Eochaidh - Legend of the Horsemen (Book One) Read online

  Eochaidh

  Legend of the Horsemen

  (Book One)

  by

  Terri Reid

  Eochaidh – Legend of the Horsemen (Book One)

  by Terri Reid

  Copyright © 2013 by Terri Reid

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  The author would like to thank all those who have contributed to the creation of this book: Richard Reid, Sarah Reid, Richard Onines, Virginia Onines, Jenny Shuck Bates, Maureen McDermott Marella, Hillary Morgan Gadd, Denise Dailey Carpenter and Cyndy Ranzau.

  And especially to the wonderful readers who are starting this whole new adventure with me. Thank you all!

  Cover art provided by Deviantart irinama.deviantart.com. Thank you Irinama for such amazing work!!!!

  Eochaidh (Yeo-hay) of Celtic origin, meaning horseman.

  Chapter One

  (Ireland – 1800s)

  The carved sign above the Brigid’s Well Inn rocked back and forth on its iron hanger as wind-driven rain pelted against it. The heavy wooden door beneath the sign was bolted, and the placard hanging on it clearly read “CLOSED.” The mullioned windows, with water pouring down their surface and onto the sills below, were nearly all dark, except for a small guttered candle sitting on the inside sill of the window closest to the kitchen. The speck of light wavering in the rain could not be seen from the main road. It was only a signal to those who had ventured closer looking for fellowship unlike the kind the inn generally provided.

  The inn yard was a mire of mud and horse manure. Each carriage that had stopped that day had left their own horses’ contribution to the growing collection. Even the cobblestone walkway was pooled with brown liquid that smelled of the inside of a stable. At the far end of the yard was an open-air stable, providing shelter from the spring storm for the horses whose owners were now hurrying through the deepening puddles toward the inn. These were not the usual customers of the inn, and they were not routine travelers looking for a place of refuge in a storm. Their nondescript cloaks were dark and flowing, and each wore the hood pulled forward to cover their faces.

  Pausing in front of the barred door, they gave three sharp knocks with the iron knocker, and, after they heard the click of a lock being turned from the inside, the door was opened wide enough for them to slip inside, then immediately closed and secured behind them. Noiselessly, they moved forward, the rain dripping from their robes to create rivulets on the wooden planked floor.

  The fire in the great fireplace had been banked to further ensure anonymity. In order to chase the chill of the night away, the members of the group huddled close for the small amount of warmth the coals might produce, their faces turned away from each other.

  Pewter tankards of mulled wine sat on the bar to aid in further warming and were discreetly procured and sipped quietly in corners of the room. Although the spices used to mull the drink were pungent, they were not strong enough to cover the other smells in the room—wet wool, smoked wood and unwashed bodies. But, perhaps the strongest scent in the room was that of fear. And there was one among the group who relished the smell of that perfume.

  He moved casually to the front of the room, standing next to the fireplace. Most of his face was hidden except for his eyes. They picked up the reflected light from the coals and glittered in the dark room. He looked like a demon positioned before the fiery brimstone of hell. “We need to begin,” he said, barely disguising his voice. “We don’t have much time.”

  The rest moved as a group to create a small circle in front of their leader. All in all, thirteen hooded cloaks stood in the room.

  The leader pulled a thin taper from his cloak and bent over, lighting the wick on the coals. Extending his arm forward, he held the burning flame out toward the center of the circle. “Light your candles,” he instructed.

  Turning to the left and walking clockwise, all of the members took turn lighting smaller candles on a large one near the fire. Finally, when they were all back in their original positions, they held the candles in front of their faces, blinding the others to their identities. “Now, repeat the oath,” he demanded.

  In one voice, they all whispered the Latin words,

  “Lorem vota nostra,

  mente vovemus,

  vovemus sanguinem nostrum

  augurium custodes sumus.”

  “Now in English, so you remember the covenant.”

  Once again, their voices chanted the words,

  “We vow with our hearts,

  We vow with our minds,

  We vow with our blood,

  We are guardians of the enchantment.”

  “Now is the time for action,” he cried. “The runes have prophesied that once again we will have the opportunity to fulfill the blood oath of our fathers.”

  “The blood oath,” the other members whispered solemnly.

  “For more than sixty generations the guardians have been waiting for this day. For more than sixty generations our families have covenanted with the dark mistress, and for that our flocks have been healthy, our crops have been plentiful and our coffers have been full,” he continued. “It’s time, once again, to satisfy the pact signed by our forefathers during the time of Merlin.”

  He looked around the room slowly, pausing at each candle. “If one of us fails, we all fail,” he whispered menacingly. “If one does not live up to their covenant, the oath is broken, and we will all be punished. Do you understand?”

  He saw a few hoods move in an inverted nod. “Do you all understand?” he shouted, and all of the hoods bobbed in understanding. “Good. And now that you recall your promise, let me remind you of your goal. We must protect the curse; we must see to it that no one is able to break the enchantment. In other words, Lord John and his family have to die.”

  Chapter Two

  The forest was old, and the magic hidden underneath ancient boughs and wisping over the rushing rivers and thick meadows was even older. It thrummed beneath the earth’s surface like a beating drum, and it glistened like early morning dew on the plants and rocks within its domain. It was alive and powerful, and sixteen-year-old Meaghan could feel the magic beckon her as she stood just outside the forest’s borders in the predawn morning.

  Dressed in a loose linen tunic, a plaited leather belt and boy’s tweed breeches with her auburn tresses braided and tucked up tight in a woolen cap, she could have passed for a wood nymph—slender, petite and nearly blending into the forest around her. But, upon a closer examination, you could see she was not tranquil enough to be a cre
ature of the forest. A few copper strands of hair escaped her cap, and her green eyes sparkled like the mist-covered moss. Her skin was fair, and she had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She held a long, sturdy walking stick in her hand, and her feet were bound in fine leather boots that helped her move soundlessly in her surroundings.

  Shivering in the cool morning air, she inhaled the sweet nectar of the old magic, but waited carefully outside its borders. She looked up impatiently, watching as the sky above her transformed from night to day, turning from dark grey to soft lavender, as thin shrouds of clouds replaced the last few stars. Turning, she looked back across the path she had just taken. The spires of the stone manor house were beginning to glow with the pinkish-gold hue of sunrise. Slowly the shadows of night withdrew as the tide of light made its way over the slate tiles, like a wave slipping onto the shore. It swept over the house and onto the manicured grounds. Spilling forward, it followed her path across the lawn, over the fence and across the meadow. It revealed her walking path through the thick wild flowers and clover, a thin line of darker green where the grass had been crushed. Finally, it reached the edge of the forest. Meaghan lifted her face, closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun seep into her skin. She inhaled deeply. She loved the unique scent of the forest, the moist, rich smell of earth, the spicy scent of pine and the musty combination of old and new plant growth. Slowly opening her eyes, like a sleepy cat, she sighed with the pleasure of the moment.

  But a rustle in the woods behind her reminded her of her task, and, with a little regret, she turned from the warmth and faced the woods. Waiting until the glow of the early morning sunlight glimmered on the path and gilded the leaves of the trees in front of her, she finally took her first step inside. She knew enough of the stories and legends of the forest to not enter its lands until the sun had lit the sky. Those fae creatures that dwelled here, although harmless enough during the day, were focused on mischief and mayhem when the lesser stars and the moon ruled the sky.

  She smiled to herself. With her leather satchel of supplies hitched over her shoulder, she had set out early that morning to construct a little mischief and mayhem of her own.

  Moving farther into the forest, she felt the same welcoming sensation she always felt within the borders of the dark woods. Although most from the village avoided the mystic area, Meaghan had always felt a protective spirit within its confines, as if she was coming home.

  Birds swept through the sky above her, darting from tree to tree, welcoming the new day. From the high-pitched trill of a waxwing to the soft purring of the turtledove to the hoarse call of a crow, their songs filled the air in a discordant symphony that reminded Meaghan of the ware-hawkers at the village market. Cherries for sale, cherries for sale. Buy a posy for your lady, buy a posy for your lady. Cold ale, cold ale. Grinning as she pictured the villagers’ reactions to the birds wearing aprons and hopping around the square selling their goods, she decided it would probably be wiser for them to remain in their forest home.

  As she moved farther in, timid but curious forest dwellers, like deer and rabbit, paused for just a moment to observe the intruder and then darted away into the thick old growth leaving no trace of having been there a moment ago.

  Although the main path through the forest was well used, a wide, worn strip of brown pounded earth, the path Meaghan choose was covered with a green carpet of moss that rolled over stones, logs and ground and with very little evidence of being used at all. She walked carefully but quickly on the grassy moss, moving from stone to log to stone again with a dancer’s dexterity, grabbing onto tree trunks and thick vines to help her keep her balance.

  The path angled downward, heading toward the bank of the river. That was her goal, the clearing just before the river. There was a score to settle that morning, and, she decided with a determined nod, she would be the one to do it.

  Pausing in her walk, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise and realized that everything around her was now silent. All of the birds that had just moments before filled the air with a cacophony all their own, had hushed their calls. Even the wind had slowed. The forest seemed to be holding its breath. Meaghan paused in her descent and waited for a moment. Then she heard it and understood. The faint tinkling sound was carried on the barest of breezes, like bells disturbed by the wind.

  Her heart pounded in excitement. No wonder the earthly creatures had hushed. The fae were speaking. Green fairies were about. She had been told about the green fairies, how they tended to the flowers and plants in the forest. They sang as they worked, their voices like tiny pure chimes, and their morning song was a rare treat. Watching them work was even more rare. She looked back over her shoulder to the rising sun. Surely she had time enough to find them before she put forth her plan.

  Placing her satchel and walking stick at the base of a giant, old oak, she walked to the edge of the path. The green fell away to a small ravine, its sides covered with browning vines and exposed roots. Because of the thick vegetation below, she really couldn’t judge the distance down but guessed it was about twelve feet, too far to jump. Sitting down on the edge, her feet dangling, she grabbed hold of a root and tugged. It seemed solid enough.

  Turning so her belly was against the edge, she dug her feet into the dirt wall and, using the root like a rope, began to lower herself down. Her first couple of steps down were easy, and Meaghan felt her confidence grow. “Not so bad,” she thought, sliding her hands slowly down the moss-slick root. “I can handle this.”

  Just then, one of her feet slipped, and she found herself slapped against the wall of the ravine. Her face crushed against dirt and rock, and she lost her grip on the root. Tumbling down, she desperately grabbed onto anything to slow her descent. Leaves, pebbles, dirt and brush scraped against her hands and face as she fell. Finally, she wrapped her hand around a thick vine and slowed her fall. She desperately reached for the vine with her other hand and then dangled in mid-air for a moment while she caught her breath and spit dirt and twigs from her mouth. “Well, that was not quite what I had in mind,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I wonder how far down I still have to go.”

  Testing her grasp on the vine before she moved, she finally glanced down and sighed. She released the vine and jumped the six inches down to the bottom of the ravine. “That was brilliant,” she whispered, mocking herself. “I’m sure the fairy folk enjoyed that display immensely.”

  But, not all the fairy folk had been paying attention to her escapade because, once paused, Meaghan could still hear the green fairy song. They were still busy at work. Creeping slowly forward, Meaghan slipped inside a patch of tall ferns. Sliding between the feathery leaves and dodging the large rocks on the ground, she moved closer to the sound. She had never seen a green fairy before. She had only heard their songs in the distance.

  She had seen other members of the fae before; the wood elves were a fairly common sighting with their copper skin and mahogany hair as were the water sprites, although they were a little harder to find with their translucent blue skin and dark green hair that looked like seaweed. She thought she saw a goblin once, but she turned and ran before she could be sure. And she knew she had heard a banshee just before her old nanny had died.

  Even though she was excited about possibly catching a glimpse of the green fairies, there was one creature she longed to see more than any of the others. The Eochaidh. The enchanted wild horses who legend tells had once been men. But no one, not even the woodsmen in the village, talked about seeing them in their travels. Perhaps they were just a legend and not as real as the other fae in the woods.

  Unlike most of Britain, the people in this Irish village spoke of the fae on a regular basis, simply because there were all kinds of fae that actually lived in the woods and the surrounding countryside. Meaghan learned as a child it was because these woods used to be a favorite of Merlin the wizard, when he was not near Camelot. The older villagers said he left some of his magic in it when he disappeared th
ousands of years ago. She liked that she could feel the magic; it was like Merlin was still there.

  The plants had thinned out in front of her; she was closer to the clearing. Carefully, spreading the final bunch of leaves apart, she peered into it. Something making a buzzing sound like a bumblebee flew at her, and she nearly jumped back. But, at the last moment, she froze as the creature hung in the air, pausing not more than four inches in front of her face, its wings flitting so quickly she could only see a blur. Human and fairy gazed at each other, both staring in awe at this wonderful discovery.

  Meaghan’s eyes widened in delight and her smile broadened in wonderment. The tiny creature looked like a miniature woman, dressed in a leaf-green sheath and tiny shoes the color of tree bark. Her skin was light green, her large eyes were the color of oak leaves in the fall, and her hair was maple-leaf red.

  The fairy flitted closer, one tiny hand extended, and lightly touched Meaghan’s nose and then darted quickly back. Meaghan stood still and waited, her breathing measured and slow. She didn’t want to frighten it off. The tiny fairy buzzed around her, uncertain of this unfamiliar forest creature, and then finally approached the girl again. Slowly, with both hands extended, the fairy flew forward and touched Meaghan’s cheek, pushing off immediately and flying back several feet. The touch was like a butterfly’s kiss.

  A smile lit on the tiny face and she did it again, flying forward and pushing back. She giggled, the sound like a tiny bell, and smiled at Meaghan. Delighted, Meaghan smiled back wondering if the fairy would stand on her palm.

  Slowly lifting her hand and raising her palm to the sky, Meaghan waited, holding her breath. The fairy came forward and hovered over her open hand as if she was deciding. Finally she dove forward, pushed off from Meaghan’s cheek and soared into the sky, her faint laughter echoing in the trees.