~Chapter 5~

Willow Hill

Bradán felt like she spent every second in terrified, nauseated discomfort.

She tried to think of how to escape the wild ride the Púca was taking her on, but her thoughts felt as jumbled as her stomach. Giving the black fur in her hands a tug, the Púca gave one extra violent wiggly bounce and Bradán found her legs slipping free from around its waist… and a handful of loose fur in her hands.

Tumbling through the air, Bradán let out a soft “Eh?”... and then let out a panicked yell, tucking her head down behind her arms and curling her legs up in front of her chest. Lungs empty, eyes shutting tight out of reflex, she tried to brace for impact and-

The balled up girl landed on the Púca’s back, the soft fur cushioning what would have been a nasty impact with the ground. With a wiggling flex the noodle-like body of the Púca tossed her up into the air again, the creature laughing delightedly as its shiny yellow eyes cast a dim light on the too-wide grin stretched across its face.

“More scared, more scared!”

No matter how haphazardly the Púca tossed her about, hurling her over tree tops and even entire hills, she always landed on its back unharmed. Scared beyond belief, lungs burning and her throat starting to ache along with the rest of her, Bradán found herself limply draped across the Púca - the creature seemingly bored of throwing her through the air. Legs hanging over one side and arms the other, Bradán choked down gasping, erratic breaths as she tried very, very hard not to lose her lunch.

Twigs snapped off against the side of her hair, larger ones striking her backpack. The Púca was running close to the trees now, close call after close call zipping by as larger branches threatened to knock her off its back. One hand clinging to the Púca’s side, Bradàn shakily fumbled with her backpack. Feet dangling off the creature’s other side, a branch snagged one of her shoes and yanked it right off her foot!

Bradán wanted to scream again out of frustration alone.

Jaw clenched, eyes watering and glaring at nothing in particular, the short girl managed to slip her fingers into a side pocket. Fingertip pricking against something sharp, Bradán flinched even as her face lit up in hopeful triumph. She scooped the item up, many points pressing roughly into her palms and fingers, and yanked her arm free of the backpack pocket - slamming her hand down against the Púca’s flank.

“Sharp-thing!”

The Púca threw its head back and tail up with a screech, intense fear in its voice as its legs locked up underneath it. The creature tipped forward, hitting the ashy ground with its neck and bouncing. Rolling forward in the air and slamming the underside of its jaw into the ground next, the Púca tumbled out of control across the hilltops with Bradàn clinging to its back.

Upside down, heavy backpack threatening to pull her off the Púca and feet dangling as she clung to the creature's side, Bradàn scrunched her eyes shut as the ground rushed up towards her - and the short girl had a strange moment of calm clarity as she noted that the Púca was probably going to crush her underneath itself when they both hit the ground. That never came to be, fortunately, as the creature’s tail and head were locked stiffly curled up over its back and hit the ground first.

The pair bounced and rolled again and again, every impact with the ground striking some sensitive part of the Púca and leaving Bradàn unharmed… aside from being incredibly dizzy and bleeding from her left hand. The sharp-thing she had firmly lodged into the Púca’s flank was cutting into her palm and fingers, but she refused to let go of it. If it came loose and the Púca recovered, she knew she would be right back at its mercy again.

In a shower of twigs, apples, leaves and ash, the Púca slammed into one of the trees. The tree bent with a harsh creak, nearly uprooted and barely holding firm as the creature and its rider were tossed into a heap on the ground.

Hair frazzled in all directions and covered in leaves and twigs, Bradàn dragged herself up over the side of the Púca’s stiff noodly body. Sliding down head first, one hand firmly keeping the sharp-thing wedged in the Púca, the top of her head bumped against the ground and her legs flopped over the top of her as she landed on her back in the ashy dirt. Sky spinning above her and ground spinning beneath her, Bradàn gave an incoherent and half-hearted cheer - other hand coming up halfway above her before dropping limply against her chest.

Bradàn and the Púca stayed like that until the sky started to brighten with the first signs of dawn.

Sitting up with a start, eyes wide and glancing around frantically, Bradàn snapped wide awake. It took a moment for her to recognize her unfamiliar surroundings, and to recall the night before - ash and dirt covered face falling flat and irritated as she noted the Púca on the ground next to her. Stiffly, giving mutters of “ow ow ow”, Bradàn pried her grip free of the sharp-thing. Some fresh blood sprang up when she did, the short girl cursing under her breath as she hastily shucked her backpack onto the ground.

Retrieving bandages and a waterskin, holding the former in her mouth for the time being, Bradàn sat with her legs crossed in front of her as she set to work cleaning the wound. The sharp-thing itself, and dried blood, had done a decent job of keeping her from bleeding too much while she was passed out and as far as she could tell she hadn’t cut anything important. Bandaging her hand up with only one hand was tricky, but with some fumbling and a little more cursing she managed it.

Flexing her bandaged fingers and turning her hand around, wincing slightly, Bradàn murmured “Good enough.” and turned her attention to the Púca. Uncrossing one leg to give it a light kick against its furry side, she called out “Oi, you dead?”

The Púca didn’t respond, and Bradán’s brow furrowed. A second kick to the side didn’t get any reaction, and with lips pursed she pushed herself to her feet and moved over to tentatively grab the sharp thing with her good hand. Hesitating for a moment, Bradán tugged the sharp-thing free of the Púca’s flank.

Immediately letting out a cry of “Feck!” as the Púca’s tail snapped out, sweeping her legs out from under her.

Quicker than anything she had seen move before, the Púca scurried up the bent tree and hunched itself in the remaining branches and leaves before Bradán even hit the ground and… utterly failed to hide itself at all. The tree bent and sagged even further under its weight, and as Bradán got back to her feet the creature shouted down at her.

“Short-thing never said had sharp-thing!”

Glancing at the sharp-thing in her hand, a flat piece of metal shaped like a star with nine points, Bradán called back.

“Good thing I did! You bleeding lied about not tricking me!”

“Nuh-uh nuh-uh!” The Púca shook its head back and forth and rustled the tree it was on. Then in a tone that Bradán easily recognized as amusement at its own cleverness, it added. “No lie, didn’t answer! Short-thing assumed, tricked by acting scared of hot-thing! Got on, agreed to fun ride!”

Scrunching up her nose in thought, Bradán tried to recall exactly what happened… and let out a frustrated groan as she slapped her bandaged hand against her forehead - ignoring the sting of pain. After a moment she pulled her hand away with a sigh and argued.

“You didn’t lie directly, but I didn’t agree to anything!” The Púca turned its head up at that, and Bradán paused as the shrieking yells of the Bánánach pushed its way to the front of her thoughts. Lips pressed into a line and brow furrowed in concern, Bradán gave a shake of her head. “Forget it, I need to go where the Bánánach were!”

The Púca folded its legs up underneath itself, save for the leg on its injured flank - letting it hang over the side of the bent tree trunk. Keeping its head up and letting out a huff, peering at her out of the corner of one eye, it replied.

“Why should Púca care?”

“Want to try to dodge a sharp-thing with an injured leg?” Bradán pulled her good hand back, prepared to chuck the sharp-thing at the Púca, as she added. “If you saw me throwing apples at that orange orchard company gombeen, you know my aim is pretty good.”

The Púca snapped its head around, shiny yellow eyes wide as it hastily shook its head back and forth. “No sharp-thing, no sharp-thing!” As it did, the damaged tree finally buckled underneath the creature's weight and sent it falling to the ground. Noodly body rolling off the trunk and into the ashy dirt, Bradán rushed over to pounce on the Púca and threatenly hold the sharp-thing over its face. The Púca pressed itself against the ground, recoiling from the sharp-thing, and let out a pathetic whimper as it repeated. “No sharp-thing…”

Staying like that for a long moment, the exhausted traveler caught her breath. Speaking in a slow, clear and firm tone, she made eye contact with the Púca.

“I place you under a heavy geasa which no Púcai would break. I will spare your life and set you free, and in exchange you will never torment or trick another rider again. I will owe you a single favor I am capable of fulfilling, and in return you will take me to where the Bánánach we saw were as quickly and safely as possible. Swear upon your name, and I will swear upon mine.”

The Púca’s yellow eyes went wider, and its imitation face of a Dobhar-chú scrunched as it wiggled and squirmed and pressed itself even further against the dirt. Bradán kept the sharp-thing firmly held out, and didn’t blink even as her eyes started to water. After nearly a minute passed, the Púca desperately replied.

“Ádh swears!”

“Bradán swears.”

With the vow in place, Bradán let a relieved grin settle onto her face. As promised she pulled the sharp-thing away, letting herself fall backwards onto her butt with a loud and exaggerated “whew!”. Ádh, a strange pout on its face, picked itself up off the ground. With a wiggle and a shake, Ádh presented its side to Bradán reluctantly.

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“Short-thing hurry, shriek-things far away.”

Bradán blinked, nodding as she scooted back to collect her things. Putting the sharp-thing back in its pocket in her backpack, she paused with bandages in hand to glance at the wound in Ádh’s flank. Lips pursing, brow furrowing, she tucked the bandages under one arm and scooped up her waterskin before scooting back over to Ádh - dragging her skirt through ash and twigs in the process, but she ignored it to focus on Ádh’s injury.

“What short-thing doing? Ádh thought short-thing in hurry.”

Ádh shuffled warily, noodly neck twisting around to peer at her in a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Bradán gave her waterskin a shake, gauging how much was left, before carefully washing dirt from the wound in the creature's flank… which was harder than she expected, with one good hand and Ádh’s fur getting in the way. But she managed, and Ádh watched in quiet surprise as she went about bandaging up its flank.

“There!” Bradán declared, clapping her hands together - and wincing - as she secured the bandage. Scooting back towards her backpack, Ádh flexed its leg experimentally as she put the waterskin back in her pack. Hopping to her feet, backpack slung over the shoulder of her good hand and dusting the back of her skirt off with her bandaged one, Bradán flashed Ádh an apologetic smile. “Okay, now we can go.”

Ádh turned its head away with a huff, not replying as Bradán climbed up onto its back once more.

Repeating its little wind up wiggles from the night before, this time Ádh fully counted “One, two, three!” before taking off - allowing Bradán to get herself properly situated. Crossing the hills and valleys at such a high speed still brought some bouncing with it, and Bradán still had to tuck herself close to Ádh’s neck as a shield from the sting of the wind, but it was a far less terrifying and uncomfortable experience. It wasn’t as dark, although it was still cold and Bradán was grateful for the shawl wrapped around her, and Ádh wasn’t weaving between trees or throwing her through the air.

If anything, it was actually kind of cozy and as Bradán clung to the oath-bound Púca’s back she found herself drifting off. A night spent terrified out of her wits, almost every part of her sore in one way or another, had left her utterly exhausted. Even after passing out earlier, for how long she wasn’t sure, she was still tired.

“Crack on, I’m absolutely shattered and need a quick nap.”

Bradán instructed with a yawn, using Ádh’s noodly neck as a pillow. The Púca slowed slightly, face scrunched up, before giving a sudden start and picking up speed once more.

As the sun started to crest over the hilltops, shining through the trees of the orchard, Ádh took great care to skirt far away from any fires that sprang up and to take the most gentle routes up and down the hills. To the creature’s credit, even while being cautious to adhere to the promise it had made to Bradán it was still moving at incredible speeds. By the time the sun had fully risen, they had returned to where it had tricked Bradán the night before.

Scurrying down the hill in the proper direction this time, a river soon came into view. Twisting and coiling through the hills, the river was cast in a soft orange sparkle. A wagon, with a orange-brown bear harnessed to it, was parked alongside the riverbank. As Ádh shot by, a cloud of ashy dirt kicked up in its wake, a young man glanced over in surprise. Pant legs rolled up, bucket full of glowing orange stones fished up from the riverbed in hand, the coppery headed Caoireola tried to hurry back to shore while calling out - only to lose his balance and tumble face first into the river with a splash.

Ádh broke out into a laugh at that, hurrying along as it leaped over the river further down. The laughter died off as the creature came across a wide expanse of trees that had been blown to bits, and the charred remains of a Dobhar-chú. Wide, flat head furrowing in thought, Ádh focused on the path ahead.

Cresting another hill, the creature came to a stop in surprise.

Down below, taller hills up on all sides, a smaller hill rose up in the middle of the valley. Upon that hill stood a tall willow tree, and scattered beneath it were dozens and dozens of fallen soldiers. All clad in black and orange, the surrounding area had been blasted with fire and filled with small craters. Black smoke still rose from lingering fires, and shards of dull, rose colored stone littered the battlefield - some warped and half-melted.

With another start Ádh continued down the hill into the valley, taking care to walk around the defeated. One, two, three… Ádh counted as it made its way up towards the willow tree. Ten, and then twenty, and then thirty, and then forty. As Ádh came to the bass of the willow tree, it counted forty-nine slain soldiers. All wearing the same uniform, and no signs of the opposing force.

“Short-thing.”

Ádh broke the silence, giving an urging wiggle to try and shake the girl asleep on its back awake. She stirred slightly, attempting to roll over to go back to sleep - only to roll right off the Púca’s back and fall to the ground with an undignified squawk.

“Owww…” Bradán murmured, rubbing her head as she got to her feet. Dusting herself off and stifling a yawn behind her bandaged hand, she blearily rubbed at one eye with her free hand and glanced around. “Is this where the Bánánach wer-” She started to ask, back to the willow tree, only to trail off. Dozens of crushed, broken bodies of orange orchard soldiers littered the valley in front of her.

Glancing around frantically, she turned to Ádh - the Púca looking off towards the base of the willow tree. Following its gaze, Bradán looked behind her and her hazel eyes shot wide in shock.

Propped against the base of the tree, head turned to the side, a figure with a monstrous bear-like face was staring right at her. Bradán took a step back in alarm, hands snapping up in front of her to defend herself… only to blink as the figure didn’t move. On a second glance, she realized the figure was covered head to toe in rose colored stone and the terrifying, Bánánach-styled face that stared at her was a mask. Slowly, cautiously, Bradán shuffled around to the left side to get out of the unsettling stare’s line of sight.

Only to blink again as gaps and holes in the stone figure came into view, and Bradán fully realized what she was looking at - a hollow stone shell, warped and melted in some places.

Pursing her lips in confusion, Bradán approached the shell to get a closer look - it was certainly demon-like, but she didn’t see any horns on its head. Just holes where horns might have been, and with how many holes and shattered pieces were on the ground around it she supposed they might have broken off? Brow furrowing harder, she glanced about again - spotting no sign of Yellowman - before turning her attention back to Ádh.

“What happened here?”

“Ádh not know. Big battle called Bánánach, many deaths.”

Bradán frowned, nodding hesitantly. Ádh turned away, and she hastily scurried to stand in front of it with her hands held flat and palms out.

“Wait, Ádh! Is there a village or a town or something nearby? You must know.”

Ádh’s face scrunched up in a pout and it whined.

“Ádh did Ádh’s part!”

Bradán flinched slightly, a sheepish look flashing across her face as she tried to sound reassuring. “You did! And I’ll pay you back for bringing me here with that favor I owe you. But,” She gestured out around them. “I can’t really do much for you here anyways, unless you want me to tell you a story or something easy like that. If we can get to a village, I can ask about what happened here and you can figure out what you want as a favor.”

Ádh glanced at her out of the side of one of its shiny yellow eyes, before relenting with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Ádh knows. Follow.”

“Thanks a million!”

Bradán’s face lit up, and she slipped her other arm through the second strap of her backpack to wear it properly. The Púca disguised as a Dobhar-chú started to lead her around the other side of the willow tree, but Bradán suddenly stopped and glanced behind her. Holding her good hand up, she called out.

“Hold on, I need to do something first. Shouldn’t take long.”

Ádh folded its legs up underneath itself with an annoyed look on its face, watching as Bradán went back down the way they had come. Stopping at the closest fallen soldier, the short girl’s good hand lit up with orange embers. Glittering orange sparkles left atop of one, then two and three, and eventually all forty-nine soldiers cast a gentle glow on that side of the valley so soft that it was barely visible in the sunlight. As she went she put out the other lingering fires, and when Bradán made the trip back to the willow tree she stood beside Ádh and brought her palm up flat.

With a soft blow across her palm, every one of the forty nine embers went up in a flash of fire. Each fire was small, spreading across the bodies of the soldiers and burned without a hint of smoke - sending orange sparkles rising into the air instead.

“There, that should send them off properly. We can go now.”

Bradán nodded tiredly towards Ádh, the creature regarding her for a moment before nodding back. Leading her around to the other side of the great big willow tree in stoic silence, the now even more exhausted traveler prepared herself for a long hike. And was met with the sight of a sprawling village stretching out behind the willow tree, and a great big grin stretched across Ádh’s face.

Expression flat and speaking in a deadpan, unamused tone, Bradán asked.

“Why are you like this?”

“Am Púca.”

Ádh glanced at her out of the corner of its eye like that was the most obvious answer in the world, and Bradán begrudgingly tipped her head in acknowledgement of its point. Focusing on the village down below, Bradán willed her tired legs to carry her down the hill without giving out underneath her.

The village itself didn’t look too different from Apple Valley at a glance, though the buildings were sloped away from them where they were built halfway up the willow tree’s hill before leveling out where the valley flattened out - and then sloping towards them as the valley rose up into one of the taller hills surrounding the willow tree. All in all it almost looked like the village was curling in on itself, and Bradán couldn’t help but wonder how the buildings on the hillsides didn’t go sliding down.

That concern was put out of her mind when she noticed how noisy the village was. She hadn’t been able to hear it up on the hill, but as she walked with Ádh towards the village it became apparent some kind of commotion was going on. Loud shouts back and forth, and occasionally between the buildings she could catch sight of people hurrying about. She couldn’t really tell with what, though.

Then, loud enough that it could be heard clearly on the outskirts of the village, a familiar voice rang out in a triumphant announcement.

“After many battles across Orange Orchard Company territory, the horned devil has been subdued!” A roar of cheers rang out, and Bradán picked up her pace as she hurried towards the center of town. When the cheering died down, the voice continued. “We shall celebrate this victory for nine days, and on the ninth day the horned devil and traitors alike will face their judgment!”

The speech continued as Bradán jogged through the village streets, ignoring the awkwardness of only having one shoe on or the uncomfortable way the stone street dug into her bare foot at times. Everyone seemed to have already gone further into town themselves, the short girl not passing by anyone at all as she hurried along. When she finally made her way to the bottom of the hill, where the town leveled out, the buildings started to space out more and more until giving away entirely into a clearing.

In the center had to be everyone in the village, all clustered together around a metal fence that ran the length of a large courtyard. Bradán had to stop behind everyone else, too short to see what had their attention - but she could make out confusion and debate going through the crowd about such a long celebration being proposed before another roar of cheers went up and drowned everything else out. Bradán stood up on the tips of her toes and craned her head this way and that in order to see past the crowd, managing to catch a glimpse of a raised platform and the familiar form of Yellowman.

Clad in a brand new uniform, arm still in a sling and with a new bandage across the right side of his head, Yellowman stood atop the platform as he engaged in tales of battles and the evils the ‘horned devil’ had wrought upon the land. There was a broad, triumphant grin stretched across his narrow face and he made exaggerated, wild gestures with his good arm as he kept the crowd enthralled.

By chance the crowd parted a little, and Bradán’s hazel eyes went wide as she caught sight of another person up on the platform with Yellowman.

Heavy chains wrapped around arms, legs and a collar around their neck, the figure was forced to kneel where they were. As taut as the chains looked, Bradán could guess they were secured to the floor of the platform - but that wasn’t what had her attention. What had her attention was the prisoner’s attire.

White fur boots held together with purple ropes and gray straps. A layered gray and white skirt with pink lines patterned across it secured by another purple rope at the waist. Gray top with matching pink lines patterned into it, going over one shoulder and under the other in a diagonal fashion. Fluffy white fur cape hanging from the shoulders. A purple rope headband across the forehead, disappearing under wild pale red hair that covered one side of their face… and a pair of black horns sticking out on either side of their head!

The woman branded as the horned devil had dark skin and a robust build. She wasn’t as heavy set as someone like Caoireoil, thinner and less muscular and not even half the wide man’s size overall, but it wouldn’t surprise Bradán if she could hurl Yellowman clear over the fence from the platform.

One visible gray eye glancing down at the chains on her hands with a sharp and contemplative look, the woman tipped her head to side-eye Yellowman with a sly glance. An amused grin stretched across her rose-colored lips and she spoke up in a heavy accent.

“Evil cause, evil effect.”

Yellowman scowled at the horned devil out of the corner of his eye as she laughed, hissing at her under his breath.

“Quiet, or I’ll break your arm the way you broke mine.”

“Break the other one, too.”

As the Gineréal turned red in anger at the casual threat the chained woman’s laughter put the crowd on edge. The exchange between the two wasn’t picked up on by the crowd or Bradán and like a wildfire a rumor quickly sprang up and spread about some form of curse being placed on the Gineréal. Yellowman was quick to offer assurances, turning his attention back to the crowd as he went on a rambling tangent about how the horned devil was powerless, would meet justice, the celebration tomorrow would be grand, and other such platitudes.

While that quickly served to distract the crowd, Bradán didn’t really pay much attention to it.

Instead, brow furrowed and dropping off her tiptoes to land firmly on her heels, Bradán was taking note of everything about the woman and trying to make sense of it. The boots were definitely craglander style, as was the fur cape, and so were the skirt - sort of - and the pink patterns. What at a glance seemed like makeup, the short girl was certain was tattoos. The same rose color that looked like eyeshadow and lipstick could be found as round dots diagonally across her right cheek and her right arm was tattooed with a complex pattern of lines from the shoulder all the way down to the last knuckle of her fingers. Yet, the top the horned devil was wearing wasn’t like any craglander fashion she had ever seen and the headband and horns definitely weren’t.

Maybe the horned devil was from some area Bradán wasn’t familiar with? Or maybe Yellowman had gone and fabricated this whole outfit to try and push his story? She could think of dozens of things that might be the case, but as tired as she was trying to think too hard on it was quickly giving her a headache.

Crossing her arms over her chest, giving her head a shake and closing her eyes in frustration, she muttered under her breath.

“What in the feck.”