The Au Fae Detective Agency - The Sgian Salann

By Peter Bryson

In a world where mythical creatures are real, yet unseen by us normal folks, Finn runs The Au Fae Detective Agency. With Bob, the sarcastic Bobcat, along with the help of Ami, a Fae police officer, they get caught in a fresh case that isn’t as simple as it first seems.

A historic knife, the Sgian Salann, is stolen from a prominent Nymph family, and Finn and the team are tasked with finding it. This leads them through the seedy underworld of the Fae and As Sidhe, with Goblins, Brownies and, of course, Kelpies, the ancient enemy of the Nymphs who may no longer be as dormant as they once appeared…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398473263

Peter Bryson

Peter has been writing for many years, the last two with a more focused approachto fiction fantasy. He spent many years in the construction industry, culminatingin a degree in sustainable architectural design. The dark mists of time had avaried career in the hotel, wine, and jewellery industries. Peter now lives inCentral Scotland with his wife, Joy, two children and a locally famous PyreneanMountain dog; where he enjoys sailing in local lochs and seas, spending landtime when he’s not writing, with good friends, wine, and food.

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About the Author

Peter has been writing for many years, the last two with a more focused approach to fiction fantasy. He spent many years in the construction industry, culminating in a degree in sustainable architectural design. The dark mists of time had a varied career in the hotel, wine, and jewellery industries. Peter now lives in Central Scotland with his wife, Joy, two children and a locally famous Pyrenean Mountain dog; where he enjoys sailing in local lochs and seas, spending land time when he’s not writing, with good friends, wine, and food.

Dedication

I dedicate this to Fiona for literally telling me to write a book; sometimes, the push you need is from the most unlikely source. Thank you. And to Joy for her faith alone, oxo.

Copyright Information ©

Peter Bryson 2023

The right of Peter Bryson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398473256 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398473263 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

A massive dollop of gratitude to Greg, Lesley, Rich, Chas, my family, and all concerned at Austin Macauley for their understanding, patience, and assistance. There truly is no ‘I’ in book. With the hope, it was more like a plaster pulled than a broken leg to secure their help with the next one. I promise I will get better!

1 The Boys Come to Town

Sand crunched lightly as his pale bare feet pressed into the moist sand and gently lapped by warming seawater. His feet were tingling slightly from the mix of salt and sharp sand and the long walk in his bare feet.

‘That’s time,’ he thought, glancing at his watch, beginning the walk back towards the car park near the end of the beach. It was early May. The weather had been steadily warm, unusual for this part of the world any time of year. The day’s heat had been enough to wish for a walk on the cool, lukewarm shifting edge between sand and sea. He had used the time to let his thoughts wander about what might be for his future.

The sun unseen now, quickly setting behind the Gare Loch hills to his left, had, unnoticed by him, slipped behind the domineering hills on the opposite shore. With the light fading quickly, a refreshing cool breeze rose, touching his face momentarily. Light relief from the day’s heat, but warning of change, the evening would cool soon. The beach, now deserted, was filled only with acre upon acre of footprint memories and shallow graves of sandcastles, soon to be washed away in the next tide.

The lights and sounds from the carnival called to his senses. He drifted absentmindedly in the surf. He kicked water lightly as he emerged from the shallow water toward firmer, dryer ground just above the tideline. Looking at his watch, Ethan realised he had walked further than he had thought. He would have to get back to work soon. Having turned back a few moments before heading east and began to quicken his pace heading toward the unseen set of stairs to the nearest Carpark, mourning the warm, near-forgotten glow of the fading sun. Darkness began to take hold as the steps he sought came into view.

Barefoot still, He crossed awkwardly, the high tide line mix of seaweed and debris of previous tides. As he reached the other side of the notably broad line along the sand, something caught his attention, drawing his eyes out about 100 metres from the darkening shore. In the water, a large black object appeared in the darkening liquid. Ripples dispersed rhythmically across the sea loch’s smooth and gently rolling surface. A moment later, another popped up right beside it. Thinking they were seals, a common sight, he dismissed them. Instead, Ethan moved towards the steps not far in front of him. The beach rose on a short sharp incline pushed by persistent tides. He focused on the now more challenging walk in the dry, ill-gripping sand. He looked up momentarily from his purposeful steps out of curiosity and turned his head toward the water noticing the two objects were most definitely more elongated than a seal. They were heading quickly to the shore, like a pair of broken and tapered conning towers, revealing more of their base as they went. His feet stopped abruptly on the dry quicksand, in confusion, trying to make sense of what or if he saw in the dimming evening. There was no doubt that two horses were emerging from beneath the sea in the quickly shifting twilight. He realised what they might be. Panic set into his heart as it began to beat from the flush of chemicals dumped in fear into his body.

‘Have they seen me?’ he thought. They certainly made no sign of it. Without thinking, he had already squatted out of full view of the two creatures. Thinking quickly now, he turned away to put his shoes back on, brushing as much of the sand off his feet quickly and as best he could. The shoes struggled against his feet. The lightweight soft-sided shoes laughed with their tongues at his vain attempts again and again. His toe in one the heel fighting his attempts to tame it on the last shoe. Damn them. Panic rose further. Keeping his head down, Ethan could look now more carefully at the emerging horses. They had moved to within ten metres of the shoreline, moving more quickly in the shallower water. Most of the bodies of both horses’ had now emerged. He concentrated on getting his now stinging feet into what felt like the last sandpaper-lined shoe and getting the hell out of there while pretending he hadn’t seen a thing. Nothing to see here, simple! That was his panicked plan. He glanced nervously again; they were now splashing through the shallow water about their fetlocks; their colour, as far as he could tell in the light, was a very dark grey but not for sure. A slight green luminescence grew on them in the growing gloom, distorting any colours he may have seen around them.

More than a little freaked out now, he muttered quietly. Time to fucking go! his voice had risen a few octaves since he last spoke to his brother a few hours previously.

He stood as casually as he could. He pointed his nervous carcass away from the emerging horses and toward the steps. He walked with difficulty still over the dry shifting sand and tactless skin-peeling shoes. He self-consciously pulled his long curls down over his long-pointed ears, hoping they wouldn’t notice him or at least notice that little detail from that distance.

‘Don’t look back, don’t look back!’ he thought. He was mouthing his motivating muted mantra. At the same time, he kept his feet moving in the right direction, away from the animals on the beach, to relative safety, with luck to the shining lights of the fair. He desperately wanted to look back; like a drug, it took hold, ‘Are they getting close? Just keep moving up the steps!’ He told himself. A few cars were dotted about, giving an abandoned feel to the nearly empty car park; if he could get to the other side of that one, he had a chance.

‘Were they really what he thought? Don’t look back!’ The thought, his mantra, continuously running over and over in a loop. His head began to turn, instinctively reacting to the fear as he got to the last step. Managing just in time to stop himself, catching a glimpse from the corner of his eye, he noticed the two beasts shaking off the seawater glowing lightly in their phosphorescence. He headed straight ahead, reaching the relative safety of the nearest car, dropping his thin, now nearly tweaking body behind it. Curiosity now grew like a fine blade in his brain. The pain, bolstered by the sanctuary of the steel car, avoiding contact with it, he rose slightly. ‘I’ll just take a quick look through the windscreen,’ he thought. He could easily make them out on the beach.

They had, it seemed, paid little attention to him, if any. The luminescence had become stronger now between the two beasts as if they had a bunch of glow sticks each. It lit the beach surrounding them just enough to see that he could now tell they were both more a dull pewter hue with long tails the colour of anthracite and matching manes. Their tails touched the sand like a short dress train while both manes fell past the lower edges of their necks. He watched in amazement as the heads of the horses began to change. Long noses started to shrink while the ears slid down the side of the head like slipping wet clay. The colour of the flesh turned paler in colour, as did the light, fading in rhythm as they changed. The two fell forward abruptly, almost in unison, as gravity took hold of the impossible balancing act it was asked to deal with. The forelegs and neck shrank towards the main body, pushing their weight forward. The tails had begun to disappear, making them look quite ridiculous and vulnerable, the pair of them with their vast yet shrinking butts in the air. He stifled a nervous laugh with his hand. Ethan watched in fascination as the two bodies began a belated sun salutation on the beach. The figures attempted to stand on their only legs, which had fallen into place, to build a traditional human form by slipping into line with the significantly shortened neck. It revealed two dark-haired, naked, drunken men in the near darkness. They were staggering to rise like two newborn foals from their abrupt entry into the world from their mother’s womb.

After a short while, they rose to a stable Homo sapiens stance. One was more diminished than the other, though only slightly. The luminescence had faded altogether along with most of the natural light; they were strong looking and well-built.

This was enough for Ethan; all he could see in the silhouette of the sea; Maggie would need to hear about it when he returned unless she had done so already.

He stood up slowly, folding his top half to a walking crouch, watching the men talking to each other, and headed off between the cars to the roadside. Further down, Ethan’s pace and stance rose as he moved towards a side entrance to the shows.

Do you see the Goblin, Von? asked Stephan as he wiped his damp skin flicking it off as best he could with his hands.

Yes, he replied, seeming unperturbed, paused for a moment while he finished drying himself with no more means than his hands. Von was a large man over six feet tall with broad, soft, slightly rounded shoulders. He had a long dark chestnut and very lightly silvered grey threads of hair passing through his lightly waving mane that fell slightly below the top of his shoulder. The rest of him stood smoothly and hairless. His jaw was broad and robust, eyes a piercing blue like chips of glaciers born from the northern ice caps. His skin was a paler pewter hue in its normal state than Ethan had seen in the gloom in his human form. While dark, it had a slick, sickly, silver underlying pallor giving the dark skin a washed-out pale look, Scot’s pale. He would blend in well with his new surroundings. Even now, with the luminescence wholly gone, he still glowed faintly, a silvery hue fading into the darkness with each breath he took. The light and luminescence enhanced for a few moments, the adorned ornate dark ink tattoos that covered his whole body. Depicting intertwined and simplified marine creatures, ancient, and, as far as we know, mythical. They portrayed stylised scenes and events like a living tapestry of the history of the Fomorii, the race to which Von the Kelpie belonged.

Stephan was of a similar build and skin colour, though slightly smaller in height by the width of a stick. His hair was of a lighter chestnut to the same length as Von, only with tighter curls and lacking the regal silver strands running through it. His face was slightly narrower, with lightly drawn features helping cultivate an alluring androgynous look. His eyes were just as piercing as Von, but a darker blue, like the clear Sargasso Sea.

I saw the Goblin, said Von with a solid disdain to the last word as if he had spat the word in the near dark. I’m sure he saw us also; this Fae scum will all know soon enough of our presence. It matters little even if they know what we are. He paused, brushing at a particularly stubborn patch of sand. I’m sure it will not make any difference. Only our fate can know our full intent.

He brushed what welded sand he could from his knees and stood up straight.

Right, will we head off and find some of those cloths then? Suggested Von.

I think they are called clothes, sire, from memory,

Yes! Clothes, that’s what I said, wasn’t it? He said curtly, Come on, Stephan, let’s go. I’m freezing my Isle of Butes off! Stephan smiled sincerely, enjoying the private joke of his friend’s error.

They walked up the beach, slowly getting used to their new limbs on the soft sand. They ploughed their way slowly in the direction of steps further along the deserted beach. Closer to the lights and noise of the carnival to the East.

I think you need to call me by the human name we decided on; sire might stick out, suggested Von.

Good idea, bracing himself for the word to come, Von. He smiled at its oddness in his head and tongue. It was going to take some getting used to.

Sire, can I ask this plan to get the land back for your mother. Where did you get the information from? You never said?

Von.

Yes, sorry, Von there was no reply.

The two men walked up a set of stairs in awkward silence, slightly further down the beach than the Goblin, then disappeared between the bulk of the cars in the car park. A few moments later, a car alarm sounded in the near dark.

Ethan approached the line of trucks corralling the shows nearest the sea wall of the car park it occupied at this time every year. A narrow gap between two large, tired, and roughly painted red trucks provided a slender entry. He slipped quickly between the front and the rear of two of them, avoiding various lethal-looking attachments to the trucks. With the assault course complete, he made his way deftly through the busying crowds and screams from the amusements.

He approached a small and lonely-looking red and yellow striped tent near the rear of the showground, tucked out of the way at the back of the shows. There to greet him was the usual queue of people waiting.

As he passed the front of the queue nearest the entrance, he nodded to the first in line and moved beyond the small barrier. He turned to face them, smiling. He held up his index finger (wishing it was the other one just next to it) at the front of the queue turning at once to enter the tent.

Before him sat a small table and chair at the entrance where he usually sat when it was busy, making bookings or corralling the clients in and out of the tent. Inside the tent was another smaller one with the same red and yellow stripes where the inner sanctum lay for the work of the fortuneteller. He could hear Maggie speaking in a soft, penetrating tone behind the canvas as he moved to the edge of the flaps that acted as a door. He could hear her talking in her normal clear, confident voice, which she invariably used. He moved into his usual position, waiting to the side of the flap door while Maggie continued.

…When you are married, he will not deceive you. He will be unfaithful to you with a younger woman. You will travel towards a warmer country, and if you want to be with him and be happy, then you will travel with him to the country he picks for the both of you. Poor, but very happy. If you decide not to go, you will return from a short journey, and you will have to make your own happiness in life, working hard, the two of you, to make a good life for each other. The wealth you will then wish for in your life. Be warned; your future is not as it sounds. There is something that permeates your life and stops me from seeing it as it should be. Is it fear or jealousy? I cannot say what truly clouds it. You will have to work on your relationship, be honest with yourself and him, and you shall receive all that you wish and work for. Ethan hears her signature pause. I will summarise this for you if you like? There seemed to be some consent from the client, so she continued, "Your life is like the sword of Damocles. If you travel with your new husband, you will be poor but mostly happy, living there and in other lands beyond. If you stay, you will be greater in material wealth with a great deal of work from you both, of course, and be just as happy. Family, yes, beware of the words of your family. They may be tainted. Be warned. If you are not open and honest with each other, you will deceive him with another before he betrays you with a younger woman. By then, your marriage is over." There was a long pause before a bleached blonde woman brushed the flaps aside. She was well dressed, clutching a large brown leather handbag left swiftly through the flaps with reddened eyes and a shameful look at Ethan. She was blissfully unaware of his actual being. He smiled after her, enjoying the pain that emanated from her and felt like a drug as she passed; Ethan would take what he could, which was why he had taken the job. He closed his eyes as she did so, a few frames of a film in length, savouring the momentary hit of negative energy entering him. Turning back, he joined the warmer inner sanctum.

The woman he called Maggie looked up from a small ornately knitted red pouch she kept secreted about her person. There was peculiar embroidery on it but never seen it up close for any detail. The older woman seated before him looked back at the dealings about her lap and concealed the bag.

Cutting it close seems to be your modus operandi, Ethan. She smiled at his acute efficiency, the weary-looking woman with dark tousled hair. He returned the smile of mutual respect. Seated opposite her is a green baize-covered table with a green canvas folding director’s chair nearest the door for clients. The one Maggie sat in was a rocking chair converted by Ethan and his brother for the soft ground of the shows. Only hers was of relative luxury with soft cushions pressed about her, converted curved flat rockers for muddy terrain. She wore loose tie-dyed clothing in a hotchpotch of colours and styles. Over the melee was a heavy-looking, ill-fitting short-sleeved orange-brown crocheted cardigan slumped superfluously around her body. It added poor camouflage to her questionable dress sense yet easily concealed the purse.

I have some interesting news for you, Maggs, he blurted with some excitement.

You saw something rising from the water. She replied almost dismissively. Unsurprised by her incite, he continued.

Yes! But it is more the question of what rose from it?

And…? She asked, appearing bored of his statement as she leaned back in the rocking chair. Stitching her fingers together in her lap.

They were Fomorii, but not sure what type, though. despondent at this identification. Her face showed she knew more as she replied. Interesting, they are scarce, Ethan. You are very fortunate; it could have gone the other way so easily. They could have taken you down into the depths with them.

His spirits fell, remembering only now of Maggie’s precognition of the situation when she did a reading for him. Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but she put up her hand to stop him. She laid her hands on her lap and answered his question before he formed it.

They are Kelpies. I expected events to move more sedately. Maggie paused, thinking for a moment, Go and tell that idiot that moves this excuse for entertainment we are heading up the river for Glaschu or whatever the hell it’s called now. And on your way out, send the next lamb in.

Turning to look at her through the flap of the inner tent, he smiled in response, nodding.

Sure, Maggs, consider it done. He turned and left the way he came.

Maggie shouted after him. And go and find that brother of yours. I need him here quickly.

There was no need for a reply; he agreed with her and moved toward the entrance. He knew precisely where Evan would be, forever playing poker at the back of the huddled caravans, hidden from view from all but the other carnies. Ethan ushered in the next client and headed toward the campsite to find him. He saw the young woman again just ahead of him stand still amongst a sea of movement to this amusement and that stall. She was now standing opposite a young man, tall, similar in height to him, in a light cream summer suit with mid-blonde hair. Both looked and felt to Ethan as he approached, distinctly out of place amongst the amusements. As Ethan closed, he sensed her anger, one of his Primen talents. He could feed on it, feed on her as he passed. They were talking quite calmly; the fury was just under the surface. He felt the heat of the unseen rage permeate his colder blood like a thin snake from its summer stone bed. It welled up, writhing inside him, bringing energy to his tired body. The man stood around 6 feet tall, broad-shouldered with a face like he worked outside; he looked uncomfortable in his skin and the suit. He seemed confused about the young woman in front of her. Ethan picked up a few words as he passed quickly. Invigorated also by the stolen primal energy.

No, I don’t think that! I’m just confused. If you won’t tell me what she predicted, it’s obviously about me in some way. I am not upset, self-centred, but if you don’t tell me, then how can I help….

Enjoying the free hit of energy, he passed them unheeded. He walked onward, deeper into the showground until he reached the almost ankle-high grass, an area devoid of amusements. A green buffer between the hustle and bustle of the shows and the living space he approached. He moved towards the neatly curved row of lorries through an informal gateway between the two worlds just ahead into the caravan park of the carnival. The caravans stood like stooped white mounds, placed in long straight lines in a row. At the far side, they had been formed, creating another curve to connect to either side the protective curved shield of lorries, waiting for the next droving. To the rear of this was a small, secluded spot far from prying eyes.

Ethan slipped between a gap beyond the corralled caravans. He spotted old pallets and plastic drums further out in no man’s land. These were made into a makeshift table and stools into what the carnies called ‘The Casino.’ There, seated amongst this pile, was Evan, Ethan’s twin brother. His lanky body stuck out against the surly bent backs of a bunch of the thicker set hands that congregated there. Ethan paused, put two fingers into his mouth, pressed his lips, and blew sharply. The whistle turned Evans’ head, instantly facing him like a giant meerkat. Ethan lifted his arm above his head in a large sweep, beckoning him with a sense of urgency matching the tone of Maggie’s voice. Ethan could see by his brother’s movements it was easy to retrieve Evan from the game this time. And save him from probable debt. He was doing him a solid.

2 A Wee Bit of Background

Introduction to The Giant’s Causeway Story

Let us rewind a few thousand millennia and get some background on the events that have and will unfold in the pages before you. This story begins before time and long before man knew who he was and could tell everyone how great he would be. Before then, there were a few others that, it could be said, were quite canny themselves and even had a few tricks up their sleeves.

***

Humans know nothing of the great age when the Tuatha Dé Danann. (Pronounced – Thoo-a day Du-non), Fomorii (pronounced Foh-mawr-ee) and Milesians were at their prime. They fought over the lands and seas of the rich and bounteous northern peninsula that jutted unforgiving into the Northern Sea. All is folklore and mythology of the vast forgotten time long before humans. What we do know is this. The Fomorii were a supernatural race and mortal enemies of the then rulers. The Tuatha Dé Danann, of the bounteous lands they dwelled. The Tuatha Dé Danann were gods and demi-gods who had the measure of the Fomorii. Over many battles and feuds. The Fomorii contested the right of the Tuatha Dé Danann to rule over the prized Eire and its then adjoining lands of Cambria, Englaland, and the contested ground of the Gaels. Eire was named so after one of the fated goddesses of The Tuatha Dé Danann. Her name was Eriu. The Tuatha Dé Danann were gods for good in our eyes. They created light in the chaos, tending the lands with care and consideration. Seeking balance to the different forces, providing for all, and bringing prosperity to all who walked the earth and swam the seas.

From the same eyes we see today, the Fomorii followed the more destructive path. Idols of life, chaos, death, greed, darkness, and drought. It is said, in the legends drawn