I really didn’t know what to expect, but when I saw where the King of Kerry was living, my jaw nearly dropped off my face. It was an auditorium, completely enclosed, circular and massive. Any team in the National Hockey League would have been pleased to play there. We were hunkered down behind a ridge and I went to stand up.

“It’s a rink! The King of Kerry lives in a rink?”

Fiacuil pulled me down. “Easy, lad, don’t get too excited. You see those black things sitting on the roof?”

There were black statues on the roof, ever number of feet. They looked like gargoyles. “Aren’t they statues?”

Bovmall grunted. “Do statues do this?” She was holding an ogham wand and gave it a flick. A bunny materialized out of the ground and started to dash across the ground between us and the auditorium. One of the statues, the closest one to us, detached itself from the roof and like a dart shot down towards the rabbit. As its talons struck, the rabbit vanished in a puff of grey smoke.

“They’re like the bat-woman creature that took Helga.”

“As soon as we stick our heads above this ridge, they’ll be on us,” growled Fiacuil. “I didn’t see this coming.”

“That’s why you have me, sweetie,” reminded Bovmall. “I’ll conjure a pack of wolves. They’ll lead them to the opposite side. Then you two run for it. I’ll follow, if I can. If I can’t get to the front entrance and I’ll be there.”

“What will happen to you once they figure the wolf pack is nothing more than smoke?” I asked pointing out the gaping hole.

She glared at me harshly. “Do you, or do you not want to get Helga out of there?”

“I do, but I don’t want to get you killed,” I explained.

Bovmall gave me an adoring look. “Did you hear that Fiacuil, he doesn’t want us to get hurt, isn’t that sweet.”

Fiacuil grunted. “Fionn, if there is one thing that we excel at in Faerie, it’s getting hurt, preferably hurting others. Ready?”

“Ready,” barked Bovmall turning into a wolf right before my eyes while simultaneously conjuring a pack. They dashed up over the ridge and were gone.

“We will wait a few moments; give her a chance to get them onto the other side.”

I heard the howls of the wolf pack. “She’s a wolf?”

“No, a shape shifter, but her favourite form is a Timber Wolf, long legs,” he said wistfully. Then he shook his head and braced himself clapping a big hand on my shoulder. “Well, ready?”

“Ready...I suppose.”

“Let’s go.”

Bovmall had done her work; there wasn’t one of the harpies on this size of the auditorium, and we ran. We made it to the paving square before the great glass entrance.

“Stop,” shouted Fiacuil coming up behind me. He was puffing away like a big steam engine. He doubled over bracing himself while he gasped for air. “You dad was fast, but he would have had nothing on you...”

A howl sounded off in the distance. Auntie wasn’t going to keep them away for long.

“Let’s get inside,” and we raced across the square. Banners lined the way to the entrance suddenly flapping in the wind. I looked up and on the front face of the building were great posters of beef-jerky worries. They were dressed up like gladiators.

I reached and opened one of the many doors. “Do a lot of people come here?” I asked.

Fiacuil growled. “The ones that do never come out.”

“That’s reassuring.”

If this was like any rink, then the entrance would lead directly to the ice, but Fiacuil stopped me, looking up the stairs. He placed a finger in front of his lips and motioned for me to ascend while he would go in on the floor level.

It was a great cavernous building full of images of what might be and echoes. Creepy. I wondered what would have possessed Kerry to build such a sterile and empty place, and then I heard the laughter. It was full and laboured as though the humour was being squeezed painfully from the lungs.

I entered one of the feeder passages on the second level, moved through the dark and into the seats that surrounded the scene at rink level.

Seated at center ice (and there was ice) was the King of Kerry...or perhaps I should say, Queen of Kerry. He or she had a blue gossamer gown and was standing imperiously in from of his throne. Kerry seemed to have some unresolved issues. Right now it looked like he thought he was some Ice Queen. Behind him was a backdrop of a castle.

When I was a kid my mom had taken me to an ice show. We had been so far up in the stands that the skaters were about the size of small dolls. While the King of Kerry had been able to change his looks, his masculine, wheezing voice remained the same which made me want to laugh. Even though I could see the humor, the creepy red blotches on the ice made me wary. Kerry was pointing his scepter down at Fiacuil who was standing defiantly in front of the raised platform.

What was the idiot doing?

“You thought to surprise me?” wheezed Kerry swishing his cape as he moved about dramatically. “It will take more than a pack of wolves and a big sword to defeat me. So, where’s the boy. He’s the one I want, not some hairy brute.”

Then I heard a scraping motion of something over my head. I looked up. Hanging from the rafters, where the pennants and the retired jerseys should have been, were a number of cages. Most of them were empty, some were not. In the closest one was Helga. She was looking worse for wear and seemed entirely unconscious. Then there was a sound directly above me.

“Not a bad looker, Kerry, for someone made of plastic.” The voice was deep and rich and searching for laughter. “Not someone I would be asking to the alter.”

 There was a bearded man, seated in his cage. He was around the same size of Fiacuil, except broader, if that was even possible, in the shoulders. His long, black hair was neatly tied back. There was something about him that made me feel uncomfortable. I wanted him to like me, but at the same time, he had a look in his eye, as though he was laughing at everything.

I ignored him.

“Listen, why don’t you toss that little tooth-pick up here and I’ll break the lock with it.”

“Don’t trust him,” hissed Helga now awake. “Give it to me.”

“Little kitty wouldn’t last a minute down on the ice, give it to a real man.”

“Like Kerry?”

“Would the two of you shut up,” I hissed, “before Kerry -- hears us...”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Sure enough, Kerry was now staring up at me. He pointed his scepter at me. “Fetch me the boy-child!” he yelled.

“Run,” shouted Fiacuil who charged the stand. A black square materialised on the ice beneath his feet. He tried to move past the line but couldn’t. Out of the air, and around him formed a black cage snapping on him and taking him prisoner.

“Fionn,” said Helga, “don’t step onto the ice unless there’s an opponent there.”

“Fionn?” said the fellow in the cage, “you’re Fionn?”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“Run,” shouted the man and Helga both at the same time.

I had failed to see the beef-jerky stooges, who were holding long spears with wads of cotton candy impaled on them, surrounding me. The Ice Queen Kerry tried his best falsetto laugh which ended up with him having a coughing fit.

“Bring him here, down to the ice where I can deal with him, personally.”

I could have run, but the place seemed to be suddenly crawling with preserved beef-jerkies. Cotton candy spears pointing at me, I was forced down the aisle to the rink level. Strangely enough they let me keep the spear. Fiacuil’s cage had yet to be lifted up into the rafters with the rest of them.

“Sorry,” I apologized when I was close to him.

One of the cotton candy plastic zombies tried jabbing me with his spear, but Fiacuil reached out, grabbed the spear, and broke it over the thing’s head. An eye popped out and rolled along the ice, but that didn’t seem to deter the thing.

Kerry giggled with excitement, clapping his hands. I looked up at the beautiful Ice Queen. Being close allowed me to see the zipper running up the back of Kerry’s neck. “So, what do you think,” he said casting his arms wide, “of my winter wonderland?”

“It’s not going to work, you know.” I decided to cut to the chase. I knew megalomaniac sociopaths liked to grandstand, and I really wasn’t in the mood. “My mom isn’t going to come back to you.”

The Queen of Ice seemed a bit caught off guard and started to talk to himself.

“I can’t really answer that dressed like this.”

“Well, then I better get changed.”

"What do you suggest?"

"Something sheer, maybe charteuse?"

"No, idiot, something more masculine."

I watched with a strange fascination as Kerry reached for his neck and unzipped. The Ice Queen outfit, peeled away leaving him a standing, naked piece of beef-jerky. “My hero out fit,” he screamed, “now.” One of the cotton candy things brought him what looked like a pile of clothes from which rubbery fingers extended.

Quickly, Kerry suited up. After he was done, he glared down at me from the sensitive eyes of Russell Crow. His rugged face twisted. “Why do you think she wouldn’t come back to this?”

“Because,” I wanted to say, ‘because you’re crazy,’ but I didn’t, “she’s a bit preoccupied at the moment. You see, Cliodhna wants to kill her.”

He pouted then brightened perceptible. “Do you think she would consider coming back once that was over?”

Fighting down the sudden revulsion I felt rising up in my throat like vomit, I was able to respond. He wanted to turn my mother into another one of his plasticized creations.

“You know if you were nice...”

“Oh, I can be very nice,” said Kerry enthusiastically. “But while we wait, we might as well have some entertainment.”

Like two prize fighters facing off across a ring I was thrust down onto a stool which marked my corner. Kerry was given a throne. He waved his hand imperiously and the cage Helga was in was whisked along the rafters until it hovered over the ice where it slowly lowered.

At ice level the gate on the black cage sprang open and Helga, tentatively, stepped out onto the ice. I shifted uncomfortably and wondered how I could get the wax off the spear’s head and plunge it into Kerry before being overwhelmed.

“This will be the second time she has fought today,” said Kerry with admiration. “Nobody makes it to the third round.” He waved his hand again and a great drum roll sounded through the auditorium. The castle façade in the background trembled and the gates swung open. I could hear both Fiacuil and the other warrior gasp. If it made them gasp it almost made Helga, who was all ready standing on rubbery legs, fall.

It was a mountain troll. I’m a big video file, and with my memory, if someone calls ‘mountain troll,’ I see the entire thing. Fiacuil must have known what I was thinking about.

“Don’t you be jabbing no ogham wand up its nose.”

I could see, literally, every red, corded muscle on the creature. Ugly with skin, ten times uglier without. It had multiple scars, most likely from multiple fights, all over its body. One of its eyes was out of its socket hanging down the side of his face only held onto by a long optic nerve. The ice cracked as the thing moved closer to Helga.

Panting, she tried to turn into her panther form but the most she could manage was a few whiskers, a partial tail and the tip of an ear.

The troll hefted its club.

“Kerry,” growled Fiacuil under his breath just loud enough for me to hear, “get Kerry.”

I began to rub the head of the spear against the leg of the stool with more intensity.

The troll swung at Helga which she just managed to avoid by slipping beneath its legs. Stupidly the creature stuck its head down between its crotch and fell head over heal. Helga was on the thing trying to rip its other eye out, but given the fact that she only had a small knife that was proving difficult. The creature swatted away at her, made contact and sent her sprawling across the ice.

Just then my spear ignited. I butt ended the first beef jerky zombie and kicked another one who fell creating a log jam of plasticized corpses. The spear was blazing now, and I knew I only had a few moments before it went out. Taking small steps on the ice I built up enough speed and then slid, shouting, right at Kerry who held up a finger as if to say, ‘just one moment.’ The flaming spear sunk deep into where I assumed Kerry’s heart was. If he had placed it in a jar I was in big trouble. The plastic around the spear gave a high pitch screech as drops began to fall sizzling onto the ice. He gave me one bewildering look at the spear and then -- died.