FAIRY DOOR CHAPTER 1

I am a firm believer in the value of sizable samples to give a real taste for the full thing, so, I am here publishing the first three chapters of my novel, Fairy Door. If you like what you see, please pick up a copy on Amazon.

Enjoy!

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Midmorning sunlight, tinted with the heat of early summer, cast shadows between hills made green from the work of a storm-filled spring as Eibhlin made her way to the nearby town. Wind passed through her hair and danced between flowers that poked through the grass like drops of dye on a rumpled, green rug.

Eibhlin herself lived in a cottage along the eastern edge of the hills, built there by her great-grandfather before famine drove her grandparents from that home, and before her father brought her mother away from the gray mountains in the north back to that green-clothed country and its little town. The same little town where, three months ago, a thunderbolt had set thatched roofs to fire. No one died, but trades and treasures were lost, and many gained scars. Even the church now wore black on its stones, though otherwise it had been spared.

Her father had left early that morning to join the repair crews as he did every day, so he probably hadn’t eaten. When she woke to her father’s absence, Eibhlin had quickly tended to the chickens, packed a bag with biscuits and fresh boiled eggs, and left the house. She would have reached the town already had she used the path, but Eibhlin loved the rustle of grass and the rise and fall of earth beneath her feet. The dirt path curved around the hills before breaking two ways, one to the forestlands spreading up toward the Great Northern Mountains and out to the distant east, and the other path to the west where the White Cliffs loomed over ocean waves before swooping down to port towns and coastal villages. Eibhlin’s goal, however, was the tiny town nestled between the hills and the forest.

Filled with no more than thirty families, it was more a village than a town and did not have a name. Most who passed through called it “the border town,” as it lay near the river Lúrin that ran through the forest—the border of that country of Enbár—as well as near the White Cliffs, the border of the land itself. To the locals, it was one more border, that of between the hills rolling south to the lowland settlements and cities and the forest.

Townsmen called the woods magic, frequented by the fairy folk. Stories flew around of hearing fairy laughter or seeing dancing figures from the Fae Country between the trees. Some spoke of fairy help while others spoke of curses. Eibhlin believed every story. From the hilltop, she looked to the trees forming a line between land and sky, but a voice from below brought her back.

“Eibhlin, good morning!” called the voice. It belonged to an older man standing on the path with a bulging bag hanging from his shoulder.

“Good morning, Dr. Brien,” said Eibhlin as she left the hill to join him. “How’s the weavers’?”

“Nearly done,” said the doctor. “Just the roof and the door and a few things left. Then it’s on to the next one.”

“Do you think they’ll finish today?” she said.

“Probably not,” he said. “But even if they do, I’m not sure what to do about the weavers’ tools. Just about everything burned. The big caravans won’t be through for a few months, but even when they do come, they won’t have much to offer them. And it’s not just the weavers’. Even if everyone pools their resources, we’ll still have to hope things don’t get too tight before next spring.”

Eibhlin nodded in understanding.

As they came into town, folk greeted them from doorways. Eibhlin gave quick replies to each knowing nod at her satchel. They came into the main square where every available man carried, chopped, sawed, tied, or nailed lumber or did anything he could to keep busy. Women slipped between the chaos, children at their heels or infants slung across their backs as they filled whatever role they could.

One woman turned and saw Eibhlin and the doctor approaching. “Welcome back, Brien,” she said. “Did you find much? And good morning, Eibhlin.”

“I had to go farther south than I’d expected and had to use the road on the way back, but I found enough herbs for today,” said the doctor. “How are things here, Leana?”

“And have you seen my father?” added Eibhlin.

“There’ve been so many accidents already today, I might need to run back to the house for more thread,” said Leana, looking through her husband’s bag. “As soon as one injury is fixed, another two pop up. And your father is over there, helping thatch the weavers’ house.”

The once de-fleshed house was near healed. All around, men, women, and children bundled the dried reed into thatching and prepared the wooden spars used to bind it all together. One group of men lifted rough-cut beams to a pair standing on the walls where the roof would eventually be. Eibhlin called up to the pair balanced on the newly built walls. “Papa!”

Work stopped, and one of the men turned. He was a large man with a face bearing a full beard and bright, green eyes. Kind, lively eyes on a beast’s body, that was Lochlann, blacksmith of the border town.

“Oi, Eibhlin!” came the voice of the other roof man. “What’s your business this mornin’? The usual?”

Eibhlin held up her bag. The man laughed and turned only to find himself alone on the incomplete building. When he looked back down to the ground, he couldn’t see Eibhlin through Lochlann’s broad back.

“Good morning, Eve-my-lin!”

“Good morning, Papa. I woke up late, so breakfast is a bit light,” she said.

Lochlann laughed. “You don’t need to be troubled about this old man.”

“And you need to not trouble our neighbors,” said Eibhlin. “They already make you lunch every day. I don’t want them having to make you breakfast, too, or risk you falling over again from hunger.”

One of the bundling men said, “Give it up, Lochlann. She’s Kyra’s daughter.”

Lochlann’s face softened to an expression Eibhlin knew well. Only one name made him make it. “You really are. I wish you could have known her better, Eve.”

Eibhlin said, “I’m fine, Papa. No, really, I am. I hardly even remember Mama, anyway.”

Lochlann smiled, though slightly, and lifted the satchel from his daughter’s shoulder. “Sorry to make you bring this again.”

“If it bothers you,” said the wall-top man, “why don’t you sleep in, eat breakfast at home for a change.”

“How can you say that when there’s still so much work to do?” said Lochlann.

“How indeed,” said Eibhlin. “Please don’t worry about me. I don’t mind the walk, and it’s good to get out of the house, anyway.”

From beside an injured worker, Brien said, “Maybe you don’t mind, but your father needs more rest. Skipping meals, working long, hard days, you’ll make yourself sick at this rate, Lochlann.”

“Oh, Doctor, you’re back,” said Lochlann. “How’s the morning so far?”

“Not as bad as yesterday, he said, unrolling a strip of bandage cloth, “but still too many workers rushing to finish jobs, making mine that much busier.”

“And you’re telling me to rest more when you’re busy yourself?” said Lochlann.

“I’m a doctor,” said Brien. “It’s my job to not rest so my patients can, and I don’t need you on that list, too.”

“I say you both need rest,” said Leana. “Really, it’s like you two are trying to work yourselves to death.”

Eibhlin spoke. “It’s fine. Maybe Papa works too much, but if his body really needs to rest, it’ll tell him. Besides, he’s working to help everyone. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Doctor Brien said nothing, but his wife sighed. She said, “You have a good daughter, Lochlann. Make sure you take care of her properly.”

“But of course! Don’t you trust me?” he said.

“It’s not quite that,” she said. Leana glanced to her husband, but his eyes stayed focused on the wrapping bandage. She said to Eibhlin, “If you ever need help, just tell me, okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Eibhlin. “Don’t worry about me and just focus on getting everyone else fixed up.”

Leana frowned but said nothing more.

“By the way, do you need me as an extra hand?” asked Eibhlin.

Doctor Brien answered, “Actually, yes, that would be great. Almost everyone not working on houses is out with the flocks, so if you could help a bit, we’d appreciate it.”

“Okay,” said Eibhlin. “Papa, don’t forget to eat your breakfast. Also, tonight I’ll have potato and chicken soup for dinner, so don’t come back too late, or it’ll be cold.”

Lochlann beamed. “I guess I’ll need to be home early, then.”

Before Eibhlin could say anything more, a crash came from down the road, and she and the doctors rushed off. From there, the morning passed quickly as Eibhlin ran around town patching up one injury after another. As the noon bell tolled, she sat with Leana eating a light lunch of biscuits and cheese while Brien met with the men to discuss the afternoon’s tasks.

“Do you really need to head back?” asked Leana.

Eibhlin nodded. “I need to check the garden, and then there’s cleaning to do and dinner to make and whatever else might pop up. I don’t want to risk going late.”

“Yes, that’s true,” said Leana. “Things usually take more time than you think. You know, you don’t have to worry about dinner. Brien and I could- Oh! Could it be today is—”

“Yeah. It’s Papa’s birthday,” said Eibhlin, dropping her voice. “But don’t remind anyone. They’ll want to stop working to celebrate, and what kind of gift would that be to that man?”

The two finished their lunch in silence, but as Eibhlin prepared to leave, Leana said, “Your father is lucky to have a daughter like you.”

Eibhlin blushed. “No, he isn’t. Not at all!”

“No, Eve, he is,” said Leana. “Between you and your mother, he’s been very lucky…. Listen, Eibhlin, don’t be too generous with your father, and if you need help, please let us know. Any time.”

The blush grew. “I understand,” said Eibhlin as she made her way to the hills.

When she crossed her own threshold, Eibhlin slumped against the door, letting herself slide to the floor.

“She’s a good daughter.” “Your father is lucky.”

A scoff slipped from her throat.

She looked around the room, a list sounding off in her head like parts of a creed. In one wall sat the fireplace, its stones black with soot and pit full of ash. And nearby stood the splinter-topped table, a single chair beside it. Another chair lay against the wall by the fireplace, one leg stacked with the wood. The sheet nailed across the shutter-less window flew loose from a gust of wind. A whistle snuck between cracks in the old roof, and dust sat everywhere. The chickens ran defenseless, the coop door gone, and two hens lost last week. Weeds overgrew the garden. The list ever lengthened. Eibhlin forced herself up. She hurried from task to task, thinking how her father would return soon. This time. This time, he would come back.

Evening came. Over the fire bubbled a pot of soup. Between facing sets of tableware sat a small jar of jam and leftover biscuits from lunch. Eibhlin pulled over the kitchenware chest as a makeshift bench and fell across it with a deep exhale. Outside, a growl of thunder threatened rain as moist wind pushed against and slipped through the window-sheet. Eibhlin smiled. If it stormed, construction would stop. No torchlight work. He would surely be home soon.

The first drops of rain struck against the roof. Time passed, and still she sat alone. But this was expected. Preparing the building sites for the storm and walking the road back home would take time, especially in the dark and rain. This delay couldn’t be helped. Soon, though, her father would burst through the door, perhaps soaked, and go to the bedroom to change. They would hang his clothes by the fire to dry, and he would have stories, of course, of the workers’ sudden rush to defend their sites and of the great works of men’s combined strength.

As Eibhlin thought this, the raindrops turned to sheets, and she clenched her sleeves.

The rain fell harder and harder. More than once, Eibhlin jumped up from her makeshift bench to pull out a pot for a new leak. By the time the rain slowed, she had used every spare pot, bowl, and cup, and the only thing to have burst open was the window-sheet, sending her near into panic as she struggled to put it back and stop the water pooling beneath her.

Wet hair stuck to her face as the girl shrank by the fire into a blanket’s folds. She looked to the door. Perhaps the sudden storm had kept him in town. Or had something happened to him? No, someone would have told her. Unless they didn’t know yet. She pulled the blanket over her head, stretched her cold toes toward the fire, and decided that clean up must have simply taken too long and her father was now waiting out the rain. Soon. Very soon. Just a little longer.

The rain passed.

Minutes slid away, then hours. Pain settled in her stomach. She removed the pot from the fire to keep the broth from boiling out and watched the steam gradually vanish. Water dripping through the roof reflected the light like drops of fire. Not one thump of boots. Not one creak of hinges. Just the sounds of crackling wood, drips of fire, and a hungry stomach. But not for long. Soon. Just a little longer. A little long—

“Aaaaaargh!”

Eibhlin slammed her fist against the floor. She rose, took the broken chair, and struck it against the fireplace. Splinters sprayed across the floor and into the soup as she dashed wood against stone. She tossed the headrest into the fire and stomped to the bedroom.

Heading to her father’s side, she turned out the trunk sitting at the foot of his bed. She tore the blanket from the bed, and with the last of her strength, she took the pillow and pounded it against walls, beds, and floor till it burst. She sank to the floor, burying her face in the pillow’s remains, goose feathers falling like downy rain.

Again! He had forgotten her again! He said he would be back. He had… he had….

Eibhlin lifted her face. Seeing the room, all evidence of that day’s cleaning gone, she felt a fresh set of tears forming and moved her gaze to the blanket on the floor, as if thinking to hide beneath it. Then she saw it, half-buried beneath the crumpled pile of clothes and blanket. She pulled the blanket up.

It was a small smithy hammer. Her father being a blacksmith, she wouldn’t have found it too strange to keep a spare hammer among his things but for the hammer’s appearance. It was forged of silver from head to handle’s end. Set into the pommel was an icy blue stone held in place by jagged, silver tendrils and two reptilian tails. The tails melted into the naked handle, crossing as they wound up to the head, where each joined a dragon’s body. From the dragons’ mouths, lighting shot toward the hammer’s face.

Taking up the item, Eibhlin thought how light it felt despite its material. Familiarity flittered across her mind. She had seen this hammer before, but she couldn’t remember when. Running her fingers across the dragon heads, she said, “It’s beautiful, but what good is a hammer made of silver?”

“None, it seems, to you, if it was stored in such a manner.”

Eibhlin stiffened and turned to the voice. Standing on a bedpost was a tiny woman. Black hair spread behind her like a cloak, causing her pale body to appear nearly white. Large, dark eyes locked onto Eibhlin as transparent wings twitched against the fairy’s back. Flying from the bedpost to the hammer, she reached out and brushed long, thin fingers against the silver. “Amazing work,” she said. “More so than I remembered. Human child, will you sell to me this hammer?”

“You… you’re a fairy!” said Eibhlin.

“Yes, and you are a human,” said the fairy without a change in tone. “Now, will you sell me the hammer?”

“I thought fairies rarely approached humans.”

“Rarely, but not never. Now, the hammer—”

“The-the hammer? What about it?” asked Eibhlin.

“I wish to buy it from you,” said the fairy. “Of course, the price is yours to set.”

Eibhlin held the hammer closer. “Why do you want this? You can’t forge anything with a hammer made of a soft metal like silver. It’s useless.”

“To humans, yes. To humans, it is no more than a decoration,” said the fairy.

“But not to you?” asked Eibhlin.

“It is useful to all but human kind,” said the fairy. “This hammer crafts with magic. It’s a powerful tool, elven made and ancient, and none alive are skilled enough to make another like it. In proper hands, it has shattered diamonds, among its baser actions. But in human hands, invoking its enchantments overwhelms the user and often leads to death. Such is the nature of great and ancient magic.”

Eibhlin caught her breath. She stared at the hammer, turning it over in her hand and in her mind. With a quiet voice, she said, “And you want me to sell you something so incredible?”

“Have you a reason to refuse me?” said the fairy.

Eibhlin did. Clearly her father valued this thing if he kept it despite being unable to use it, and if he hadn’t sold it by now, he probably didn’t plan to. However, he had also left her to handle the house and finances on her own, and when the merchant trains came, she would need something to trade for necessities. With how little the forge’s fire had been lit recently, or would be in the coming weeks, there wouldn’t be many options.

“What’s your offer?” she asked. “You more or less said this thing is priceless. How can you match that?”

With a clap louder than Eibhlin would expect from hands so small, the fairy grew to nearly her father’s height. From a pocket on her belt, the fairy removed a small, leather pouch. She reached in and pulled out a polished gold coin. The fairy held out the coin. “Take it and test it however you wish.”

Eibhlin let the heavy metal press against her palm. It caught the light from the fire in the next room, giving the circle a shining rim. Eibhlin swallowed the tremble in her voice. “So… you’ll give me some gold coins? How does that even come close to ‘priceless’?”

“A king’s coffers could not meet the hammer’s value,” said the fairy. “However, this is but a sample. Your hand, please.”

Eibhlin held out her hand, and the fairy tipped the purse. A stream of gold poured out, drowning Eibhlin’s lap and the floor in an outspreading flood of coins. Only when the fairy righted the purse did the flow of money stop. With coins slipping through her fingers, Eibhlin said, “How did you—where did they come from?”

The fae creature said, “This purse opens to my treasury. I possess greater wealth than any mortal king could gather over lifetimes, but I have no use for it. It would be yours to spend. The closest one could come to ‘priceless,’ yes? Have we a deal?”

Eibhlin weighed the hammer in one hand and the gold in the other. The hammer was probably important to her father, but the house needed repair. And all the work must be done by a lone girl as she also cooked, cleaned, and brought things to her father and helped the town. Brien told her as much that morning. Not a free hand could be spared, and certainly not her father’s. Merchants were not charities, and there was simply too much to prepare.

But if she sold the hammer? Could she not ease the town’s worry? Would that not free up some hands to help her? Perhaps even her father’s? What was a decoration to a safe, warm house and everyone’s livelihoods? Her father was never home to use or even look at it anyway.

Eibhlin held out the hammer. “Deal.”

A flash of emotion briefly filled the fairy’s face. Gently, she took the hammer and replaced it with the purse and said, “Our transaction is finished. Fare you well, human child. Doing business was a pleasure.”

With that, the fairy shrank and shot off into the dark, leaving Eibhlin alone and clutching her new wealth.

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Chapter 2