Free The Hounds of the Morrigan by Pat O'Shea Page A

‘Look, only a few little drops of blood. It wasn’t hurt badly.’
    ‘All the same,’ Brigit said, her face instantly pugnacious, ‘I don’t want them to be hurt at all. I’d like to get my hands on the bully-dog that done it.’
    ‘Did it,’ Pidge replied automatically.
    He thought of a small coppice a little way further on, where there was a tiny stream running like a ribbon of music. The stream came out under the boundary wall of the little wood and ran alongside the road in the ditch. The earth would be soft and moist and the worm could easily burrow in and be safe.
    ‘We’ll put it by the stream,’ he said.
    They had just finished covering the worm with damp grass and moss, when they heard the murmur of low voices coming from inside the coppice. Brigit’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say something but Pidge stopped her by putting his finger to his lips and shaking his head in warning. He motioned that they must get in closer. They crept in close to the wall.
    One voice was talking:
    ‘And so, it was defeat. A third one fought. The victory was with the Daughter and Sons of the Twelve Moons.’
    ‘This time, Findepath!’
    ‘And which of us is brave enough or foolish enough to take the news to Macha and Bodbh? Great indeed will be their anger! What will our punishment be, when we report that we were too late?’
    ‘Not too late, Findepath.’
    ‘How so, Lithelegs?’
    ‘Is it not well-known that the Lord Of The Waters must rise to the temptation of the Brandling Breac?’
    ‘Lithelegs speaks truly,’ said a third voice. ‘But the Breac must be offered in the shifting-time; when morning changes to the second quarter of the day or when night changes to the fourth of the fours.’
    ‘Greymuzzle! You are truly well-taught in Mouth Knowledge!’ said the first voice, (must be Findepath, thought Pidge) ‘Speak further!’
    ‘The day is theirs but the night is ours. So, it must be at middle-night when we are at our fullest strength and The Dagda’s people are low.’
    Then other voices spoke:
    ‘Wolfson speaks! It is true that we are not at our best in the light hours. Greymuzzle is wise!’
    ‘Fowler speaks! Because of this alone did the White Walkers, who are the Sons and the Daughter of the Twelve Moons, defeat us!’
    ‘But who is to do the telling of this defeat to The Queens? It is Silkenskin who asks.’
    ‘What were the words spoken to us? “Have a care and keep a good watch!” It was thus did Scald Crow speak!’ said yet another voice.
    ‘Well does Rushbrook remember! I, Swift, remember also The Mórrígan’s final words: “Do not fail on your peril! Let not Olc-Glas by you — or it will be the worse for you!” And even now, Olc-Glas is in the jaws of the Lord Of The Waters, imprisoned in iron!’
    (‘They’re talking about that green snake on that page I told you about,’ Pidge whispered.
    ‘Who are they?’ asked Brigit.
    ‘I don’t know,’ whispered Pidge again.
    ‘They have funny names, and do you hear the daft way they talk?’ Brigit said and she began to giggle.
    ‘Sssshhhh!’ said Pidge.)
    ‘A question, Findepath!’
    ‘I hear you, Fierce.’
    ‘Would it not be pleasing to The Mórrígan, Scald Crow and The Queen of Phantoms for us to kill the two-legged cubs, who are like gnats in one’s eye or two specks of sand between one’s teeth, and meet again in the ending of this day and seek then the Lord Of The Waters?’
    Other voices approved:
    ‘It would please The Mórrígan indeed!’
    ‘There is but one middle-night to each day and think how she would delight in not waiting one more day.’
    ‘NO!’ said Findepath forcefully.
    ‘Why so?’ asked Fierce.
    ‘The striplings are under the protection of The Dagda, The Lord of Great Knowledge. There are bonds on us not to kill them except in the hunt.’
    (‘Findepath is the boss!’ murmured Brigit. ‘Sssshhhh!’ Pidge said again.)
    ‘We must find a way of making them run. I, Gnawbone,