Beibhinn woke in the stillness of the night. The moon was gone and the blackness which follows midnight lay over the land. Her eyes barely perceived the tangle of thorns above her head as she lay listening. No sound. None at all. Not even the rustle of a hedgehog. Only her own heart. 

The night was pressing in upon her. Clawing at her fragile sanctuary, its long black fingers oozing beneath the bushes to find her out...she jerked upright, trying to suppress the feeling of eyes. Her limbs were heavy and cramped, a knot of furze after burrowing into her spine. Béibhinn paid it no heed. Unbreathing, she peered out into the deserted field. And she sensed evil, like a rabbit sensed a fox.

Away before her the hill rose, colourless under an empty sky, the trees on top hardly distinguishable form the darkness beyond.

Conn. Was he safe?

Beibhinn crawled out onto the dew drenched grass, the wetness soaking into her already damp clothes. No stars showed, nor moon, but still there remained enough light to dimly perceive the tussocks of grass.

 Almost devoid of fear, like one caught in the numb grip of a dream, Beibhinn began to scramble up the hill to the lios.

The black trees leaned over her as she approached. Leaned out to spy upon the interloper, their scraggy arms outstretched to draw her in. Her heart raced as she passed into their shadow, her limbs beginning to tremble. She caught the gnarled trunk of one, leaning against it for strength and the rough comfort of a tangible thing. Then peered beneath its boughs down into the dell.

She saw the bush first, in the very centre, it's weird light waxing and waning silently.

Terror froze her heart and the cry that might otherwise have come from her lips.

 It was so! It was a fairy rath. But if so...where was Con?

Icy coldness seeped through her as her eyes swept the cirle for him. A silver glimmer on the leaf carpet seized her eye and her gaze followed it, across the dell and over amid the further trees. Conn sat on a mossy stone in the shadows, his mouth half open, his face blank. 

Beibhinn caught her breath for beside...beside..an exquisite purple clad woman, whose pale hair shone. A carved harp was in her hands and she played it softly, though no sound was to be heard. Her face was delicate, her eyes were shards of ice.

There could be no error. It was Ailbhe.

Beibhinn's knees gave way beneath her, hands sliding down the trunk she sank onto the leaves.

Oh. Oh a thiarcis. she could feel herself shaking, violently, beyond her own power to control. Ailbhe! Ailbhe knew! She had Conn. Beibhinn gasped harsh breaths of cold air. What to do? To do? Oh a Dhia. Oh a Mhuire. Cabhair. Cabhair!

She  grasped the rough bark with her fingers, digging them in deep, she struggled onto her unwilling legs.

Ailbhe's music was slowly growing audible as her white, white fingers flickered over the strings. She was going to take him. Like Uncail, Gearóid, Ruadhán...no...

Beibhinn raised her hand to her foreheard, her shoulders, one by one, In ainm an Athair..agus an Mhac...agus an Spioraid Naofa...

No.

With unsteady steps she walked across the dell to Ailbhe. The music grew as she approached, the pale lady looking up to watch her come, her expression unchanged.

Then Beibhinn stood before her and Conn, her mind wiped blank by terror. Ailbhe's music grew sweeter, clearer, but Beibhinn could barely hear it over the buzzing in her ears.

For a long moment they looked staright upon each other, and Beibhinn beheld a face beautiful and empty as ice.

"Release Conn," rasped Beibhinn, her voice barely audible.

Ailbhe continued to play. Conn's face showed no change at the sight or sound of his sister. His empty eyes gazed only on Ailbhe. 

"Set him free," said Beibhinn, louder, her hands shaking like one palsied. A long silence stretched out, filled by the beautiful music.

"You are cruel," said Ailbhe softly. She looked from Beibhinn to Conn, her face a mold of sweet sorrow, "Why do you wish him to die?"

Beibhinn blinked. "I do not"

"Oh but you do," Ailbhe smiled bravely, "It is the fate of all men to die. But I would have him come to a place one dies not. You also," she held out a hand, 'Will you not let yourself come?"

Beibhinn drew back, a shudder running through her, "I do not want your cold Tír na nÓg."

"Cold?" echoed Ailbhe, "And your death is somehow...warm?" she smiled gently.

"A life with  death, but with affection at least."

"And that is good." Somehow Ailbhe's reply seemed like a question.

Beibhinn hesitated."Yes." she said.

"Warm and cold," Ailbhe murmured, "Good and bad? But that is but what you  think Beibhinn Uí Bhriain. That does not make it so."

She glanced at Conn and slowly closed her hand over his arm. "So selfish," she murmured, "A life unending, without pain, without want..." she looked up at Beibhinn, "Would you deny it him? If it be true that you care."

Beibhinn's thoughts were growing thick, Ailbhe's words finding thir way inside her head. Said like that...why should she ask Conn back...if he wanted to go...

She squared her shoulders. "Your ways are wicked," she said.

Ailbhe looked at her.

"To you," she replied, "But not to others. Who is correct? Both perhaps?"

Beibhinn reached her arm down to steady her shaking knees.

"What is good?" asked Ailbhe, "What is wicked? Just words they taught you to say?"

Beibhinn could feel her mind sinking under the creature's words. Things so clear a moment ago growing dim and uncertain, as beneath a great fog.

"You have never known the life I offer Conn. How can you trust your certainty?"

Because...because...the words would not come. But the images were there, fleeting, uncertain - Of her young siblings playing in the stream. Her father's strong voice. The quiet glow of candles in the monastery chapel...

"Your life is for ghosts," she said, more firmly than her convictions, "No hope. No purpose. Let Conn go."

Ailbhe lifted her hand. For a moment Beibhinn really believed she would release Conn. But instead Ailbhe started on her harp again. A mournful lament. "Well then" she sighed, "Conn shall die. You shall return to your homes, and your uncle will be dead, your brother too. What then? Your parents shall choose you a husband, and a life of drudgery will follow. And then? Death." she laughed.

"That," said Beibhinn, "is only the first part of life."

Ailbhe stood, and her height was greater than a man's. Her face was white. Her eyes were gems. Beibhinn shrank back.

"The boy entered the fort at night," she hissed, "He is mine. Go! And if you will not -" 

The song she sang froze Beibhinn to the earth. A turning, encroaching dance of images, worse and yet worse, drawing in about her, down on her... her home she saw and flames crackling about it. The faces of those she loved still and white in death. The paralyzing weight pressed her harder. She daren't move, lest she bring it about. Herself, returned to An Beitheach, for a life worse even than Maedhbh's...

"This I can do," said Ailbhe in a clear voice, "This and more. It lies well within my power. Consider Beibhinn - is the traitor's soul worth it? Consider well."

Beibinn swallowed, gathering her words. Strangely now her mind felt clear, despite her knocking knees. "The -" she began, and choked, gasping in a deep breath - "The cross of Christ between me and harm!" she sprang forwards, striking the harp from Ailbhe's hands. "Release Conn!"

Author's note:

Hiya! I'm back! Didja miss me?

Alright then. No need to answer that.