, making Danny unsettled. At last he said, “It is over isn’t it?”

Giving the keg a bit of a poke as a test, Patrick said, “Yes, I think so.”

“Try to sound more convincing, will you?”

“We’ll have to find permanent accommodations for our friend here, but this trouble maker isn’t going anywhere, just as long as no one gets thirsty before we can get it hid.” Patrick sighed, brushing dust from his suit. “Come with me to the party, Patrick. You need to have some fun. To think I was going to spend a quiet night gazing at the stars. Look what I would have missed.”

“Aye, and glad to have you round in a pinch,” Danny said with a wry smile. “Shame about the lad, though. The crazy things love will do to a man.”

“To be sure, what a man won’t do for love.”
























































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