Sidhe's Call

By Christy G. Thomas

“What do you think it’s like for them... as in... death?”
“Death?” The word slithered off the end of her tongue as if it was a filthy sock she held out with the tips of her fingernails. “They’re mortals, Morg.“ [. . .] ”Once you sing a soul to the Otherworld, you’ll see that keening is an important task, but not one with which we should become emotionally involved.”

Bound by duty, sixteen-year-old Morgan must begin forewarning human deaths. After all, that’s her job as a newly-appointed Ban Sidhe (banshee), a death caller. Conflicted when the Inner Ring—the elite group of ruling Sidhe—assigns a fifteen-year-old boy, Aidan Tanner, as her first death to keen on her road to adulthood, Morgan must make a critical decision. Will she help end such a young life or follow her instincts and refuse to make the call? And if that isn’t difficult enough, Morgan’s help is needed as the Sidhe and human worlds are about to face a crisis foretold in the Thousand-Year Sidhe Prophecy. With the lingering pain of her mother’s absence and the mystery of her father’s recent disappearance, the young Ban Sidhe feels lost. Aided only by her overly-critical twin sisters and an eccentric seer, Morgan must confront her weaknesses and make the hardest decision of her life. Alone.

Aidan, on the other hand, is a seemingly average human teen who has to deal with his parents’ inexplicable red-eye drive from the Salt Lake Valley to Northern Idaho. While being away from his friends for Spring Break seems like torture enough, it is the recent discovery of his father’s secret that leaves him troubled. While struggling to keep his anger in check, Aidan finds that no matter how hard he tries to hold himself together, his once-simple life is splitting apart. But the more he discovers about his father’s family and history, the quicker he comes to understand that appearances are deceiving. Beyond that, Aidan doesn’t realize that a young Ban Sidhe is seeking to call his death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christy G. Thomas
• Release date: Aug 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465749116

Christy G. Thomas

Christy Thomas lives in Meridian, Idaho with her husband, daughter, and one crazy labradoodle named Mr. Darcy. She writes fiction and teaches high school language arts. Christy loves camping in the various landscapes of Idaho which help serve as inspiration for her novels.In 2003 she earned her BA in English (Literature) from Boise State University.She has written several novels and has more in the works. She is the author of the young adult modern fantasy novel, Sidhe’s Call, the first in the Keening Trilogy.

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Sidhe’s Call

Christy G. Thomas

Published by Christy G. Thomas

Smashwords Edition

©Copyright 2011 Christy G. Thomas

All Rights Reserved by Author

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Dedicated to Dad and Bob.

Memories never die.

Aboard the Mohongo, North Atlantic, 1849

The ship’s prow dug through choppy, unforgiving waters, cutting its way as it transported masses away from lives of starvation to the unknown promises of America. Two weeks at sea and many more to endure as they bobbed on the horizon.

Below decks they huddled in threadbare blankets, mother and daughter seeking security in shadows. Mother attempted to comfort her blonde six-year-old child, wrapping one emaciated arm around the young girl.

Mama, I’m scared, the girl whispered.

Mother pulled her dirty-haired daughter closer and whispered in her ear, attempting to block out sounds of coughing fits, vomiting, and crying of the sick and dying. Ah, Allanah. Come here, and I’ll tell you something, she whispered. There is no reason to be frightened. Remember those stories I used to tell you back home? The ones that would lull you to sleep?

Allanah beamed.

Want me to tell you one now? she asked.

Allanah emphatically nodded again, and her mother’s voice took on the storyteller’s cadence.

Very well. She smoothed back her daughter’s hair and secretly checked for signs of fever. Content, the mother smiled and began her story.

In the rolling hills of Eire, before the conquests and before the famine, there lived twelve proud families. They were a blessed people, for they shared the land with our ancestor spirits, the Sidhe.

The flaxen-haired girl looked up in anticipation.

"It is true, I tell you, for my grandmother was told by her grandmother. I swear by my life, Allanah.

"The Sidhe are a magical people. They capture sunlight in their hands, take the shape of different creatures, and live for hundreds of years. For centuries, man and Sidhe lived together, peaceably; some were even known to intermarry. Men worked the land and Sidhe kept nature’s balance. In those days, there were not only Sidhe living in the lands, but also scores of beings you have only heard of in fairytales. Mermaids, the red man, selkie. All roaming between our world and the Otherworld.

"Then the dark ones came from the southern lands, crossing the waters and stealing our goods. These newcomers saw the Sidhe and wanted their powers, desperate in their greed for land and riches. But the Sidhe could not share their gifts any more than you or I can share the blue of our eyes or the blush of our cheeks. When this was realized, the dark ones were not satisfied and sought to take the Sidhe powers through blood.

"War ensued for one-hundred years. Five of the twelve mortal families fought alongside the Sidhe, keeping the southern forces from annihilating the isle. But magic and blood are both very strong elements, and even the Sidhe could not outlast death. Thousands died—human and Otherworld alike—their bodies strewn about the mounds in which the Sidhe once lived. With mystical powers on their side, however, the Sidhe took back control. The war shifted, and defeat of the southern men was imminent.

"But then the fair Queen of the Sidhe was abducted, her life held by blood-lust captors. By now they knew the Sidhe abilities could not be bought, stolen, or transferred, but their thirst for dominance could not be quenched.

In exchange for their queen’s release, the Sidhe and all Otherworld creatures would leave the Earth forever, allowing the southern forces to rule where they pleased. Mother paused, caught by the concern on her daughter’s young face.

"But how, you wonder, could the Sidhe do this? How could they abandon their lands and the humans they loved?

"They did not. The Sidhe’s Inner Ring—a council who makes decisions for their kind—refused to pay the ransom and vowed to wipe evil from the Earth. Some say the Ring was foolish-–others say they were following the Queen’s orders. But when the Sidhe scouts found their queen’s lifeless body in a pool of blood, they lost all hope of victory.

"When would the bloodshed end? Never. When would the Sidhe roam the verdant hills? Never. All they could do was go to the table of compromise.

Reluctantly, an agreement was reached between the two sides. All Otherworld creatures would leave the Earth, only allowed to return twice a year, at Beltane and Samhain. The gates were sealed, the entrances guarded, and sadness flowed over the isle.

Allanah looked up at her mother’s vacant face. But what about the Ban Sidhe? Tell me about the Ban Sidhe!

Mother kissed her daughter’s sweating brow. "Of course, the Ban Sidhe. How can one tell the story of the Sidhe without talk of the Ban Sidhe?

"All children of the isle know that when the gateways closed not all went to the Otherworld as the invaders had supposed. These elite Sidhe formed what would come to be known as the Ban Sidhe, and they hid out in the hills, their homes protected by intricately woven spells.

"Why do they hide, you ask? To watch, to protect, and to serve. Five families came to the aid of the Sidhe. Five families which the Ban Sidhe swore to watch over, even to death. They bless us at birth, comfort our sorrows, and sing us to our death, which is why they refused to leave us.

Some say that one day the Sidhe will come back. The gateways will break open and never be shut again. But some also say that there are beings from the Otherworld whose anger against mankind has been brewing for centuries, and if the gateways unlock, the wars of hell will be loosed on Earth.

The mother paused, staring out over the ship’s cargo—her fellow countrymen desperate for their lives. Allanah tugged at her sleeve to finish the story to which they both already knew the end.

Her mother crooned the poem she knew by heart,

"With every bird you chance to see,

Remember it could be Ban Sidhe,

Watching over day and night,

Soothing all your woes and fright."

Through the foggy night the ship sailed on, over the salty seas. But above the gray clouds of despair and grief, a flock of crow, gulls, and falcon kept pace, following the ship to its harbor.

Idaho, Modern Day

Chapter One

Stepping through the crowd of black and burgundy cloaks, I made my way to the cliff’s edge where I could begin my new life. I pulled my robe tighter, trying to keep out the spring breezes which cut across the desert mesas. My bare toes were only inches away from the edge and reminded me of the night’s ceremony. I leaned forward and looked over the side of the black cliffs and into the dark canyon below. The churning water was heard but unseen.

It must be done, Branna muttered next to me. Her wispy black hair fluttered from the hood’s opening as though trying to break free.

I fidgeted with the ties of my grey cloak, unable to make eye contact with my oldest sister. I merely stared at the fabric between my boney fingers, wishing my other sister, Bridget, was by my side tonight instead of Branna. I didn’t want to look into Branna’s dark eyes—eyes which always sent shivers down my back. Every time I tried to look her in the eyes, I couldn’t decipher between pupil and iris; they were like small black stones encased in ivory.

Morgan, Branna’s cold voice addressed me again, we have all waited long enough for you to take your post, and with the unrest in the northern realm, we must proceed with haste. It is time.

I knew all of this.

But what made standing there and having to just listen even worse was that Branna knew that I recognized all of this. Still, we both understood that it must be said. I must be reminded. I must be treated as though I didn’t realize the seriousness of the night’s events.

It was ceremony. It was tradition. It was my only option.

I know, I whispered, head still hanging, hoping she wouldn’t say anything else to make me feel even more self-conscious.

Branna’s cold fingertips lifted my chin, and her shadowy gaze met mine. I wanted to look away, but I told myself to stay strong and remember that this is what Father would have wanted. He would have expected me to step up and accept responsibility.

Then let’s finish this, Branna said, her voice resolute and brassy.

I slowly nodded, suddenly aware of my pale, freckled cheeks burning hot within the sable hood.

Branna carefully backed away from the mesa’s edge, passing the audience of cloaked figures who stood as witnesses to my passage. I stared back at the familiar crowd, hoping I could believe in myself as much as my village seemed to.

Or maybe they showed up out of duty.

Branna made her way back to where our other sister, Bridget, stood on the stone platform, but she was stopped by a bulky arm that reached out from the crowd. It was Burke. I would know his black, tattered robe anywhere. He was the man who used to be our foster-father.

He held Branna’s elbow and whispered fiercely, but I couldn’t make out any of the words. His eyes shifted about the clan, as though he was making sure no one else was listening. But I could see his lips drawn tight and sense the anger in his voice.

I didn’t have to hear him to know that he was concerned about my future, convinced that Branna was not always looking out for my best interest; he had been telling others in our village about his worries. Gossip quickly makes its way around Finias, our small community in the Palouse hills.

Branna briskly shook off his grip and stared at his hand as if it were diseased. Her voice rose so everyone could hear. That is why I’m taking care of her instead of you, Burke. I never fail!

I hope for all of our sakes that you’re right! he boomed back from under his ragged hood.

Branna turned her back on him, continuing to the stone platform where family traditionally waits during the Incantation. She shouted back one last jeer, Hope does not get anything done!

Burke did not reply, but I could see it on the edge of his lips. Instead, he apologetically looked up at me from under his cloak. Soon his head became just another one among the cluster of Sidhe.

At the front of the crowd stood Onora, my mentor for the past few months, decked in her burgundy robe. She smiled up at me and nodded, trying to get me back on track with the steps of the Incantation. I remembered all of the advice she gave, the steps which must be taken, and the words which must be spoken. I stood and waited for what I knew would come.

Suddenly, Onora fell to her knees and began the wailing song. Her body rocked, and her voice echoed the discordant melody, a mix of reverie and mourning. The cracks of her age-worn face smoothed and puckered with each bar of the ancient refrain until it came to the end. She fell prostrate on the arid soil, arms outstretched, eyes transfixed on me standing at the cliff’s edge.

Huddled shrouds stared on in silence, each face as pale and vacant as the next.

I turned my back on the crowd, once again facing the canyon. I threw back my grey hood, bitter air stinging my cheeks. For a moment I hesitated, my wind-blasted face struck by second-guessing what Onora had told me would happen. The height, darkness, and loneliness crept with icy fingers up my legs and arms.

I can’t do this, I desperately thought.

I remembered the oath I accepted, as did my twin sisters and all of those before me. Branna and Bridget took the same chance on their day of Incantation seven years ago.

But they’re so different from me.

I shrugged away the tears that began to collect, ignoring the drumming in my chest which begged me to run away and back to the safety of home.

There is no use fighting what you can’t change. That’s what Mother always said. Father was the opposite—he thought anything was possible.

Taking one deep breath, I gazed at the full moon. I called out before I could change my mind, Aistrím—préachán!

Not even taking a look back, I dove off the cliff’s edge, my heart leaping in mid-air before my body plummeted toward the rocks below.

I didn’t have to see it to know what was happening up at the cliff—Onora had told me what would happen.

The crowd would converge at the edge of the bluff, some aghast, others peering expectantly over the lip of black rock. Branna and Bridget would be the only ones who stood back atop the ceremonial stone platform. Branna with her arms crossed, her brow pensive; Bridget holding her hands clasped to her chest in anticipation, gazing hopefully at the full moon. All present would be held in time, breath squelched by the silence of the mesa. Waiting, anticipating.

My cloak rustled and spun about me in the second that flew by as I tumbled toward the canyon rocks. Everything was darkness. Something wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have been falling anymore.

Onora would be standing at the edge in her burgundy cloak with her arms out to each side, holding the rest of the group from the edge of the chasm. Her head would slowly tilt from one shoulder to the other, fingers drumming the air as if they could feel the winds change. Her arms would fall down to her sides, head hanging down as if she were about to crumple to dust.

I patted my sides, frantically searching for an answer as to why I was still free-falling. I said the words. I said them the exact way I had practiced. Aistrím—préachán! The words ran through my mind again, making sure they were the right ones. Did my voice betray me? Did I put an accent in the wrong place?

I shut my eyes, ready for the impact which would end my sixteen-year stay on Earth.

But then my legs began to shake, tingles chased up my limbs, and my heart raced faster than before. My cloak was gone and my long black hair fluttered one last time.

And then I stopped falling.

Bridget would be wiping a tear from her eye and go back to staring at the moon, her eyes tracing its craters in comforting monotony. Branna would be readying herself for action in case my ceremony turned tragic.

But she didn’t have to leap to the rescue.

Onora cried from the ravine’s edge, She’s done it! Her robe flurried as she turned round the crowd, her arthritic arms raised in triumph. She’s done it! The little waif’s done it! Her voice rattled through the night, beckoning the crowd to join her in shouts and hurrahs.

Bridget’s face relaxed into an approving smile while Branna stood back in stoic pride.

Onora screeched again, Here she comes!

From the depths of the caverns I flew like a shadow, mounting up the canyon wall at tremendous speed. As I neared the top of the plateau, the crowd drew back in awe. Suspended in mid-flight, I gave one caw to the onlookers, my feathers shining obsidian, and then I took off in crow-form like a dark comet across the night sky.

With the name of my human ward in my head, I flew west, instinct taking over as I tracked. I stopped to perch on a scrubby tree, collecting my thoughts.

I can’t believe I did it!

For a second I thought that I was going to die, but there I was, in bird-form, just like Onora told me it would be.

Maybe there are other possibilities for my future. Maybe not everything is as it is written!

My thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of branches above me. I rotated and tilted my head to see a dark figure looming above me.

Nice work, Morgan, he said, his figure just an outline backlit by the moon.

I knew his gruff voice anywhere.

Thanks, Burke, I shyly replied.

His owl-form hopped down a few branches until he sat next to me. And I’m not just saying that.

I didn’t say anything. This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to be tracking the human who the Inner Ring appointed as my first assignment. Burke wasn’t supposed to be here.

Your sisters are conflicted, he continued.

No kidding, I replied with a slight chuckle. Conflicted was an understatement. Bridget and Branna didn’t usually see things the same way. I heard your little scuffle with Branna.

Ah, yes, sorry about that. I didn’t really think she was going to make a scene. Burke shifted on the branch, his wide eyes darting around. I think you should know that I never wanted to shirk my responsibility for you. Your father told me to keep watch over you, and I intend to do so—even if Branna kicked me out of your place.

It had been a year since Branna told Burke to leave the mound at Finias. She was always chastising me in front of him and Bridget, and one day he just couldn’t take it anymore. Words were exchanged—things which neither one should have said.

He wanted to take me with him, but Branna would not allow it. The Inner Ring listened to both of their cases and sided with Branna because she is my blood-relation. Since then, I’ve only seen him in passing or brief encounters at the market.

Everyone’s talking about the prophecy, he said.

I rolled my eyes. I was so sick of hearing about some ancient prophecy foretold by a crazy seer. I knew the Prophecy of the Thousand-Year Sidhe by heart and quickly ran its lines through my head.

Blood denotes dark induction

of circling evils looming.

The Gatekeeper’s abduction,

begins our new Queen’s blooming.

Cry fierce calls, crow carrion!

Millennia shall she reign.

Bright and dim souls ferry on

to Otherworld and remain.

O’er the ebbing multitude

on bristling equine keening,

one who breaks death’s quietude

shall ripen souls for gleaning.

Cries incite the battleground

where Sidhe fend back Hell’s phantoms

and hero’s faint death rattle sounds --

no penance for soul’s ransom.

When war is at conclusion,

bodies festering in mud,

she’ll break through all illusion --

pale arms bathed in Keeper’s blood.

Burke spoke again, breaking my trance. When your sisters did not fulfill the prophecy, you know that everyone looked to you, Morgan.

I know, I muttered. I knew it more than anyone else because I was the one who had to live through all the whispers and rumors around Finias.

And there’s something else. His feet pattered nervously on the branch. In the human papers there has been a report of a kelpie sighting near the Northern Gateway. Something is amiss, and I think it only fair that you know what your sister has been saying.

Honestly, Burke, I don’t think I need you telling me anything. She’s always been more than willing to let me know exactly what she thinks.

Burke chuckled, the branch bobbing under his weight. True, but she’s concerned. When she was your age, she was already done with her complete Incantation period and serving the Inkers. She believes that you need to step forward and take your place. Then maybe this whole business of the prophecy and troubles in the north will be resolved.

I shrugged. I didn’t believe in this prophecy any more than I believed in my father ever returning to Finias. I guess we’ll see, I muttered.

Just think about it, Morgan. That’s all. The branch bent one last time as Burke took off. I’ll be keeping watch, even if it is from a distance, he called back to me as he flew back home.

I watched as his owl-form faded into the night, and suddenly I felt so alone and yet so free. I wished no one would watch me at this point. I was so sick of having everyone picking apart every move I made.

Why can’t I just go back to being plain old Morgan?

I leapt from my perch and continued on my way, in search of answers, unsure as to what lay for me beyond the desert hills.

Chapter Two

Aidan awkwardly tossed over and over again on the back bench of the grey minivan. His torso wriggled in a struggle against the seatbelt as his parents drove in inky night through the high deserts of southern Idaho. He punched his pillow a few times, just to fluff it up, and tried to keep his shaggy red hair in the perfect position—covering his eyes from any disturbing lights, but avoiding tickling his own face.

Just as he started to relax his aching bones into the ill-fitting seat, he felt a slight tickle of a few lone hair strands stirred by car vents.

Agggghhh! he growled as he struggled to find the perfect sleeping position, slapping hair out of his face. For a brief second he wondered if his dad was right, and he should have cut off his mop. But Aidan never admitted when his dad was right and he was wrong. Or at least he wouldn’t admit anything to his dad since that night three months ago, right after New Year’s.

His mind wandered to why he was on the trip with his family anyway. Some business having to do with Uncle Quinn, but Aidan didn’t know why he had to go—he was fifteen now and could keep himself out of trouble for one week. Besides, Ms. Harbisher next door would have kept her beady eyes trained on him the whole time.

Nosey old bag, he scoffed to himself as he turned over once again.

Still, she would have at least saved him the hellish twelve-hour car ride.

The van gently edged around a sharp bend. Aidan’s fifteen-year-old frame drifted with the motion. His knobby knees knocked against each other to the left and then back again toward the window with each turn. Perhaps the van’s swaying could lull him to sleep. The key was finding the right sleeping spot.

Aidan nestled his head against the cool window, shoving the pillow on top of his head to block out light and draft, grateful he was finally able to ignore his younger brother’s snoring and the low hum of his sister’s music long enough to. . . drift. . . off.

He dreamt of walking through his house, but it wasn’t really his house. He knew that much. Yet his mind registered it as home. The front door was off its hinges and smashed to splintered boards. A glowing green axe rested atop the remains, but Aidan did not feel panic.

Looking around, he saw no immediate threat. No intruder. He merely saw a large, curly-haired dog sitting in the family room. Panting at him. In the fuzzy consciousness of his dream, Aidan tried to remember the last time he saw a green dog.

Hey boy! He greeted the dog, stepping down to crouch, careful to gauge the slobbering beast’s reactions.

That’s a good boy. Another step closer, and the wagging tongue drooled—one drip descending in slow-motion toward the carpet.

One drip slowly falling. As though he could see it rotating mid-air, shifting.

Slow-mo.

Ss-sss-sss—pll-lll-o-o-ooo-shh-shh-shhh!

Suddenly, a woman’s shriek pierced through the haze, but all he saw were the dog’s jaws miming a bark. Aidan’s ears were filled with the squeal of someone.

Mom!

Now his heart jumped like he fell off a cliff and splattered on the ground. He held his chest. The screaming was gone.

He heard his mom’s voice, but it was muffled words. In relief, his heart leapt to alertness as did his body—in the back seat

Reviews for Sidhe's Call

[yahalomi65 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Wow I never thought that I'm going to like a BANSHEE (BAN SIDHE). Great great idea.... somehow Christy G. Thomas succeed to take one of the most frightening and own a bad reputation of bad omen myth creatures and turn all upside down. The same thing she did also with the Kelpies - another evil myth creatures. Give to an horrid creature a voice and see what will happen....oh suddenly it turn to be very human isn't it? and if it is he or she then they are going to get a total different point of view.And in total contradiction to Julie Kagawa books where I liked the Leanan sidhe here things where quite the opposite.The story builds well, but the pace is fast and there are plenty of mysteries to keep you fidgeting. The author really holds off answering to your questions until the end, making it really gripping and hard to put down.All the characters are interesting and play their part very well but what is important was that each of the main characters - Morgan and Aidan was surrounded nicely with their own family and society. Each one had s personal and moral issues that he/she has to face add to this a real treat on the safe of their world/s.Highly recommended!