by Aria Blackthorn (Raven Angel)

"Let's take the time
To find ourselves again
Away from all this wind and rain.
Though we may find we'll not come back the same,
That happens sometimes when we play
the game."

     I came to Ireland believing in the myth, but never the reality of it. The Good Folk, the Little People...I knew all the terms well enough, but believing in them? I dismissed it all as country superstition and old wives' tales. The only reason I knew so much about them was my parents; they'd grown up in a secluded area of Ireland, where technology was limited to a modern tap in the town pub, and a truck to drive to the big city for supplies. In such an ancient, rustic area, I supposed it would have been easy to succumb to believing in all those stories. Without the knowledge of science, the wind howling over the moors became the cry of a banshee; the deadly banshoan (the water spirit that dragged you to a watery death) was only a clump of seaweed that a swimmer might get tangled in and dragged down with. None of these things were real to me, and I belonged fully to the realm of technology, believing only in what I could see.
     I could tell you about my childhood, but I'll spare you the details. I was born Donegal Bren Sgaileach, and after I graduated I was offered a semester abroad at the European country of my choice. Being curious to see this place my parents had spun so many tales about, I chose Ireland; much to my luck, the perfect opportunity arose whilst I was there. The ruins of some sort of castle had been discovered recently inside a hill by some miners; the archaeologists who took on the job of excavating the ruins were in dire need of help. Few of the townsfolk would help for fear of the faery folk; it was a fey castle, they said, and it would be a great dishonor to them if they took apart their home.
     None of us believed them, of course. Such nonsense was just peasant superstitions, we thought, so the dig was scheduled to begin on July 2nd. I arrived July 1st at a small privately owned airport a few miles away from the site and was met by Professor Ingram, the man running the dig. He was a kind old man, his face tanned by years of spending his days in the hot sun excavating, but serious and to-the-point. He showed me to my room at a nearby inn (a typical picture right off the brochures for Old World countries), where everyone was staying, and invited me for a mug of ale before I settled in, but I declined. I went up to my room and fell asleep soon after I finished unpacking.
     The next morning I was awakened early by a knocking on my door. It was another colleague I was to work with, James Shay, telling me to get up and get ready to leave for the site. Eagerly, I did all the usual morning business and got dressed, after which I rushed downstairs and outside the inn; I found five people waiting for me with the professor.
     "Donegal," the Professor said. "I'd like to introduce you to the rest of our team. I've already told them about you. This," he pointed to a woman with blonde hair beginning to gray slightly, "is Sybil Ramsay. She's the one who restores the artifacts we find so we can tell what they are. The young man next to her is David Turlough; he's only a few years older than you...and, like you, he's here to help find the artifacts and carry them safely to Sybil's on-site lab. You've already spoken to James Shay; he's our head architect and dig observer, so to speak. He decides whether we should put supporting columns up, what the best way to dig would be, and generally anything that concerns the safety of the artifacts or the team members. Kerry Durendal is our resident specialist on Ireland's history; once Sybil restores an artifact, Kerry tells us what it might be and if she can make out any inscriptions on it. Last, but certainly not least, is our driver and head of security, Sam Waldron. The few villagers we managed to hire are waiting for us at the site already. All right everyone, into the car," he finished at last.
     "I call shotgun," David hurriedly spoke up with a sheepish grin.
     After we'd all taken places in the blue van Professor Ingram had rented, I ended up in the set furthest back with Kerry, while James and the professor shared the front seat with Sybil. I had a window seat, and I found myself unable to look away from the countryside as we headed off to the site. Huh…it was all exactly as my parents described it...and all these years I thought they were exaggerating, but they weren't. It was gorgeous and magical in its own right. Despite the lack of sunshine (which was a great relief to me anyway), the grass and fields looked a healthier green than I'd ever seen back in America, and the trees had an ancient air about them as if each one contained a piece of ancient secrets within its branches. Even the misty clouds edged with gray had a sense of power, and I could swear they'd been grouped in artistic patterns. I stared at the countryside flying past me as if in a trance until I heard Kerry speaking to me.
     "Donegal Bran Sgaileach? That's quite an Irish name you've got there," she said. I could make out a slight Irish accent in her shy, quiet voice.
     "Uh, yes, it is. My parents are originally from Ireland. Traditional Irish folk, you know? When they moved to the US they decided to keep the Irish names going in the family," I answered, trying to make her more comfortable. She seemed nervous and shy around people, as if unaccustomed to their company.
     "Well they sure did a good job then!" she said jovially, before adding, "Where were they from exactly, to have kept such a traditional family?"
     "I'm not sure," I answered, my cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. "I think it was somewhere in Connemara...I think it's somewhere in County Galway...I'm really not sure, I didn't ask that much about exactly where they were from. I never thought I'd get the opportunity to come here so soon."
     "I understand," she said, smiling softly. "Things have a way of happening before we're ready for them. If they didn't, there'd be no surprises to life."
     I smiled in return; this woman, who couldn't have been more than twenty years older than me (and that's at most), was far wiser than she looked. "I guess you're right," I said. "So, do they know anything about these ruins we're going to explore?"
     "No, we barely know anything. That's why it's such a mystery! A castle...inside a hill...why, it's simply unheard of; no one was ready for such a discovery. If we can prove that it was created by the Celts, we might have stumbled upon proof that they were far more advanced than we gave them credit for. Imagine that...a whole castle full of people living inside a hill..."
     "Then why exactly didn't the villagers want to work with us? Wouldn't they want their names associated with that kind of discovery?" I asked, not taking their fairy myths seriously.
     "Didn't they tell you? The villagers say leave it be; they believe it's a castle the wee folk built for their own uses and not for human eyes."
     "Oh they told me about that, but do you think they could be serious or that there's another reason behind their reluctance?"
     "They believe it all right! Superstition runs rampant in rural areas, even today. Some still leave milk at the hearth for Brownies and such. The only reason we got the ones we did is because their greed overcame their beliefs."
     "I see...I didn't think people believed in fairies anymore," I said, turning back to the window and looking outside. The country view greeted me once more and the rest of our trip was spent in silence.
     We arrived on the site somewhere around a half hour later; there were tents set up around the hill, with only a small mine entrance inside. A few well-built workers were putting more support beams at the entrance while a few men from the town were setting things up. As I left the van, a strange but pleasant scent filled my senses; it smelled oddly of flowers and some other sweet fragrance, but there were no flowers anywhere nearby. I frowned slightly but continued onwards. The Professor showed us around the tents, which were all mostly places to rest and get refreshments or research areas.
     "Since we're horribly understaffed," he said, "we're all going to have to do some digging ourselves. We'll take shifts going into the mines once the workers have set the beams up. We can make a schedule and decide on shifts. I can say for certain that your shifts will be at least five hours each, and that the nighttime shifts will be the most dangerous. During the day, we rely on our lanterns and flashlights to dig, but in case of emergency the light from the mine entrance will guide us; during the night, we have no such comforts, so guard your light sources carefully. If you discover something, immediately take it to Sybil's tent, sign in with and make sure to record where it was discovered and a rough description of what it looks like; we need to keep everything on record."

This story is ©1999 Aria Blackthorn, All Rights Reserved. Faerytales does not claim responsibility for the content. For permission to use it or any questions concerning the content, yadda yadda, contact Aria.