Free All the King's Horses by Laura C Stevenson

of course, they are allowed no nearer than the fires; it’s a matter only for the Sidhe.’ He looked down at us sternly. ‘That means that you have no right to be there; I’m bringing you only because I let you look at that foolish horse instead of sending you back to your world. So you must be absolutely quiet. If the Sidhe realize you are present, They will be very angry.’
    I looked up the hill – and I’d have given up everything, even seeing Enbharr, to be back home. In front of us gaped the entrance to a cave, held up by huge stones that made it look as if the hill had been opened. On either side of the entrance stood the tall shadows we’d seen dancing by the fire. They weren’t shadows, now, though: their clothes were made of gold and silver cloth, and they wore circlets in their hair. All of them had long, thin faces, and eyes that made me shiver, though they looked solemn, not cruel. Even if Mongan hadn’t said they were in charge of the ceremony, I would have known who they were: the Sidhe – the most powerful and mysterious of the faeries. Mongan stepped among them, holding my hand so tightly that it hurt; but I didn’t even think of pulling away.
    The music stopped, and the dancing shadows stood still next to the fires below us. In the silence, Manannan and three other tall faeries came out of the cave and walked between the two lines of the Sidhe, carrying a wooden bed that was attached to two long poles. On the bed, leaning back against piles of furs, was the Seer, dressed in long robes that shone in the firelight. Behind him, so dark that all I could see was his white beard, came Cathbad, carrying a bowl of something that steamed. The four faeries put the bed down on four huge stones; Cathbad stepped to its side, raising the bowl high above his head and chanting in the language I couldn’t understand. At the end of the chant, he lowered the bowl and gave it to the Seer. Slowly, slowly, the Seer lifted the bowl to his lips.
    For what seemed a long time, everything was absolutely still; then the Seer lowered the bowl and gave it back to Cathbad. Somewhere, a harp started to play, and the four faeries picked up the bed and carried it into the hill. The Sidhe followed them, two by two. When the last pair disappeared, Mongan bent over us. ‘Very quiet,’ he whispered. ‘And don’t let go.’
    We nodded, scared to death, and followed him through the cave entrance into a hall whose ceiling arched all the way to the top of the hill. It smelled like a garden after it rains, and everything was lit by torches. The faeries put the bed on four other stones, and the Sidhe stood around it in a circle. We stood on each side of Mongan, still clutching his hands. And although we didn’t move, I felt us getting closer and closer to the Seer. Suddenly, though we were touching only Mongan, not the Seer, we saw – or maybe we had – the dream.
    We were standing in a circle of tall thin stones at the top of a hill, looking down across a valley to the sea. There was an oak grove in the valley, and out of it came a procession of people in brightly coloured cloaks. Some of them were leading enormous white dogs with red ears, some were carrying birds on their wrists, and some were riding beautiful silver horses, and they must have had bells on their toes, because there were ringing sounds at every step. In the midst of the crowd was a chariot like the ones Grandpa had described in his stories. It was pulled by two prancing horses with silver manes, and it was decorated with gold and jewels that flashed in the sunlight. Driving the chariot was a longhaired man in a tunic, holding the reins and a pointed stick. Behind him, taller than he was, and much grander, stood a man in a red cloak, holding a huge spear in one hand and a golden shield in the other.
    He looked up to the circle of stones where we were standing, and for a minute, he looked familiar, though I didn’t know anybody who looked exactly like that. He spoke