She returned to the room that she had woken in, hearing a low conversation begin between him and her father’s wife. Her father. She had not given him much thought, although there had been little time for any thought on any subject. Indeed, when she did allow her mind to mull over all this new information, she found it quite incapable of really understanding what was happening. She was not wholly human, that much was clear. So if she was not human, what did that make her? Her skin looked the same; she felt the same; thought in the same way; saw the world through the same eyes. So why was it that she felt so completely out of place in this world and yet strangely reluctant to go back to her own.
The dress was hanging by the bed, its fabric almost as white as the walls. It shimmered beneath her touch, the silk threaded with sliver. Never in her life had she expected to wear such a garment. Stepping from the drab of her own clothes, she hurriedly pulled it over her head and looked to the door as it opened without announcement. Expecting to see the good-looking man there, she instead found a young girl.
“Good morning,” the new arrival said, her voice sweeter yet than any of the others’. “I am here to dress your hair. Cuchulain was right when he said you looked like a pooka with its head on backwards.” She laughed at the comparison and pulled a comb form the folds of her dress.
“Cuchulain?” Rowena tripped only slightly over the unfamiliar name.
“That’s the man who brought you here. He’s such a great one; we’re all a little in love with him, for sure, it’s hard to ignore such a fine face. And the stories of his battle deeds, well they’d be enough to make any girl fall at his feet. But you don’t want to hear all that… come, sit you down and I’ll pull the tangles and grass from those rat’s tails you have on your head.” She picked at Rowena’s hair with her fingertips.
Rowena sat down obediently and allowed her hair to be tugged and tamed into an approximation of a style.
“I’m Aife,” the girl said, smoothing her fingers through a particularly nasty tangle. “We don’t really live here, but there was trouble at our own rath, so here we are. Sure, it’s a nice place, but it’s not like home was. Father’s looking for a new mound. I’m not convinced it’s a good idea. I think we should rebuild what we had.”
“I’m sorry,” Rowena said, and she was sorry. It was hard to lose your home. When her father had died, their house had gone to her eldest brother, who had immediately sent her to work for Angus. She lost her father and her home in the same week, and the wound still ached.
“I’m sure father will find us something suitable. We can’t just live anywhere.”
“Forgive me asking,” Rowena said, determined to make the most of this guiless creature, “but who exactly are the Sidhe?”
“Bless you!” She laughed and caressed Rowena’s hair into a twist which she proceeded to secure with a finely-detailed comb. “Have they not told you? We are the race that live below the land. We reigned above it at one time and were as you were, but then the Milesians came and we lost our homes. So we live alongside the humans, but not with them. We could not bear to leave the land which we loved so much, so we live within it.” She smiled triumphantly. “And it is a good life, for the most part.”
“The one called Fedelm, she travels in a peculiar way.”
“We can all travel thus. We shift our shapes at will; a rather useful tool to confuse humankind.”
“You’re fairies?”
“If that is what you wish to call us, then yes, yet we are so much more. We guard the land and the people. We protect them and teach them some of our skills. We give the land its magic.” She stood back and twisted a lock of hair one final time. “I’m sure even Cuchulain will be pleased with this. Mark him well, for I fear he will grow sweet over you and our father would be most displeased.”
“You are Midhir’s daughter? You don’t look much like him.”
“No, but you do. You’re very dark, both of you.” She smiled and rushed away, leaving the door open as she did so.
Rowena wasn’t surprised to see the man named Cuchulain enter and close the door behind him. It seemed she was to be inflicted with one Sidhe after another. He smiled and she felt the floor shift a little.
“You have Midhir’s graceful features; I just hope some of his impetuous spirit is absent from your character.” He almost reached to touch her hair but stopped himself. “You will meet with the council. Dagda is the chief of us all and will smile on you this day. I have no doubts about that. Attending will be a member of the English Wizarding Council and a representative of the Welsh Witches and Wizards’ Assembly. They have brought their own candidates with them.”
“Candidates for what? What have you brought me here for?” Rowena followed as he made off in the direction of the door.
“There is much persecution in England and Scotland. It is impossible to teach magical people any longer with any degree of safety. We agreed to help bring together suitable people to build and run a school for witches and wizards.”
“And you want me to do this? But I am no witch “ what would I have to teach children?”
“But you are a witch, my dear Rowena. Your mother was a witch; that was how she brought Midhir to her side: she bewitched him. I would wager that you have had strange things happen when your blood runs hot. It’s your magic. Your mother will have kept it hidden from you, leaving you with much to learn.”
“I do not understand any of this,” she muttered as she left the room, and they began their walk down the endless corridor. “I feel as if I should just go home and be with the clan. What reasons have I to be with all of you in such a beautiful place?”
“Do not fret, Rowena. You will find your place of belonging. Give it a little time.”
“That’s easy for you to say, this is your home.”
“You mark your pretty face with such a frown. Be grateful and glad that you will not live your days herding sheep and cattle from one field to another.” He steered her in the direction of a huge double door that appeared before them as if at his bidding. “Now, prepare to meet the people with whom you will share your future.”
She didn’t have the chance to ask him what he meant by that, for the doors opened and allowed them entry into a vast hall. Marbled, and gilded with gold at every opportunity, it had the aspect of some grand heaven here on earth; she found herself swamped by the grandeur. A huge wooden table stretch down the centre, its top empty save for several goblets of wine. Chairs were arranged around it, many of them empty. Six, however, were not.
Her eyes were naturally drawn to a dark-haired man, whose head was bent over the table as if in great contemplation of the grain in the fine oak. His skin had a dark cast to it and she was intrigued by the aroma of spices that seeped from his skin and hair. She was not introduced to him, and he did not raise his head at her appearance. Next she passed a tall, plump girl, whose blonde hair formed a halo about her head. This one did look up at her entrance and there was a sparkle about her face that made Rowena smile and bow her head in recognition of the happiness she saw on the other’s face.
The third person actually rose to greet her, pushing his chair back and reaching out to take her hand.
“My lady, it is a great pleasure to meet you and on such an occasion. I am Godric Gryffindor of York and you may consider me at your service.”
Rowena blushed and allowed her hand to be kissed, sensing Cuchulain’s disapproving look upon her as she allowed Godric Gryffindor to flirt with her acquaintance. She was led to the head of the table, and as she passed a looking-glass, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. It was a shock to find she had lost her old self at some point in the journey from Winterseam to this place. She had never thought of herself as particularly pretty before, with her sun-tanned face and alarming amount of hair “ but the reflection she saw now showed a glowing and happy woman dressed well and with a sense of undefined purpose about her.
“My child.” The man that now spoke held out his hands and took hers into his great palms. A great sense of power radiated up her arms and shook her from top to toe. Here then was the ruler of this race. Dagda: an oddly plain man that would not have brooked a second glance were in not for the immense authority that surrounded him.
“It is an honour to meet you, my Lord.” She curtseyed and the fabric of her dress slithered about her.
“An honour to meet your own grandfather! I am the one honoured that you finally returned to us. Cuchulain tells me that you were willing to return.”
She suddenly felt grateful for that particular small lie; she had been most reluctant to return, but it would not do for this man to think she had been brought back against her will.
“I am most glad to be here,” she responded, which was, at least, the truth.
“There will be time enough for us to talk together later, for I have a feast in honour of the four of you and in honour of the time of year. Now, it is enough that we make the appropriate introductions.” He turned to the man and woman on the other side of him. “Honoria Abertillery, chief witch of the Welsh Witches and Wizards’ Assembly and Arbottle Aethlefric of the English Wizarding Council. They have with them plans for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that you will most assuredly want to see.”
The dark-haired man stiffened at the mention of plans, but he did not have the time to sulk for long.
“The gentleman at the end,” Dagda continued, “is Salazar Slytherin. He comes to us today from Cambridge, although he travelled far to get there. He is originally from the dark mounds of Afghanistan.”
The man thus identified gave a sharp nod and raised his eyes just once. She was shaken a little by the overarching desire she saw there. His brows were sharp above those jet eyes and they expressed more than any other eyes she had ever seen.
“Helga Hufflepuff joins us from the valleys of Caerphilly. I think you and she will have much to discuss; Helga was raised as a witch and will have many insights for you.”
Helga twittered a warm greeting, which Rowena returned with an overwhelmed grin.
“And good Godric has already introduced himself. The Gryffindors are well known for their bravery on the battlefield; less so for the rich strain of magic that flows through their lineage.”
“Sir.” She turned back to Dagda and frowned. “How do you expect us to build a school and where are we to build it? I have no teaching experience. I do not even know how to be a witch.”
The great chief laughed again and reached to pat her shoulder. “Child, you are here to learn. Everything comes with time and good teachers. Helga will teach you all you need know about being a witch; Cuchulain will teach you some skill with a bow and other skills that will serve you well should you ever need to use non-magical means as a defence, and Aife will teach you to sew and make more of yourself than you have in the past.”
“And what if I do not want this? What if I wish to go home and marry my betrothed and be who I was?”
Dagda roared “ there was no other word for it “ with laughter and then looked to Cuchulain. His face was creased with disbelief and he continued laughing even as he spoke.
“The child is not serious? She cannot prefer what was to what will be.”
Cuchulain was at her elbow, not quite touching it. “She feels a connection to her family, my Lord, as we do to our own. This will pass with time and good company. I think she has had enough to contemplate. I suggest we retire and I will deliver her to the feast tonight.”
Rowena did not like the idea of being delivered anywhere; it made her feel like a helpless lamb bursting from its mother’s womb.
“I can make my own way to the feast if directions are given.” She stepped away from Cuchulain’s arm and found that she was closer in proximity to Godric. “Perhaps an escort can be found who will be less inclined to treat me as a chattel.”
The crack of displeasure that sprang from the spurned warrior was felt throughout the room, but only Salazar smiled to see it.
“Perhaps the lady would prefer an escort with no vested interest in her beauty or her charms,” he said, rising to his feet and the challenge.
Rowena stepped from the conflagration of wills that was occurring between Cuchulain and Godric and approached Salazar. He stood a good few inches taller than her, and had the sharpest features she had ever seen on a man. Aquiline noses and bladed cheekbones were a rarity back home, especially when coupled with hair as straight and as black as his. In that respect, he matched her perfectly.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I shall wait for you in my room.”
He gave the slightest incline of his head and she smiled, gratified to find one who seemed as ill at ease here as she was. For however long they kept them here, she knew she would not rest. It was all beautiful, but lacked any reality; Rowena was a girl rooted in reality.
“Then it shall be,” Dagda said, concluding their discussion. “The solstice is tonight; a night of fire and feasting. Be prepared for a long evening and much revelry.”
The assembled company broke up and went their myriad ways. No one but Cuchulain accompanied Rowena, and even he proved to be more company than she desired. It was with relief that she found her self left alone in her room as the spurned man bade her a good day and told her there would be food sent to her for her luncheon.
It was the feeling of timelessness that she misliked the most; the false sky “ for she had asked Aife earlier and it was indeed a bewitched ceiling “ changed little and gave no indication of the time. Her life had been ruled by the position of the sun and each chore that rose with every movement of that bright star. Now, in this place whose location that she did not even know, there were no chores and no sun to guide her movements. The morning slipped softly into the afternoon, and she dozed and dreamed. Her dreams were strange; peppered with people she did not know and magic she could not control, they left her feeling ill-rested and disturbed.