Chapter Twenty-Three

The Belly of the Beast

By the time Molly cleared the woods, and noted the empty tree stump upon which her aunt had only recently been seated, Emrys was crouched on his heels and observing a trail of crushed grass that ran in the opposite direction. Only a sizeable individual – either one with a very bad gait, or perhaps, one without any feet? – could have left such a mess of a path behind. But the most distressing fact to be immediately garnered from the evidence here was that there was only the one fresh track. There appeared to be no sign whatsoever of Ms. Honora's fleeing tread.

Did that mean she was taken? Clearly, she must have been. But by whom? Or by what?

"Nathair," Emrys growled. "A large one, too. Do not be distressed, young one, but it is my belief, by all indications here, that our Ms. Honora has been devoured."

"Devoured?" Molly cried. "You mean eaten?"

The fae stood up and turned her. "Molly-cailin, do not panic now. We do not yet know what sort of nathair has swallowed your aunt. There may yet be a chance to save her, but you must keep your wits about you if you hope to do so."

She gave him a hopeful expression, but a single tear still managed to escape down her cheek. He unsheathed the Sword of Sharpness and presented her with the hilt. "Keep the sword always in your grasp, and only swing the blade with both hands on the grip. If you do this, the nathair will not be able to get beyond it to harm you."

"Me? You want me to do this?" Molly's face fell once again, "But I've never handled a sword in my life. How can you expect me to use one now? Not now. Not when my aunt is in trouble. Please, Emrys, you have to save her."

Emrys squeezed her shoulder as he spoke. "I am sorry Molly, but I have assisted you too much already. We were lucky not to have drawn the attention of Lord Donn when I confronted the nathair that attacked you in the factory two days past. I can no longer be more than an observer. You can do this. You must do this."

She had no opportunity for argument, no time for reason, not when her aunt might quite possibly be digesting in the belly of a beast from the Faery world. So, she grabbed the sword from her ancestor, and held it with both hands as she dashed into the trampled grass.

Finn heard all this in speechless confusion, but as he watched Molly's frame get smaller and smaller in the distance, he began to realize that he was being left out. Why? Why should Molly face some man-eating monster alone? Why should she be fighting an invasion of these snake-like creatures all by herself? This was his world, too, wasn't it?

Aye, and he aught to be fighting for it. Even if he'd yet to encounter one of these strange beings outside of Emrys's stories, and even if he wasn't particularly fond of the muzzy of a girl who just ran off with that valuable sword. Given all he'd seen in the last twenty-four hours, he felt quite ready to believe that there was, indeed, a threat that now loomed over Ireland, and therefore, over him and his grandfather.

"What can I do?" Finn turned to Emrys. The fae looked rather taken aback. "Let me help her. Give me a weapon."

"I have no other weapon to offer, lad," Emrys replied.

"Well," Finn suddenly had a idea, "then give me the Cloak of Darkness. I can go and distract that nathair yoke while Molly . . . well, you know . . . kills it or whatnot."

Emrys lifted his eyebrows, and Finn knew that the fae didn't believe him. And could he be blamed? Finn hadn't exactly acted in a way to instill any faith or confidence with anyone.

"I know, I know I haven't given you a reason to trust me, but let me give you one now. Please. Let me show you that I can do this."

The hard look that Emrys gave him made Finn want to retreat several steps back, but a moment later, as if materializing it from out of nowhere, the fae held the black cloak out to him. Finn reached for it, but before Emrys relinquished it, he said, "Do not give me cause to consider you an enemy."

Finn shuddered at the warning, took a deep breath and received the cloak. He handled it warily, not sure what to do with it. "Uh, so how does it work, exactly?"

"Hang it about your shoulders, and simply think about where you would like to go. The cloak will do the rest."

"Ah, right. Well, then. Guess I'll give it a go. Wish me luck." Finn swung the cloak behind him.

As he vanished, he heard the fae tell him to be sure to go to the nathair who swallowed Ms. Honora, and keep it occupied until Molly arrived.

But Emrys was already disappearing from his sight, and the whole world – sight, sound, touch, smell – all faded to a dark swirling gray. The weight of nothingness physically pressed on his body, and Finn was ready to collapse under it when the gray started to diminish and his senses began to return. The scene sharpened in front of him, and it was immediately recognizable.

"Oops."

There to his left was the green paint-peeled door of his Granddad's cottage. The sheep were baaing in the nearby pastures, and the smell of the barn came wafting up from behind the house. The fading light of evening was setting in, and Finn couldn't help but wonder what Granddad would do now that Glic was not there to make his supper.

He heard a familiar tread and turned to see his Granddad hauling pails of compost from the shed. The old man passed by, never seeing his grandson, though he walked so close. Finn couldn't waste the opportunity before him, and so he removed the cloak from his shoulders.

Granddad saw the boy appear out of thin air, and he dropped the pails in his astonishment. He stepped towards Finn with a look of wonder on his face.

"It's me, Granddad," Finn moved closer. "I'm really here. I can't stay, though." The comforts of home were so tempting, but it was not his intention to come here – he wouldn't have his honesty and integrity jeopardized. "I just want to apologize. I know I've been a bit cheek, and rather stupid . . . well, I've been a right git, to tell the truth. But I believe you now. I believe all of it. And I'm going to make you proud of me, alright?"

Finn didn't wait for a response. He threw the cloak over his shoulders, and began to fade, but as the world slipped away again, he saw a proud smile rise on Granddad's face.

The gray void surrounded him once more while Finn concentrated on Ms. Honora and the naithair. When he felt like he couldn't bare the dense emptiness for another second, the world reemerged.

He now stood in a pasture of tall green grasses, and in the ever-dimming light he spotted the lengthy body of a serpentine creature. It slunk by him at little more than an arm's length away. So this was a nathair. Its triangular head was the size of a prize-winning watermelon, and it had a broad body to match – almost as long as a muck-truck – with a zigzag design of varying gray down the back, and a swelling in its flank that slowed the monster's retreat . . . a wide bulge the size of a human.

Bloody nuts. Ms. Honora!

Molly was coming. Finn could see her in the distance. He just needed to distract the thing long enough for her to catch up. With no real plan of action in mind, he turned and ran at the beast, grabbed at its tail and pulled for dear life. The unsuspecting nathair halted, and let out a blaring hiss that made Finn gulp. It turned its head to see what snagged its tail, but spotted nothing. It sniffed and squinted a pair of round eyes in suspicion, and then turned and attempted to resume its withdrawal at a hastier pace; but its full belly only hampered its speed.

Finn looked back. Molly was still about a minute behind. He sighed at the thought of what he needed to do, but bound at the nathair's tail, once more. He pulled at it and dug his heals into the ground. The beast stopped again, and shifted its head, but it didn't look alarmed this time.

No, it looked angry.

The hiss was expected, but the movement that followed it came all too suddenly. The nathair's head sprang at him while its jaw unlocked to reveal a milky white mouth that hid razor sharp fangs. The miscalculated assault occurred within mere millimeters of his face. Finn's invisibility only just saved him from the snap of that death trap.

He crouched down to the ground, and made ready to dodge another strike, but Molly now arrived at the scene, huffing with exertion. Fatigued as the girl had to be, she wasn't about to rest, not when her aunt was in trouble. The nathair shifted its attention towards the new presence as she marched before it. With the Sword of Sharpness clasped in both hands, she aimed the point at her opponent. Only then did Molly allow herself to take in the ghastliness of the monster before her with a terror that shook her to the tip of the blade . . . that was, of course, until she discerned the bulge in the middle of its body.

Her eyes went wide. She let out a warrior cry that might intimidate any enemy, and ran at the creature with the full force of her being. The nathair pivoted to defend against the attack, and before she could swing her sword, it lunged at her. Molly ceased her advance, and jerked backwards out of range of the nathair's maw.

After that, both combatants stiffened.

"Strike at it," Finn shouted, unable to stand the pause.

The familiar voice startled Molly out of her frozen state, but the lack of accompanying face left her perplexed.

"It's me, Finn, you muppet. I'm wearing the Cloak of Darkness," he clarified. "I'm here to help you. Now, strike at the bloody thing."

Not caring to contemplate Finn's presence any further, Molly raised her sword and swung; but the nathair easily evaded her uncontrolled swipe, and the sword continued its course of movement through the air. The weight of it threw Molly off balance. She let go of the weapon to catch her fall, and it flew away into the distant grass.

"Are you coddin' me?" Finn cried, "You gotta, at least aim for it."

But the boy's vexation shifted to anxiety when the nathair poised itself to strike at the unarmed girl while she crawled frantically through the grass in search of her sword. The monster made its move, fast as lightning, but Finn reacted just as quickly. He leapt onto it, and wrapped himself around the nathair's body. The path of its bite was thrown by his mass, and its jaws snapped shut to the left of Molly's shoulder. She let out a squeak of shock, and combed even faster along the ground.

The nathair lifted itself back up, carrying Finn into the air, and there it shook its head back and forth to toss off its unseen assailant. Finn had no time to secure his grip on the monster's frame, and was effectively flung backwards. He landed on his back and skidded across the ground. The cloak pulled away from his shoulders and revealed his position.

The hiss from the nathair sounded almost like a hideous laugh. It zeroed in on its now discernible attacker, and moved towards Finn with obvious intent gleaming in its eyes. The advance was, of course, slowed by the lump in its gut, and Finn crawled backwards just as fast as the nathair moved forwards, dragging the cloak along with him.

This went on for many drawn out seconds, while Molly scrambled to retrieve her weapon. When she placed both hands around the grip once more, and rose to confront the nathair again, she found that Finn was struggling to get away from the creature whilst attempting to wrap the cloak over his shoulders. He just couldn't manage enough distance to get it done.

No time to lose courage, Molly ran at the beast. Her sudden movement reclaimed its attention, but didn't allow it enough opportunity to avoid her attack. She swung the sword with white knuckles, striking before it could dodge, and made contact just beneath its head. The nathair cried out at the pain – it was both the hiss of an angry snake, and the roar of a wounded lion – but the damage appeared to be minor. No more than a scrape across the scales.

While Molly readied herself for a second blow, Finn succeeded in resuming his invisible state. The nathair pounced at the girl, but she jumped to the side and brought down her weapon another time. The Sword of Sharpness met its mark, but still could not penetrate the monster's armor.

She needed only to glance at the mass in the creature's stomach to find the strength to keep fighting. She avoided another lunge from her enemy, and managed a third blow, but it still only accomplished the same result.

As they took turns striking at one another, Finn looked on, desperate to help. Something had to be more effective than simply throwing himself on the nathair's back. They needed a way to defeat it, not just slow it down.

Then it hit him. The answer was in the folklore, in the faery tales told by his teachers, his grandfather, and, most recently, by Emrys Gwennin . . . Shamrocks!

He needed shamrocks to slay the beast. Finn fell to his knees and began searching through the grass. The dusk settled in, and it was more difficult to see, but he swept his hands over the greenery, focused on pinpointing the tiny three-leafed plants. But where were they?

Emrys was right. The shamrock population had drastically diminished. Finn couldn't even find one.

He looked up and noticed Molly tiring in her struggles against the monster, so he crawled further afield and continued looking. When he bent his face closer to the ground for a better inspection, the grass itched at his nose. That trivial irritation at such a moment added to his exasperation, making him grind his teeth and flare his nostrils. But no amount of hunting revealed anything, and the twilight was now making his mission nearly impossible. Finn's frustration got the better of him.

"Damn it all," he pounded his fists on the ground, "I need shamrocks."

He felt a strange tickle beneath his knuckles. A faint vibration spread from underneath him, and rippled outward like water being disturbed in a pond. Finn unfurled his hands and placed them flat on the ground to restore his balance on all fours. He felt something spring up between his fingers, and squeezed them together in reaction. Sitting back on his haunches to lift his hands away from the odd sensation, he discovered that whatever had risen around him was connected to the earth. He pulled with his thumb and forefinger, ripped a bit of it up, and brought it to his face.

A shamrock. A cracking perfect shamrock.

He lowered his face back towards the ground, squinted and peered harder. There were more. Finn gently ran his fingers through the all the foliage within reach of his outstretched arms. They were everywhere, quantities of the stuff.

Time to act.

Finn jumped to his feet, tore off the Cloak of Darkness and threw it aside. "Here I am, you warped beast. You ugly, useless overgrown worm. Come and get me, why don't you?"

The nathair ignored his baiting, and pitched its fangs at Molly, forcing her to duck by dropping to her knees. She struggled to recover herself, but her legs trembled. The girl's energy wouldn't last much longer.

Finn ran at the monster, and sprang unto its back; but his grip was even worse this time than before, and he slid right off the other side. He rolled along the ground and landed close to Molly's feet. She was attempting to lift the sword above her head for another swing when he jumped up and grabbed her by the arm.

"Hey. What are you doing? Are you crazy," she cried as he made an effort to yank her away.

"Trust me," he shouted back, and worked to pull her around the other side of the nathair without becoming reptile-chow.

Either, Molly decided to trust him or she simply gave in due to weakness, but in any case, she followed. When they made it back to the spot where he left the cloak, Finn turned. Molly skidded to a stop beside him. Red faced and short of breath, she readied her weapon for further use.

But she didn't need it.

The nathair pursued them, and found itself well within the patch of shamrocks before it let out another of its hideous shrieks. Finn and Molly gawked with open mouths while the creature shivered and shook and writhed. Its tail and head slashed back and forth, unable to gain enough control of itself to slink away from the shamrock-covered plot.

In less than a minute the long legless body stopped moving. It started to wither, scales turning wrinkled and black, until it looked like an ancient fossilized log with a great lump in its middle.

"Aunt Honora." Molly ran for the rigid body, and felt for the paunch, hoping for movement. There was none.

It was too dark to see, but Finn knew there were tears running down the girl's face. Truth be told, it was a pain he could understand. He'd be devastated if anything ever happened to his Granddad. He put his hand over the one she left on the nathair's carcass, and squeezed it in a gesture of comfort.

A light flashed towards them from the distance. In a matter of seconds, Emrys and Glic were before them; and Finn recognized his torch in the brownie's tiny little hands. That wee creature managed to drag the knapsack, which was twice his own size, across the pasture with very little effort.

The fae beings observed their human companions, and then glanced at one another. Glic fished through the sack and produced a Swiss army knife. He handed it to the boy without a word.

Finn wrinkled his brow and curled his lip at the implication of what he must do, but a glimpse at Molly's desperate face in the torchlight gave him the drive to go through with it. He took a deep breath and felt for a good place to start. The knife slid easily into the warn scales, as though cutting into rotted tree bark. He made an incision long enough to fit his hand through, and then pulled the skin upwards and continued to slice carefully along the surface, trying his best to avoid cutting Ms. Honora.

It was a lengthy and arduous process to free the woman from the belly of the beast, but they pulled her out, at last, cold and covered in something clear and slimy. The group kneeled beside her, and leaned in to look for signs of life.

But there didn't appear to be any.