Aife and her merry voice woke her from one particularly bad dream that saw her buried beneath a turret of rubble that collapsed about her.
“I’ve a new dress for you. Dagda insisted you have something appropriate for the night. I think the scarlet will make you look like a vision.”
Rowena looked blearily at the scarlet velvet that rippled in the girl’s hands and didn’t know whether to be pleased or distressed by yet another change foisted on her at someone else’s bidding.
“Is it so difficult for you?” Aife asked, coming to sit on the bed. “You will enjoy tonight, of that I am sure. It will not be like your own home, yet there will be much magic at the Solstice Feast that will make you feel as if you never had another home.”
“I’m not sure I miss my home as much as I might,” Rowena admitted. “I just wish I knew more than I do. I would just like to glimpse the mountains, smell the fresh pines and feel the cold snow in my hands. This place is so… so unearthly.”
“That’s because it is!” Echtain laughed. “You are in the greatest rath of them all: Brú na Bóinne. This is Dagda’s domain. What is seen above land is just the beginning; what is below is the real heart of our realm. Come, dress and be happy. Tonight will be the beginning of a new life for you; you should embrace the opportunity.”
“I’ll try,” she said, doubt in her heart. “I’ll certainly try.”
She thought hours must have passed between Aife leaving her and Salazar arriving at the door. If they were to be kept here long, she fervently hoped that there would more in the way of occupation. The dress she now wore was magnificent, something that was confirmed by the look of admiration on Salazar’s face as she opened the door to him.
“The scarlet is an improvement on the white,” he said, his accent slight and exotic. “You are ready?”
“I am,” she replied. “And you have not changed your own clothes?”
“I will not be dressed by others. My clothes are my own.”
If this was the case, Rowena reflected, he was a wealthy young man. His clothes were almost as fine as her new ones, lacking only the most exceptional details. Salazar offered his arm, which she accepted, and he strode away with some purpose in his step.
“You know your way around this place?”
“It is not difficult. You walk and you eventually come to the place you would like to be. I deem that the rooms shift around at will.”
“How can that be?” Rowena asked, not believing him despite the evidence of her own eyes. This corridor had led to the Great Hall that morning, yet now they were walking down a staircase that had not been there earlier.
“It’s an enchanted world. Am I to understand that you really have no knowledge of magic?” He looked down at her with a sceptical look.
“None at all. I used to watch the wee folk when I was a little girl, and I know all about them. This is something quite different though.” She waved her hand about her head as if to encompass the whole world that she now inhabited.
“You will grow accustomed to it soon enough. I was a latecomer to the magical world myself. Once the door is opened, all knowledge comes rushing through it.”
Her nostrils drank contentedly at that wonderful spice smell he was still exuding. She could not place any one scent; there was little use for money or exotic spices in her village.
“Why are you sniffing at me?” he asked sharply.
“You smell like far distant lands,” she answered. Something in her honesty seemed to please him and they settled into contented silence. Three swift changes of direction later and they found themselves before doors even greater than those belonging to the Great Hall.
“I suspect the Great Hall is not the largest in this place,” Salazar said as the doors opened for them.
It wasn’t the last time that Rowena was to witness Salazar’s astute judgement. The hall they now entered seemed fathomless. An enormous fire burned in the centre, its smoke lifted and dispelled by something unseen. Tables lined the outer walls; walls which seemed to shift to accommodate the moving guests. Torches burned from sconces throughout the room, making everything golden and warm. Her companion’s own scent was drowned by the odour of roasting meat and spiced wine. The feast was laid out down one whole side of the room; a glorious array of pies, roasts, nuts and berries, three huge pigs’ heads, three spits turning on fires that had been lit in one huge corner, and barrels of ale and wine had been brought out, their contents flowing freely into guests’ goblets and tankards.
“This is certainly a feast of grand proportions,” he said, deftly steering her past three large men who all wore a disheartening array of weapons. They were involved in a mild altercation with someone concerning those weapons and were of the opinion that they would hang on to them for the duration of the feast.
“They will give them up eventually,” Salazar said as they approached the barrels. “It’s a sign of their power that they are even trying to get away with keeping them. Wine or ale?”
He accepted a large tankard of ale from the brightly-dressed man who stood sentinel over the casks.
“Wine, please, a small one.”
“I don’t think anything about this evening will be small,” he said, nodding towards the wine barrel. “I hope your feet are up to a good deal of dancing.”
The man handed him the still-frothing goblet, which Salazar took and placed in Rowena’s hand.
“I can dance well enough,” she replied, watching as several musicians entered and began to settle themselves into a corner. “Can you?”
“It is not something I have practiced much.” He did not seem bothered by this failing, going on to suggest that she might favour Gryffindor for such activities. Rowena had the distinct impression that anything so frivolous as dancing was something that would not appeal to this stern man.
“I think I can persuade you to join me for at least one dance,” she suggested. “Something slow that you would be able to keep up with, perhaps”
“I did not say I could not dance,” he said archly, “merely that I did not practise it.”
“There is no need for you to be such a sour-face!” She drank deeply from her goblet and caught the eye of Godric, who was deep in discussion with Helga. He raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled and returned her attention back to Salazar.
“Why us?” she asked. “Or, rather, why me?”
“They chose me because of my work with the king. I have constructed many castles for him. My magical abilities are little known, but the council found me. I could not refuse such a prestigious request.”
“You do not look like a man who builds castles.”
“And what, prithee, does such a man look like? Perhaps you would have me with masonry in my hair and the look of a man who does nothing but draw battlements?”
“I did not mean that. I simply meant you look more like a merchant or a Chieftain than someone with such expertise. It is an admirable thing to be able to raise a building from the ground. Why the other two, then? Do you know them?”
“I know Godric of old. We grew up for a time together until his family gained position and wealth in York. He is a good man, if a little soft-hearted. Helga, I know very little of. She is a pleasant enough creature: placid, entertaining.”
He took her hand, his fingers closing around hers with confidence, and moved her towards some chairs. “Let us sit,” he suggested. “I do not enjoy my ale if forced to stand.”
The tables were all trimmed with the branches of evergreens, holly being the most prominent with its bloodied berries. Rowena arranged her dress about her, glancing around to see who was already present. The musicians began to play, harps and pipes filling the space with joyous music. Now they had to raise their voices slightly; the hall filled rapidly and the noise level grew by the minute.
“So, why me? I have no skill that I could bring.”
“You are one of them. I believe they wanted to place someone close to the heart of this new school. You have been watched from a young age and have always displayed wit and wisdom beyond your experience and your years. You were a natural choice, I believe.” Salazar appeared satisfied with his assessment, for he smiled and drank deeply.
“How is that you know this and I do not? How is it that everyone knows so much about me and I know so little?” She placed her goblet on the table with some force. “I feel that I am one step behind all of you “ no, I feel like I am a whole journey behind you.”
“You will catch up.” He was serene, yet beneath that serenity she could sense quiet power. He did not wear it like Dagda did, heady and intoxicating; he kept it close to him, hidden and unexpected.
“Everyone keeps telling me that.”
“Drink your wine and stop complaining about what you do not know. If you continue, you will be too concerned with not knowing and fail to address the deficit.”
Several men lined up by the doors and she watched them raise ivory horns to the heavens as the doors opened again, and this time a huge log was brought in, supported by twelve men, such was its size. It was manoeuvred above the heads of the assembled crowd and the musicians changed their tune to something achingly ethereal. The candles burned higher and Dagda, who she had not seen because of the gaggle of women about him, stood to raise a toast to the Yule log.
“My friends, welcome to the hall of Dagda. May you enjoy this sacred time and feast to your heart’s content. The Host have been abroad this night and brought with them some guests from above us. Make them most welcome, for they only have such a short time in this magical realm.” He waved his hand at a group of bewildered looking people who were huddled together and being handed drinks. “And we also have several humans who have been brought for other reasons.” This time he sought out Rowena and her three new companions.
“Who are those others?” Rowena asked under her breath, looking at the terrified peasants. Salazar raised a finger to his lips and did not answer.
“Tonight we will light the oak before us and celebrate the breaking of winter. Behind us is the dying year and ahead of us we face rebirth. The days will lengthen and the darkness be diminished. For twelve days we will celebrate and then our guests will dispense back to their homes, some old, some new.” Here he looked at Rowena and smiled. “Be peaceful amongst each other and make much merriment.”
The men carrying the log lowered it carefully over the central fire and Rowena stood to watch it fizz and crackle, the sap being drawn by the heat. Rich, oaken smells filled the air when the bark caught light and a huge cheer rose as the first flames licked across the girth of the log.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Good grief, you are not crying?” Salazar looked up at her and could see the glisten of happiness on her lower eyelids.
“I am not!” she snapped back, wondering why she was so ashamed of her sudden display of emotion. “The fresh smoke is burning my eyes.”
Salazar nodded, accepting her lie. “Would you like more wine?”
“Yes please,” she said, her voice little more than a croak.
The feasting continued early into the morning. She discovered the other humans had been swept up by the riders of the Sidhe as they rode out across the night. Their bodies would be left slumbering where they had been found, while their spiritual manifestations gradually unbent and imbibed enough alcohol to chase away their fears. Salazar surprised her by dancing far more than he had suggested he would, and he proved to be very good at it. Godric and Helga had made time for her, both proving to be entertaining friends.
It was her true entrance into a world that filled her days with interest and new learning. The following day she had spent the morning with Helga, had acquired a wand, and been taught basic spells. It bemused her at first that she could make things happen so quickly with just a swing of this stick of wood and a few muttered words. She made a good pupil and learned at a rapid rate. Cuchulain taught her how to wield a bow and arrow, although she was not quite so quick to pick this skill up and many of her arrows fell short of the mark. Her skill with a needle and thread was equally uncertain and she was happiest to be back with her wand and parchments, which she found she could read without need for instruction.
The days tumbled quickly over one another and she barely noticed the gradual disappearance of the guests. It was only when the humans stolen by the Host were sent away, most reluctantly, it must be said, did she realise that her time too was coming to an end here.
Her father, who had tried his best to make a connection with his lost daughter, came to her room on the evening of what was to be her last day. She had packed many of the things she had acquired into a large pack, and it sat ready for the journey. Her plan had been to go to bed early and meet with the other three when her ceiling reflected daybreak down on her and woke her from her sleep.
Midhir entered her room with a look of great apology on his face. She bade him to sit and he did so, watching her carefully as she sat opposite him and folded her hands on her lap.
“You have learned much in your time with us,” he commented. “Much magic is now taking up residence in your mind and this is reflected in everything you do. Already you move with grace worthy of your heritage.”
She had not yet called him father to his face; indeed, it felt improper to do so. Her father was dead. Yet, she felt that his name was not enough. Whatever had occurred between her mother and this man had produced her; he was owed more than just his name.
“My heritage has been slow to find me,” she said after a pause. “Now that it has, I feel its benefit greatly. I have grown more than I could imagine over these past days and I am only sorry I was not ready for this earlier.”
“You would never have been ready had Cuchulain not brought you here. It would have taken that oaf of a man to batter you into subservience and still you would not have believed what life could hold for you.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You see, we are immortal and we have a long time to live with our mistakes. We are spoken about by human kind and it is said by them that we do suffer death, but that is not true. I did not err from my wife but twice. You were the child that would have remained lost to me had you not been brought back and now I must let you go again.”
“Will I be as you are?” Rowena had never contemplated immortality before; it was not something her family believed in unless you happened to be one of the angels or God himself.
“Will you be immortal? It is not for me to say, or for you to know. Only time will answer that question. Cuchulain was half human and half Sidhe and was returned to us when he was finally slain in your world. Perhaps we will see you here permanently one day.”
Rowena bowed her head, unsure if she really wanted to spend an eternity here. Aife was a sweet person, and Cuchulain, once he had stopped looking at her in a lascivious manner, had proved a good ally and a comforting friend. Forever seemed like a painfully long time, despite these wonderful people. Forever might make her hate them.
“Will I see you again?”
“Not when you leave here. When you leave here it will be to join the human race again, my child. I will have no need to visit you, nor you I.”
“Must there be a reason. I feel I do not know you and yet you sired me.”
“A sire does not always have the honour of knowing its offspring. I have been luckier than most. Take this.” He pulled a small book from his pocket; so small that it nestled happily in the palm of his hand.
It was bound in pale leather, gilt framing the covers and dusting the parchment edges with brightness. She took it and opened the front cover. What she saw made her gasp. It was an image of Brú Na Bóinne as she saw it. Turning pages each contained an image: the great hall; her room; Aife at her sewing; Cuchulain wresting with an opponent; the great Yule log burning fiercely. All perfect representations of the reality.
“Keep it safe with you, child, and no mater how far away from us you feel, it will always be there to comfort you.”
The final page contained an image of Rowena on her first night here, white-clad and bewildered. There was a look of such rapture on her face that she finally realised how much she had always loved this place, even though she had been aware of its existence for such a short period of time.
“I spent many of my childhood time looking out for fairies and watching their world. How could I have known I had a fairy heart myself?”
“You knew it in your longing for the magical. You knew it because there was always something more for you. I watched you a lot as a child, whenever I could escape my responsibilities here. You were and are an exceptional being, My Rowena. Build this school and make others as strong with their magic as you shall be. And let all enter those doors; turn away none who show magical ability.”
“Of course.” She looked at him, feeling tears well in her eyes. Salazar’s contempt for tears came back to her and she stilled her lower lip. “Is this to be us then? I have you gifted to me and then taken away. I did not even have the chance to know you, Father.” The word would not be held in check any longer and fell onto grateful ears.
“Let us be glad we had these moments,” he said. “For without them we would be ignorant of each other and poorer for that. You must go and create your own magic and I must stay here. It will not be well for me to continually interrupt your life, for if you see me again you will feel such a need to return here that I fear you would do something rash.”
“I would not have believed such fancy before my arrival here, but now I do. I understand what I must do. I will not let you down.” Rowena tilted her chin up and smiled. It felt good to have a path to follow, even if she had no idea where that path would lead her.
“I know you will do the best you can.” He stood as if to go and then, half-turning, stayed. “I have love for you, Rowena Ravenclaw, even if I cannot claim to know you as well as I ought.”
“And I for you, Father.”
With a nod, he finally managed to take his leave of her and the last image she had was of a proud and handsome man walking through a door with his back stiff and head erect “ while inside him something appeared to slump.
Their belongings were so few that each was able to carry them on their own backs. Rowena’s wand and few books nestled with dresses in the pack that currently weighed against her back. They were to ride on the backs of Sidhe horses with Sidhe riders taking the reins, going back together through the veil of a new dawn. She found herself clutching the waist of a young man who smiled down on her and made her so sad to think she would see this place no more. The horse was a fine one, shifting smoothly beneath them. Salazar looked less than comfortable at not being the one to hold the reins, trying his best not to look bothered by the fact he was not in control. Helga held on to her rider and giggled at something he said, while Godric sat still and confident on the back of a bay mare whose rider reined in hard.
Aife had come to say goodbye, crying a little and tucking an embroidered belt into Rowena’s pack as she made to leave her. Cuchulain had been slightly more optimistic.
“They say I am not to visit you for fear that you will return and abandon your mission in your world, but I will find a way to make you see that you are not abandoned by the Sidhe.” He was atop his own horse, a huge mare known as the Grey of Macha. “Look for the animal, and you will know.”
He smiled and moved the horse on; her last vision of him was golden hair flashing beneath a bright sun.
And the time had come. The animals strained, were released, their hooves growing progressively louder as they began to churn at the earth. The world moved faster, ever faster, and the green of the land merged with the blue of the sky until Rowena had to close her eyes against the dizzying spectrum.
All was still. The first sense to tell her that they had arrived was smell, as she inhaled the pine scent of fresh mountainside. Her ears spoke of water, water being played with by a soft breeze, and then her sight rushed in and announced that they were back in Scotland.
Everywhere was white-tipped green. A hoar frost had claimed the grass and branches, yet there was no deep snow. Buds were on the trees and she could see the beginnings of snowdrops testing the air with their budding heads. They had lost time, and many months if nature spoke the truth.
She turned and found Salazar, Godric and Helga staring at the scene before them, each with their own thoughts occupying their minds.
“What’s the first thing we must do?” she asked, making the silence take flight. Being in the rath had been one thing, but now they were in a landscape they recognised, everything suddenly felt much more uncertain.
“We build a shelter,” Salazar said, looking at her with calm purpose. “And then we build the school.”
“Hogwarts,” Rowena whispered and looked at the cliff that rose above the lake. “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Home.”
And at that moment, Rowena knew she had finally found home.