Ophiuchian Traps

(work in progress)

There is always a lot of talk when we don't know what to do, and this was no exception. The technocrats talked and so too the officials and the scientists. It was all talk; sound that clouded minds and betrayed the terror and hopelessness of all those who were paid to do more than talk. In spite of this very same drama being played out many times throughout the known history of the universe, no one had dared to contemplate this possibility, much less make contingencies. There were minerals in difficult places and nets full of edible marine life, and of course there was the concern over money. You can't eat or sell a contingency when there is work to be done. The men with lives to lose didn't have the luxury to worry and those who could chose not to; after all, Port Chayney could muster enough of a fleet to evacuate the technocrats and the officials and the scientists. If a few miners or fishermen had to die that was rather unfortunate, but to the technocrats and the officials and the scientists it was an acceptable bargain. Now there was no Port Chayney and no fleet. There was nothing left but talk, a great deal of talk.

No one could come for three months. A two-way trip would take six. That would be too long to wait. Worse, no one was scheduled to arrive for almost a year. A passenger ship was supposed to begin its run on the First of August; it was an old surplus liner with enough cargo space for a load of exotic seafood. Her captain would have her loaded while his eccentric thrill-seeking passengers hunted or fished or just set their feet on this distant blue marble. What actually awaited them would come as a complete surprise. It would appear that this time - the sixth trip to 70 Ophiuchi for the Rosette - she would find a bleeding world, its native land dwellers licking their wounds and its colonists all locked in the silence of death.

Rick was as sick as the others of all the talk, perhaps even more so, though he saw no use in expressing his displeasure. It would only add to the noise. Desperation had brought them all here and now disgust would soon force him away. He had had enough. When Rick stood up from the long bench big Tim Olsen grabbed the radio case on his utility belt. Tim looked up, wanting to speak to his friend and fellow miner of the last ten years. What he saw in Rick's face discouraged him, and he released his grasp as he turned his head back to the talkers.

No one seemed to notice, or at least no one protested when Rick slipped outside of the mess hall. For the first time since their mandatory assembly he could hear the whirring of the air purifiers over the useless chatter of the self-described experts. The darkness outside was deep, with barely a sliver of orange in the direction of the local sun, 70 Ophiuchi A. To the south a deep red stain lined the horizon; otherwise it was the blackest sky Rick had ever seen. He looked at his watch and was dismayed to discover that he'd wasted two hours with the talkers. It was already early afternoon.

Rick was sure he could smell it. A gust from the south confirmed his suspicion. He coughed once, and wondered if this was how he'd die. Rich tapped his sore left foot, allowing the respirator attached to his belt to bounce off of his leg. Rick looked back at the dark red smear and the ominous blackness. A stronger breeze brought more smell and a few gray blossoms from a Carpus tree. It may have been ash, he wasn't sure.

Even before he came - or more accurately, was forced to come - to 70 Ophiuchi Ab, Rick knew he'd hate the place. Reality bore out his prophesy. The local sun could be annoying, even harsh at times. It rained often, usually an omnipresent drizzle that kept up for days on end. Hurricanes though not especially common in the southwest did occasionally make landfall, and some were real killers. But nothing compared with the events of the last two months. Although it caught them all by surprise and Rick was no exception, something always told him that he didn't belong on this hateful world, that none of them did. There was always a whisper, a curse on the breeze; it was in the bites of myriad arthropods and the poisonous gas that crept through cracks in the mine floors. The curse had been patient and now it would claim the lot of them. Although the native land dwellers would suffer they would survive. The water creatures would have an easier time of it. Though many natives would die, even among the oceans, Ophiuchian life would survive the cataclysm. Not so the immigrants; rumor was, twelve thousand had already perished at Cape Banneker. That cataclysm was unrelated to the even greater horrors of the south. That 's what the scientists said, though Rick believed it all part of the same hushed curse. The technocrats and the officials and the scientists would have vehemently disagreed, but for all their knowledge and conviction they had been wrong about the coming paroxysm and who could say they were right this time. They could offer nothing but talk against the coming tragedy.

Under the best of circumstances it was unhealthy to breathe the air of 70 Ophiuchi Ab for long periods, and now with ash and gas coming from the south - and possibly from the east - it was unwise to leave one's respirator dangling from a belt. Rick was not known as a risk-taker but it hardly mattered anymore. He made no effort to unhook the strap from his belt's c-clip. He wouldn't be waiting in line for a barrier garment either. Escape was the only real option, and without extraordinary luck none of them could get out of harm's way. Some might have tried the Magothy Road but Rick knew better; in the best of times it was a winding weed-choked morass, and no doubt something would steal even that vain hope. The wind surged in the trees to the south and although he was only three meters from the egress he barely heard the door open. It was Tim, all 120 kilograms of him, not a one of them fat. He didn't say a word and he told Rick more than all the talkers combined. Rick was right to be pessimistic. The Magothy Road had been cut. The terrors of the east were repeating themselves in the west; independently, of course. Though Rick didn't yet know what had happened to the road he knew from the change in Tim's expression, which had been one of the last with a flicker of optimism, that the road was no longer an option. The talkers would call this latest disaster another coincidence. They seemed to derive an imbecilic comfort from clinging to proclamations without significance.

Rick turned back to watching the red smudge. At length he spoke, once the wind came and went and the two men cleared their throats.

"Anybody say what's for dinner?" Rick's steel-gray eyes kept sharp on the red. It probably hadn't grown in the last ten minutes but it sure seemed that way.

Tim must not have expected the question and it took several seconds for him to respond. "No, nobody mentioned it. Maybe...Hell, probably those bags of shit."

Rick shook his head. A flake came from the dark skies, floated through the feeble light of the lamp above the door and alighted on the plastic rail that led to the stairs. This one at least was a bloom.

"They waste all our fuckin' time and don't think about feedin' us?" Rick sighed, then spit over the rail. "Figures."

Tim must have thought the blooms were ash. One landed in Rick's short red hair and it sent Tim into a conniption of swatting. Rick just leaned on the rail. When Tim was done he spoke.

"Just blossoms, Tim. Ash isn't here yet."

"The smell's coming faster. I noticed a little, how 'bout you Ricky?"

"Yeah." Rick spit again, this time more air than saliva.

Rick was a bit surprised that they didn't try to force him back into the hall. He really didn't care, except that the thought of their faces when he told them where to go was a momentary source of amusement.

The wind picked up a little again but this time there was no noxious taint to the air. Tim mentioned it.

"Wind must have shifted. I didn't notice any smell that time. " Tim wasn't sure if it was the right time to ask, or if there was a right time for that matter. What was the point of holding back? If he wanted an answer, he figured, he'd better ask now.

"Ricky," Tim was the only one on 70 Ophiuchi Ab who ever called Rick by that diminutive name, "you saw it, down Rainbow Wells. What the hell's really goin' on?"

Rick kept leaning on the plastic rail. He was silent for a bit. The talkers never told them exactly what had happened, either in the south or the east, and Rick assumed they lied or kept silent about the west as well. He was right of course. They all had a right to know.

"The planet's opened up."

Had Tim not known Rick for the last ten years he'd have been incredulous. He was not. If Rick had said the planet turned square Tim would not have doubted his friend's conviction.

"They'd have left us, wouldn't they?", Tim asked. Tim was now leaning on the rail, staring at the red smudge.

"Yeah." Rick got a wry smile on his face. "There'd be some song about us, our sacrifice. Those assholes wouldn't listen to it, but it'd be there." He looked over at Tim, the smile still on his face. "You know, they'd be heroes in the movie."

Tim laughed. Rick turned back to the red stain. He chortled and continued, "They got a surprise ending when Port Chayney went up. Now instead of a movie they'll get a special on that channel with all the disaster shows."

Tim couldn't help but laugh a second time; this one lasted a lot longer. It was born of frustration and rising anger. Rick joined in. Except Rick didn't really feel much anger toward the hapless bureaucrats. They would reap their reward in the end; nothing he could do to them could match that. As the brief laughter faded to smiles, Rick looked back toward the red, and then over to his right. There was a motor pool across the road. Bathed in the light of a photocell lamp it was full of lorries and tractors. Among the manicured and utterly unreliable DLM's was an elderly Humboldt Road Boss. Humboldt was the triumph of truck manufacture; this example was certainly at least one hundred years old yet could still outperform the others. "Too bad we didn't have any of those at Accra," Rick thought to himself. Humboldt was no more, gone with the men and the civilization that gave it birth; the colonies they built were following their path into oblivion. 70 Ophiuchi Ab was next.

Rick was pondering the lorries he'd seen and those he'd driven, trying to decide which was he preferred above all others - he'd never driven a Humboldt before - and his game made the red smear go away. An outburst from inside the hall brought it back. Someone erupted in anger; the voice was soon joined by others, and eventually a chorus arose. Rick didn't really care what had happened. Tim, however, strained to hear.

"Think we should go back in?"

The question annoyed Rick but he could forgive his friend. It wasn't any major transgression. "No," he said, "maybe if I was spoilin' for a fight but I'm too damn tired for that shit." It was true; though it wasn't the only reason he didn't seek a tussle. There was something much more important on his mind; it had been there all along, and the red smear was vastly preferable to the cackling of the terrified experts in the mess hall. The red smear was honest and patient. It left one unmolested to attempt some desperate gambit, or perhaps to make peace with God; and if circumstances were truly hopeless it would kill and be done with it. It wouldn't offer useless suggestions and irrelevant information. it wouldn't break the silence with worthless talk.

He said it in typical nonchalant manner. It was his way, and had been all his life. Very little provoked Rick to reveal his passions.

"'Bout 400 clicks due north there's this mountain called the Shelly Anticline. There used to be a small town near the base, Haskinville I think, that's what a sign said anyway. I was up that way three-four years ago."

Tim wasn't sure why Rick brought it up, though he hoped it was the foundation of some incredible plan. "I heard of it, never been there. Off Oneida Road, some old trail isn't it?"

"Yeah. We took the company's Pig. Haskinville's just a dirt track now," said Rick.

"What's up, Ricky?" Tim asked point-blank.

"Bickerstaff said they sounded out a shitload of caves in that hill."

"Have you seen them?" Tim had travelled quite a distance and was arriving at wit's end.

Rick looked hard into Tim's hazel eyes. "No. But I'd rather die up on that mountain than holed up with these pricks."

Tim looked back at the door to the mess hall, then at the red smudge. "I don't know, Ricky." Tim spoke more to himself than to his friend. Something in his mind cast a stronger shadow of doubt. "No, it won't work. Cape Banneker's gone, Rick. How do you know Oneida isn't cut like Magothy?"

"I don't. Honestly I don't care. I'm not sticking around here, Tim. I'm fed up with all the bullshit talk. If we're going to have any chance we better head for that hill. The lowland's going to be nothin' but poison soon." Rick's mind was set; likely it had been for some time.

Tim was silent. He wanted to believe his friend. He looked back at the door. He could barely hear talking on the other side. The door might open to more frustration, more bunkum. He looked back to Rick. His gaze caught the red smudge. It seemed reflected in Rick's burning eyes and pale face. Tim had descended into the bowels of this accursed planet, facing deadly vapors and poisonous Dipteropods and one of the very few extraterrestrial viruses known to infect Homo sapiens. He was no coward when he felt the urge to survive. It might be hopeless, but he didn't want to surrender. Rick wasn't surrendering. In Tim's mind he was just wrong. He managed the faint smile that usually means farewell, and went back to the talkers.

Rick was out in the parking lot when the door opened. He didn't look at the crowd for at least twenty seconds. The technocrats and the officials and the scientists would be first to emerge, followed by the less-vital. Once he was sure that the men who didn't matter to him were beyond the egress, Rick looked upon the exiting miners. Tim was near the front and, due to his size, impossible to miss. He looked into Tim's eyes from across the lot. Tim stopped cold. The moment had arrived; Rick was not pleased to have delayed but he held out hope for his friend, at least for him. Rick crossed the road to the motor pool. The gate was unlocked; it wouldn't have mattered, as Rick had access with his keycard; in addition to mining, the men of Padki Mining drove product to Port Chayney. Rick did not stop nor did he hesitate. He climbed into the Humboldt and closed the driver's side door. Then, without pause, he reached over and opened the passenger door. He looked at Tim. Then he motioned for his friend to come.

The crowd, led by the talkers, began its pilgrimage down Proxmire Road toward Becker. The red stain flanked them to the left. They would not complete the journey on foot. The headlights of buses, no doubt commandeered at some earlier point from Becker Transit, bounced along the Rugged Klick as the final stretch of Proxmire - Royer highway was known. It was clear that the talkers hoped to find refuge at Becker on the southwest coast. Apparently they believed that the block-fault mountains at Quanah Heights would halt or at least divert the fire from the south. Realizing this, Rick felt an even greater desire for Tim to abandon the funeral procession. No doubt the talkers would scoff at Rick's plan; they had never toiled in the earth, never read its sky or listened to its whispers. Every instinct in Rick's mind, body and soul rejected the trip to Becker. He prayed so would Tim's.

In his years at Padki, Rick didn’t make many friends. Most guys engaged in the only approved form of interaction for men of their kind, and took to belittling each other at every opportunity. This never appealed to Rick and led to his trademark aloofness. Some even called him an outsider. There had been three exceptions though. Greg Shirley was the first; an old-timer who’d been a miner way back on Earth and who was forced to come to 70 Ophiuchi relatively late in life. He taught Rich what he knew and it would eventually save the younger man’s life several times. Shirley wasn’t like any of the others in that brotherhood meant a great deal to him. He never tore another miner down, though he had no fear in resorting to his fists if the need arose. One day when Rick was delivering a load to Chayney Greg Shirley disappeared. The administrators said he had been sent back home to Earth. Rick did not believe them. He never did discover the real answer, though Shirley’s sudden departure taught Rick another valuable lesson. He could never afford to trust the bureaucrats.

Not long after Shirley left, Kevin Rundle came in to Padki by way of Alpha Centauri. Rundle, a young man ill-suited for the hard life forced upon him, could not be faulted for a lack of trying. In many ways he became the hardest worker on Padki’s roster. Inexperience and a fierce desire to prove his relentless tormentors wrong hurled the eighteen-year-old down the path of pain and misery, yet in his rather brief time on 70 Ophiuchi he never forsook his dream of returning to the green fields of Alpha. Rick really didn’t want to get close to this probably doomed man and when it happened he knew he’d regret it; still, he took it upon himself to direct Rundle as much as he could in the ways of survival. Rick also noticed a change in one of the other miners, a hitherto indistinguishable member of the annoying crowd named Tim Olsen. Tim began laying off the torment and started volunteering to be Rundle’s partner. Perhaps a little of Shirley had rubbed off on him as well. Rick, who before his friendship with Shirley as well as after his friend’s disappearance would take his lunch and supper alone, noticed Rundle’s increasing presence at his lonely little table, and he did not object. Rick would talk about the sights he’d seen on 70 Ophiuchi, and Rundle would describe the beauty of the garden planet around Alpha Centauri B. For the first time since he had come to 70 Ophiuchi, Rick could see beyond Padki and and the hydrogen sulfide alarms and he enjoyed it to no end.

It was about the time that Rick started to feel hope for Kevin Rundle that the curse of 70 Ophiuchi took him away. The last few days Rundle had been paired with Tim Olsen, who likewise appreciated the young man’s dreams and optimism and had begun to join him and Rick at the lunch table. Tim however was not certified to train on the CM88 continuous miner and Padki wanted Kevin Rundle to be a certified operator. The administrators stuck him with one of their trainers, a man long on theoretical experience but short on the kind that really mattered, particularly in a mining environment as dangerous as the one at Padki. If the trainer had been content to follow Track 5 down to 140 Left the day would have been uneventful; but he was not content to show Rundle the banalities of standard buggy operation. The trainer, a Mr. Feruzi, quite probably out of a desire to flaunt what his superiors called expertise, deviated from Track 5 and entered 133 Right. The administrators knew 133 Right to be a trouble spot and no doubt Mr. Feruzi knew this as well; the miners considered it the most dangerous active tunnel at Padki Number 4.

No one knows exactly what Feruzi tried to demonstrate to his pupil, or if Kevin Rundle was even on his mind when he entered 133 Right. It is known that hydrogen sulfide gas was heavy that day and once afternoon shift left there was no mining scheduled for 133 until the next morning, upon completion of a routine safety check. The red warning light for gas emission was lit at the entrance to 133 Right and post-accident analysis determined that both men were wearing respiratory protection before Feruzi drove down to the far reaches of the tunnel. Since he was wearing a breathing apparatus, Mr. Feruzi must have known that gas was heavy in 133 and the status report included in his training briefs forbade any travel down 133 Right. He chose to ignore the hazards and entered the closed section.

The percentage of hydrogen sulfide in the air at 133 Right was not only lethally poisonous, it was well within the flammability limits of that potentially explosive gas. The incident investigator surmised that Feruzi may have cut into the seam face at the far end of 133 Right and this might have precipitated a lethal spark. The miners did not trust the findings; although Padki’s equipment was supposedly explosion-proof and properly grounded, most of their rolling stock came from Guizhou Heavy Industries. Guizhou was notorious for mechanical and safety systems failures. Of course Padki would never officially acknowledge these problems. The wealth and power of Beijing precluded any mention. Instead, Padki took to secretly modifying most of their vehicles before putting them into service. Motor 401 had passed initial trials and was not among those modified.

Rick did not hear the explosion, which was confined to section 133 Right. He was close enough to possibly have heard a muffled thud but was busy running Motor 315 at the time. It was only when an incident alarm sounded on his helmet radio that he realized something was amiss.

For a long time after Rundle’s death Rick and Tim sat quiet at their forlorn table, nary a word shared between them. Tim never did return to the raucous band he used to dine with. Rick was glad for it, even though it did not outwardly show. His anger had grown to dangerous levels and there was no longer an outlet for escape from dismal realities. This soon led Rick of all persons to break the silence. At first it was a recollection or observation of what reminded him of his former home. He had been forced to depart there over a decade previous. It was colder than Alpha and there was less blue sky and fewer girls, pretty or otherwise. Before the loss of Rundle, Rick never spoke to anyone of his home, and aside from two or three times with Tim he would not again.

Tim hailed from the tidally-locked planet around Lacaille 9352. He too had come under orders – it seemed every miner did – and doubted he’d ever see that amazing planet again. He spoke of the huge forests of dark green trees, almost black, and the swarming of four-eye locusts so thick that no millimeter of leaf could be seen beneath their mating masses. Then they’d be gone, off to lay eggs and die, without having eaten a bite. At Centerpoint noon lasted forever; near Honfleur Cross only stars lit the eternal night. It was an alien world, excepting its atmosphere it was completely unlike Earth, yet Tim spoke of it lovingly, longingly, a child sick for home and a man who knew he’d never go back.

The fading natural light made the artificial ones harsher. The waiting seemed interminable. Tim would not beckon to Rick, even if he believed that his friend was about to make a disastrous mistake. Once Rick was in the cab of the Humboldt there would be no prying him out. Rick was like that and Tim knew him better than anyone alive. Perhaps Tim did believe this to be a terrible mistake; perhaps that was why he stared at Rick for so long. He knew it wouldn’t matter in the end. Rick would be going his own way. Meanwhile Rick’s hopes were fading. He let his right arm fall to the seat. The wind kicked up and blew a few blossoms into the cab. Rick could see Tim’s face clearly while the throng faded into inconsequentiality. It was the look he had the day after Rundle died.

Rick looked away but did not turn his face. He leaned over and closed the passenger door. Tim turned back to the crowd and joined the procession down the Rugged Klick. The others didn’t exist anymore. They were shadows on the canvas. There was just Shirley, Rundle and Olsen, and they were going away.

Rick broke his near-trance. He started the Humboldt. The small fusion reactor went on-line and the engine awoke. Filtering systems came to life and in an instant the air became pleasant. Rick shifted the lorry into first gear and eased on the clutch. Humboldt, known for supreme reliability, was also famous for power and on both accounts did not disappoint the driver. The mighty truck started for the open gate and the dusty highways beyond.

(15 Mar 2009)

Coats of Arms

Coats of Arms of the Éireannach Tribes

Bascna : green stag on white, ivy

Bláthanna : gold lion on a green field

Farraige: white stag on green field

Uladh: great hound of Uladh on white; green oak on white (with prominent acorns)

Degad: blue-eyed gray wolf beside oak tree on white

Eóghain: red stag on white

Gairdis: stylized white fox on red field

Cruithne: white orm on red field; often a white border around edge with clover; sometimes clover on white

Manann: 3 white crows on a red field (beaks, eyes, feet black)

Morna: red branch; black crow on red; black raven on red

Rathcrogna: black eagle on white; (those under the sway of Morna had black eagle on red, though this was never universal and has disappeared since the recent violent expulsion of the Morna element)

Calatin: black wolf on white with white star on wolf's shoulder; night use often white outline of a black wolf on field of black

Bestiary - Animals, Fantastic and Mundane

in addition to the standard fauna of an Domhan

caladrius (snow-white magical bird that - rarely - comes around when a person is gravely ill; generally the person is a king, great warrior, etc.; if the caladrius looks at the sufferer, then he will certainly recover; if the bird refuses to look upon the stricken person, he will die)

catoblepas (animal-creature with a buffalo-like body, a head that is similar to a boar; can raise its head only a little; has armor-like plates along its back for protection; inoffensive but lethal in self-defense, as some can cast a lethal gaze, others have deadly poisonous breath)

cockatrice (strange fusion of reptile - snake - and rooster; cockatrice have a deadly gaze, and a wound inflicted by its talons or beak can have an equally deadly effect; cockatrice are extremely aggressive as a means of self defense, making them deadly opponents)

flying horse (not to be confused with the magical, intelligent pegasus; these are simply horses with wings, herd animals that often become prey to rocs, griffins and even hippogriffs; their survival is ensured by their large herd sizes - look out below)

giant octopus (giant form of the normal animal, more than just an animal; very intelligent; most don't trifle with humanity or high si, some that have been - or believe they have been - wronged become killers, others are killers to begin with; freshwater versions like their small kin are smaller and rely on their great agility, which in the case of the giants makes them potentially terrifying opponents)

giant squid (kraken; huge carnivorous predator that will just as soon attack a whale as a swimming humanoid, but does not have any real hesitation to do either; slightly more intelligent than their small kin, the giant squid is an animal of huge proportion; freshwater versions like their small kin are smaller and rely on their great agility, which in the case of the giants makes them potentially terrifying opponents)

griffin (predatory creature, body of a large lion, head and wings of a giant eagle; occasionally prey on humanoids as targets of opportunity but more commonly depredate livestock)

hippocampus (half horse, half serpentine with fish-like fin at end; water creature that can be domesticated by water races, but is generally encountered wild)

hippogriff (originally the product of griffin mating with a mare - which is its favorite prey - almost all hippogriff come from other hippogriff, and the species is an occasional prey animal for griffin, rocs, and the largest pterodons; hippogriff are wild, very difficult to break, and occasionally attack humans or si in self defense or even as prey)

insect, giant (giant versions of various insects; moths and butterflies are usually harmless if left alone, while bees can be deadly and bloodsuckers are a major threat)

karkadann (horned animal, similar to a smaller Elasmotherium and most likely a relative; strange in that it is carnivorous despite appearing more like a herbivore; striped black and yellow, some spotted like a leopard; ferocious predator with no fear of humans or high si and will attack, often without provocation)

llamhigyn y dwr = water leaper

Nemean lion = subspecies of maned smilodon, the largest lions in the world

pegasus (winged, magical horse that is more intelligent that natural horses; not simply an animal like the regular horse or winged horse; will not accept just anyone as a rider, and quite difficult to 'break')

phoenix (incredible bird, thoroughly magical; perhaps only one exists at a time; when the phoenix dies or is killed it is consumed by flames, but in the ashes a baby phoenix arises; lifespan is around 600-1000 years and as the end of that life cycle approaches the phoenix migrates, often travelling to other continents before rebirth; feather is enormously valuable, especially to alchemists)

"prehistoric" animals (include Smilodon et al, dire wolf, Harpagornis eagle, elephant bird, Stegodon elephant, Irish elk Megaloceros, Megatherium sloth, short-faced bears, cave bears, Brontotherium and other Brontothere rhinos, wooly rhinoceros, Mammoth, Mastodon, woodland musk ox, Phorusrhacos large flightless bird, Gomphothere "shovel tusk" elephants - Platybelodon et al, Borophagus dogs and other large hyenas, cave hyena, hyaenodon, cave lion, Panthera lion, Elasmotherium rhino, Doedicurus and other Glyptodon armadillo, Deinotherium elephant, Entelodont carnivorous pigs, Uintatherium and Eobasileus rhino-like mammals, Diprotodon large marsupial herbivore, Europa hippo, Gomphotherium elephants, Paraceratherium giant hornless rhino, marsupial lion, Moeritherium small-eared, tuskless elephant, Sivatherium antlered giraffe, Synthetoceras tri-horned deer, Teleoceras short-horn rhino, Odobenocetops walrus-whale, Deinosuchus et al giant crocodiles, stag-moose, Steller's sea cow, et al - as well as a host of others, innocuous, small, and not so small.)

"prehistoric" sea creatures (including trilobites, Basilosaurus and Dorudon large serpentine sea mammals, squalodon sharktooth dolphin, Orthacanthus shark, ammonoids/belemnoids/nautiloids - some over 50 feet long/wide, Dunkleosteus, armored fishes jawed and jawless, Eurypterid sea scorpions, dangerous corals, Thalattosaur marine lizards, Mosasaurus, Thalassomedon, Plesiosaurs, Pliosaurs - including the monster Liopleurodon one of the most powerful of all "monsters"; various other marine reptiles and "prehistoric fishes"; Leedsichthys huge fishes; Ichthyosaurs marine reptiles; et al - as well as a host of others, innocuous, small, and not so small.)

pterodactyl/pterosaurs (several species; many are fish-eaters and less dangerous, but lethal in self defense; some are small, others large and some are huge; a few are as large as a roc and just as powerful)

roc (huge bird of prey, size like that of the very largest pterodons; the largest rocs can carry off an elephant; although more or less only a bird, it is a lethal predator who can crush a human in the blink of an eye)

salamander, alchemist's (these appear like regular salamanders, except they can be quite large and with a venomous bite; immune to fire, they can be brought into the world by alchemical processes or - rarely - naturally, in volcanic eruptions and fierce wildfires; alchemical salamanders released into the world can reproduce with natural salamanders, except that the fire immunity will decrease to resistance until, after a few generations, the offspring are normal salamanders)

spider, giant (ferocious predator, much feared; most are simply big arachnids in search of food, others possess an alien intelligence that makes them even more deadly)

unicorn (the renowned single-horned horse being, magical and intelligent; playful in youth, they are wild and untamable, very rarely wicked but will defend themselves, their kin and their home with ferocity; most are white, some are brown or roan; horn color is usually white but this too can vary)

water leaper = llamhigyn y dwr (dangerous water predator, appearing as a very large frog that in place of legs has wings and a serpentine tail; mouth has sharp fangs; usually eats fish and other smaller marine life, a horde will attack livestock and horses and occasionally humaniods)

Bestiary - The Upright Races

The non-si and the si-related

bugbear (bear-like bipedal race, low intelligence but extremely powerful; often in league with orks, giants, ogres although a bugbear will neither fear nor obey an ogre; wild and animal, they are powerful enough not to fear humans or high si, and will look at them as food, much as they look at most forest denizens and domesticated creatures; their ursine attributes make them quite deadly in spite of their overall stupidity; often associate with bears, especially short-faced bears, which makes them even more dangerous)

centaur (race infamous for having the upper body of a humanoid, the lower of a strong pony; centaurs are not half man, half horse, as their lower bodies are pony; though this cuts their speed, it makes life much easier - cleaning and other necessities - and their legs and bodies are much stronger for it; like the fomorians who likely spawned them eons ago, centaurs are very closely related to the si but do not suffer an iron vulnerability)

cynocephalus = hiéannach, annubian (the dog-headed race that is almost always very closely allied with fomorians; the hiéannach are the hyena variety, the "annubian" is the jackal variety; cynocephalus children can be either variety, independent of the parents' appearance; their society is very similar to the fomorians - and to a degree the Éireannach - in that there is an infamous warrior class, a druid class, bards - mostly war poets and mystics - and banfháidh; not necessarily violent, nor often evil, cynocephali have a war-culture and will violently oppose anything seen as a transgression; cynocephali are very closely related to the fomorians and consequently the si; see fomorians)

dwarf (the strong little men of the mountains, dwarves build great halls under the peaks and mine the endless rock and caves of the Catacomb; the different tribes often have different temperament in addition to individual demeanors; dwarves can be quite helpful and jovial, often distant and irritable, on some rare occasions they can be an enemy)

Éireannach human (called the "High Men" by the sidhe; fair and strong, they are civilized yet fierce warriors in combat; Éireannach civilization is noted for its mighty warrior class as well as its druids and bards; druids are widely respected and feared; there are 12 tribes, including Calatin; the Éireannach are true men though due to their appearance - tall and fair, and very beautiful - the si consider them cousins; the Éireannach are legendary for their warrior prowess and extreme resistance to any who would conquer them, and for this they are greatly respected even by most foes; their music and culture rival the si)

fir-bolg ( average between 7-8 feet tall; powerfully built, often solitary; human-like; until the friendship of a fir-bolg is won the fir-bolg will tend to be aloof, even cold and churlish, but once it is won a fir-bolg will never betray his friend, and will hunt the ends of the earth to avenge wrongs committed against him ; once fir-bolg lived in large tribes, now they live in small family units, with solitary males attempting to win the hand of a young female - and the approval of a father fir-bolg, no easy feat)

fomorian (the "animal-men" though some rare females are like beautiful women; these are still fomorian at heart; fomorians were the first "upright" race, and from their flesh and spirit it is believed the si were born; no weakness to iron-induced wounds, so fomorians are not true si, but share many other similarities with them including many fomorians having innate magical ability; fomorians can be terrestrial or marine, with the marine varieties able to live on land; the child of a fomorian can be of any form possible for a fomorian, although not entirely random there is always a chance that the child will be of any form; some fomorians - including some of the most common varieties - are cynocephali, being wolf-, fox- or coyote-men)

giants (generally much like large-sized humans/humanoids, some giants are much more bestial; even the most human-like can be deadly killers, using an often surprising intelligence with brute force to enforce their will and desires)

minotaur = Rómhánach term for one of the most common types of fomorian

ogre (probably a degenerate race of giants; big, dumb and violent, they eat almost anything but enjoy livestock and absolutely love human and high si flesh; generally wear tattered garments, some are just smart enough to put together thick hides for protection)

ork (humanoid race, exceedingly warlike and one of the legendary nemeses of humanity and high si; unlike some dangerous creatures, orks often form war bands or even armies and are a major threat when engaging in mass warfare; orks breed extremely hardy horses and ponies and make extensive use of them; some orks have been surprisingly civilized, yet none is ever known to have forsaken the ways of warcraft, which is "more important than bread" to them)

Rómhánach human (called the "East Men" by the sidhe; the Rómhánach have a more varied appearance than the Éireannach (the majority of whom have blue, gray or green eyes and red-brown, red or blond hair, are tall and very fair in complexion), many Rómhánach presenting a swarthiness (as well as brown eyes being relatively common) and shortness in stature unheard of in the Éireannach; the Rómhánach care more for lines on maps, intrigue, imperial ceremony and imperial legacies, in fact probably much more than any other race or people, and have had numerous conflicts with the Éireannach; Rómhánach do not usually match up well one-on-one with the Éireannach, yet their weapons and naval assets are fearsome and their legions are vast; some do become excellent warriors and the use of alchemy and spells in combat is not a rarity; being men, they are of course adaptable and intelligent and have altered their tactics and strategies to match their strengths in number, armor and quantity of ranged weaponry like pila and arrows)

saurian = type of fomorian; the "reptile-man" variety

Bestiary - Monsters, Demons and the Created

animated (created from dead flesh, stone, metal, et al; animated are usually not mindless, as a brain is often required for them to do any but the most ridiculously simple tasks; this brain though not its former self will retain intellect and in many cases the animated becomes resentful, even murderous)

chimera (monster composed of three different animal parts; origins unclear, but different types are clearly fertile with each other; generally a vicious killer)

demons (myriad types, some 'merely' a local menace, other among the most powerful of all enemies; demons, arch-demons and hell gods have been notorious since the dawn of time and are universally feared; all manner of fell beasts are called demons, in many cases this is accurate, since demonic forms and powers are bewildering)

ghoul (lesser demon that is still a lethal opponent - testimony to the power of demons; ghouls gravitate toward places of burial, devouring corpses and attacking solitary travellers, especially at night; ghouls can change form from their usual horrible bipedal form - huge claws and fangs, large red eyes - to animal form, usually choosing a canine, or to normal human/humanoid form)

gorgon (demon; upper body female, except ugly with serpents in place of hair; lower body long, serpentine; power to petrify victims, turning them to stone, and often smashing the remains; gorgon are also very strong and vicious in combat; male gorgon are sickly-looking demons whose gaze does not petrify but inflicts pestilence or even sudden death; also their long snouts sport razor-sharp, venomous fangs - the males avoid any physical combat, instead creeping in the dark and quietly inflicting death and disease)

homunculi (myriad forms of life created in the alembic of an alchemist; attributes vary widely as well as reasons for creation)

wendigo (horrible furry monster that is a smaller image of the great wendigo; active cold weather, especially in the north and along mountain ranges; further south it hibernates until the end of fall to the end of winter; utterly bestial, violent and immensely destructive, wendigo will attack and kill strong and weak alike with no fear or regard for its own well being)

wintekowa ("child of the wendigo"; created from a dead child, guards tombs; enacts terrible vengeance; takes the form of a small mummified corpse with grotesque modifications that include huge claws and a horribly fanged snout; although it will no longer have eyes in its sockets, it is very aware of its surroundings and can see and hear flawlessly; wintekowa usually lie inert, waiting for the right time to strike those who desecrate their tomb or the graves they are to guard, and will stalk desecrators to the ends of the earth; supernatural strength and unwavering determination, in addition to being extremely difficult to destroy, make wintekowa deadly)

Bestiary - Ghosts, Spirits, Malevolent Entities and the Undead

ghost (the soul or spirit of a being, which remains for some reason or other in the Realm of Time and Consequence; ghosts unlike phantoms are thinking entities and run the spectrum of helpful to malevolent; some ghosts are rovers, others are attached to a spot, person or object, while some remain in their corpses and can animate them, particularly if disturbed; many types exist)

malevolent spirit/entity ('shadow people' are an example; evil apparitions and killer spirits, etc; malevolent entities are often very difficult to explain, and usually require exorcism to drive away or destroy; most are attracted by some act of violence, evil, malevolence but that is no sure reason and others appear inexplicably; poltergeists are actually a type of malevolent incorporeal entity but are near the least-harmful end of the spectrum; other entities are absolutely deadly; unlike ghosts - even the malicious ones - malevolent spirits are independent entities, not the souls or spirits of those who have died; malevolent entities can be rovers, attached to an object or place, or animate an object or corpse; many types exist)

mummy (the ancient dead; among the most powerful of the undead, the most potent mummies are a match for even the greatest of foes and are often extraordinarily difficult to destroy; mummies often retain all their former intellect, and those who weave magic can be a great force of destruction; warrior mummies retain all of their former prowess, gaining supernatural strength and endurance in undeath - they too become engines of annihilation)

phantom (can easily fool a person into thinking it is a ghost or malevolent entity, though the phantom is not the soul or spirit of a person, animal or creature, but rather something that remains and is often triggered by the actions of the living; for example, the panting of a beloved pet is heard when someone picks up his old ball, etc - unless a phantom induces, by accident, panic that results in injury, it is harmless)

poltergeist (nasty, invisible little malevolent entity that can make life miserable but is not deadly or, after all is said and done, particularly destructive; often attach to a person who is undergoing strong emotional turmoil; poltergeists can be exorcized, will leave when the person's emotions return to a normal state or when they become "bored")

revenant (ghost or animated corpse that returns from the grave to terrorize the living - often to stalk, terrorize and even kill one who wronged the deceased; some return to harass their former families, clan, etc.)

skeleton (usually an animated form of undead - can be from any creature's skeleton - some are revenants who return to torment or even kill; these are far more powerful on average; an example of a skeletal revenant is the boy who returned from death after being abused by his parents; he appeared every night in skeletal form, playing a horn, until he drove them to utter insanity)

vampire (vampires take many forms, in general their body's "normal" form is that of the former person; some decay to a point and become utterly horrible; others retain an ageless - if cold - beauty; many can change shape, some of the eldest become immune to the killing ability of sunlight though they always attempt to avoid it if possible; killing a vampire, particularly one immune to the sunlight, can be achieved by staking its heart which keeps it in place and completely removing its head from its body)

wraith (arrach; vengeful, often hateful malevolent entity; incorporeal; usual form is a figure shrouded in a hooded robe, with often incredibly long fingers and claws protruding from the sleeves; wraiths can have a target, basically ignoring everyone else, or simply attempt to slay anyone they encounter; wraiths can feed on the living by drawing off their life energy and this can eventually result in sickness and death depending on how long / often the wraith feeds; they can also rend a victim with supernatural strength - often from within the victim's body - or inflict pestilence; some wraiths can inflict a hideous wasting on a victim, in some cases resulting in rapid decay even before death; wraiths are some of the most feared and powerful of malevolent entities and seem driven only by vengeance or malice)

zombie (reanimated corpse; often slow, easy to avoid and in some cases destroy through decapitation, in a group zombies can become almost unstoppable and relentlessly pursue and attack their prey)

Bestiary - Dragons and Their Kin

afanc (lake/large river monster; variety also found in oceans; similar to a huge smooth-skinned crocodile, adults comparable to dragons in size; usually venomous, a dangerous and vicious predator)

amphiptere (legless, winged serpent; adults are comparable to dragons in size; another race that originated from dragons and still rarely comes from dragon eggs, though the vast majority are born of amphiptere; very rarely breathes fire but all known amphiptere have deadly venomous fangs)

basilisk (smallish, cat- or hound-sized reptile; no wings; shy and relatively innocuous, if surprised or threatened can cast a killing stare at its attacker; also, its bite is lethally poisonous, the equal of the krait or the taipan)

burach-bhadi (large serpentine monster; nine eyes, front and back of head; craves horse blood; usually venomous, its bite often causes infection as well, and it can drain a huge amount of blood like a lamprey)

dragons - drakes and orms (drakes are the quintessential winged dragons; orms are slightly more common than drakes, perhaps 51-49% or so; orms often make up for their lack of flight with ferocity; myriad forms, most can breathe fire, some breathe freezing gas, others lack hazardous breath but these usually possess a potent venom in their huge fangs - haemotoxic, neurotoxic or both)

gargoyle (rarely, a stunted, "runt" dragon baby becomes a gargoyle; some dragons will care for them, others kill the runts; they can develop into terrifying little creatures in their own right - some with wings some without; some breathe fire, others vomit potent toxin; gargoyles are often either dark in color, gray or chameleon and often take up residence in older structures, mountain passes, ruins, etc)

hydra (another monster spawned by the chaotic nature of dragon birth; quite rare among a clutch of dragon's eggs, hydra have grown in number as they have multiplied with each other - in the same manner as most gargoyles are now the young of other gargoyles; hydra are generally of cunning animal intelligence and although a fearsome opponent generally prefer animal prey to those nasty, dangerous humans and sidhe)

loathly worm (type of sea serpent; actually it is generally a lake or large river monster; similar to an orm, loathly worms almost never breathe flame or gas, but most are venomous; some that are not are powerful constrictors)

sea serpents / mosasaur / ichthyosaur, et al (these dinosaur-type water beasts are frequently encountered by ships and fishermen and the races of the water; they are animals that are thinly related to dragons, but nonetheless dangerous predators)

wyvern (drake and orm forms; wyvern are wild and predaceous creatures that came from dragons; some wyvern can breathe fire, but this is rare; much more commonly it is venomous, and most wyvern carry disease - their claws can spread a number of infections and their bite in addition to being venomous always results in a dangerously infected wound)

Bestiary - The Sidhe

alp-luachra = malevolent faerie that takes the form of a newt/salamander or other small creature; if the alp-luachra finds a sleeping person near a stream (streamside homes are not immune unless protected), it will crawl down their throat or nose, and eat the contents of the person's stomach. Although no permanent harm is caused, in times of want or privation this can be very serious.

ard sidhe = aes sidhe, daoine sidhe (the Tuatha de Danann)

asrai = mhaighdean-mhara or nereid; a local term

ballybogs (bog-dwelling bogies; can be very dangerous)

baobhan sidhe = type of leannan sidhe; does not attach to a victim, just chooses and moves on

barbegazi = type of brownie who lives in high mountains; will help travellers caught in avalanches, and warns of impending danger; sleep all spring and summer

bean sidhe (si who appears before a death, sometimes in a specific clan, other times in general, and sings the caoineadh; bean sidhe appear as beautiful, yet deeply sorrowful, women)

bendith y mamau (unseelie, ugly female si who steal human children and raise them as their own)

biasd bheulach = fachan; an especially fearful one might be called "biasd bheulach"

black annis (particularly nasty hag; this type has a dark face and long, iron-strong claws)

bledlochtana = leucrotta (Éireannach word for leucrotta)

bocan = hobgoblin

bodach (type of bogey; often appears as a decrepit old little man however has great shape-changing ability; is a dangerous si though usually content to frighten its target, especially children)

bodachan sabhaill = brownie (one who specializes in threshing and milling)

bogey (malevolent si, usually content to frighten and spread despair, some are real killers)

boggart = type of goblin but with fur and tail; usually does little good, but mischievous rather than evil

bogle (malicious little si, sometimes erroneously called a "goblin"; oval shaped head, beady eyes, sharp little fangs and green skin; some can change shape like a bodach and behave similarly, others play nasty pranks, scare children and the elderly, steal, break things, kill livestock and overturn hives (often getting stung and running off swearing in the process); usually don't fight - usually

boobrie = kelpie; actually, a shape (huge bird of prey) that the more powerful (older?) kelpie can take; slays cows, sheep

brollachan (misshapen water si,; can and often does curse; believed to be immature kelpie as it often appears like a deformed, smallish kelpie; can imitate a few words)

brown man of the moors = type of ghillie dhu, though the brown man is often wicked; glowing eyes

brownie (little fey person; male; raggedly dressed, otherwise more or less human form)

buca = type of goblin that takes up residence in mines/halls, steals tools and drink

burryman (tiny sidhe spirit that inhabits - and animates - very small plants)

caoineag = type of bean sidhe but can only be heard (invisible in the Realm of Time and Consequence) portends doom or coming sorrow for a clan

ceffyl dwr = kelpie

cluricaun = type of leath bhrogan who spends less time working, more time drinking

coblyn, coblynau = kobold

coraniad (small, gnarled si related to gnomes; can hear speech for many miles; sometimes form groups and raid, steal, kill livestock, etc. during the night

corpan sidhe = doppelganger (si that takes the form of a person; some like bean sidhe are death omens)

corpse candle (small sidhe, look like minature will-o-the-wisp but NOT dangerous; drawn to graves)

crinaeae (Rómhánach term; nymph that inhabits natural springs and pools)

cu sidhe (si that is in the form of a very large dog; often associates with high sidhe; often a war-"dog")

cuachag = water sprite of the mountains

cughtagh = bogey; cughtagh refers to bogeys found deep in caves and the Catacomb

cwn annwn (cun annun) (the hounds of the Wild Hunt; can easily be confused with a black dog)

cyheuraeth = type of bean sidhe; cannot be seen, just heard; laments those who will die far from home; sometimes moans and groans as a person is about to die

daoine sidhe = ard sidhe

daphnaie = type of dryad associated with laurel (Rómhánach term)

direach = fachan

dobhar-chu = type of kelpie; usually less dangerous than most types, it is perhaps the most frightening to behold; huge eyes, vaguely horse-like snout ends in a large mouth that is almost always open; dobhar-chu can be deadly especially if attacked, surprised or if one is ravenous; emerge at night to hunt; unlike other kelpie, almost never - if ever - changes shape; can curse
though very rarely does

dooiney (benevolent si; appears as a misty human shape, its voice though scary warns of storms)

doppelganger = corpan sidhe


dryad (si spirits, spend most time sleeping inside their tree-home, but come out to dance; female)

duergar (look like gnarled, degenerated dwarves but are actually si; rarely amicable, often cold, can be wicked - usually duergar enjoy leading travelers, intruders as they see them, astray; some will help lost travelers, particularly those injured or ill, though this is not common; most duergar are sullen and unfriendly, some have a malicious sense of humor and inflict humiliation if not suffering; though not common, some duergar are more than nasty pranksters and actually attempt to cause grievous injury or death; duergar are similar to dwarves in many ways, appearing as shorter, gnarled dwarves, possessing a very high degree of skill at metallurgy and delving - though not quite the level of the dwarves - and a love for precious metals, jewels, and finely crafted weapons; unlike dwarves, duergar almost always rely on stealth and creep around in the shadows and the night; also their "halls" are more like manors delved in forlorn rocky places like stony hills, mountains, cavernous rifts and broken gullies - individually these are rarely large, but each often possesses its own forge, and larger communities of duergar can create the equivalent of a dwarven "hall" in size; unlike their relations with most other intelligent races, duergar can have very good relations with dwarves though dwarves tend to treat them as lessers and this can lead to conflict; duergar often dress as woodland si rather then dwarves, wearing straw hats, cloaks, furs, buckskin trousers, etc., rather than the regalia and armor of dwarves; some duergar dabble in magic - beyond any innate fairy ability they inherit - as well as alchemy)

dullahan = gan ceann

each uisge = kelpie (note: not all kelpie have the exact same true form; each uisge are the more horse-like)


eachy = type of kelpie; eachy are less horse, more bipedal in true form

éanneach (the bird-men si; often benevolent if aloof, are not nearly so rare as they seem)

eleionomae = type of naiad that lives in marshy areas; lures/seduces young males, usually not deadly; Rómhánach term

elemental spirit (often incorporeal; a primal, often primitive si that generally inhabits plants, trees, etc.)

ellylldan = will-o-the-wisp

epimeliad = dryad associated with apple trees; Rómhánach term

fachan (one eye, one arm, one leg, but extremely agile, very strong and can be deadly)

falin (mountain/mountain pass si, very rarely seen; only appear just before sunrise, but can inflict a powerful curse; those who cross his path before the sun shines on it are cursed, often doomed; falin are shapechangers, but their natural form is either an invisible mass or a large-headed, deformed humanoid)

falm = type of bean sidhe; makes no sound, but those who see it are doomed

faolchúnnach ( the wolf-si that can take three forms - man/woman, wolf, wolf-man)

far darrig = fear dearg (like a leath bhrogan but some reptilian features; mean, occ. gruesome jokes)

faun = pan, satyr, except that true faun are often innocuous and jovial, even benevolent; satyr/pan are usually mischievous, and on rare occasion malevolent; faun look almost exactly like satyr except they tend to have more joy or kindness in their expressions, while satyr often smirk or smile lustily

fear gorta (male type of bean sidhe; a famine spirit portends famine; emaciated; is a very bad omen)

fenoderee / fenodyree = brownie

fidealadh (water si, spirit that inhabits water grass and can be dangerous by tangling up swimmers)

finfolk = collective term for any group of finned water si; temperament depends on race in question

flower faeries = sprites, pixies, trooping faeries that are tied to a specific flower and exhibit certain traits

frid (mostly inactive si that inhabits stones, sleeping for millennia; can be drawn out with milk offering)

fuath(an) = type of kelpie; this one has shaggy yellow hair over its true-form body

gan ceann = dullahan (headless si rider who carries his head; red eyes fly around like fireflies - can open any lock with a wave of the hand but is chased away by gold. Human spine whip; those who get too close might have their eyes lashed out by the whip, or marked with a bucket of blood, that is, marked for death)

gancanagh = male counterpart of the leannan sidhe; charms women who waste away when he leaves; such girls and women usually die.

genius loci = general term (Rómhánach) for si spirits that inhabit plants, objects, trees, etc.

ghillie-dhu = green man (guardian si of the forest, trees; usually kind, will viciously defend his forest)

glaistig (beautiful female si, wears green dress but under dress has goat's - satyr-like lower body; can be beneficial and protect herds from monsters; however she DOES dine on blood and if denied can become ravenous)

gnome (males look like gnarled little men, usually red hat and blue suit but varies; incredibly stealthy)

goblin (ugly little faerie that often takes residence in a home; mischievous, annoying, can be helpful)

grave sow = type of grim that appears when a murdered child is buried in secret

green lady (human-like but usually shrouded in ivy; can meld form into ivy; often lives among ruins)

green man = woodwose, ghillie-dhu (dark hair, wears and usually shrouded in leaves)

grig (among the smallest faeries; sprite-like, no larger than a grasshopper)

grim (beneficial si that take form of animal; protect places, usually graves, and inflict terrible justice)

grindylow ("jenny greenteeth", et al - evil water hag who seizes and drowns victims)

gruagach = brownie (variety covered in hair; usually wears no clothes; cuts and threshes wheat, grasses and rye in exchange for bowls of milk; will leave if he does not receive regular bowls, and will throw a tantrum if encountered and asked to don clothing)

gunna = brownie (one who specializes in protecting herds)

gwnragedd annwn (the "ladies of the lake"; beautiful female si, blonde hair, fair skin; benevolent)
Gwrach y Rhibyn = bean nighe

gwyll (nasty sprite that rides horses in the night, leaving them exhausted)

gwyllion = hag; the gwyllion often takes goat form; unlike other hags usually only steal and scare

hag (ugly, crone-shaped si who are almost always malevolent, often murderous)

hamadryad = type of dryad that is so tied to its tree, if the tree is destroyed, the si dies; Rómhánach term

harpy (monstrous winged female si; evil and destructive; males, rare, result from union with male si)

helead (bog nymph; Rómhánach term)

hesperides (garden nymphs; varying demeanor; Rómhánach term)

hobgoblin (ugly, even more so than goblins - usually scaled, etc - but often more helpful than goblins)

hogboon = brownie, those who specialize in tool repair

jack-in-irons (type of bogey, giant-sized; haunts lonely pathways and forlorn stretches of trails and roads at night, killing travellers and collecting skulls)

joint eater = killmoulis

kallikantzaroi (type of bogie that lives underground; smallish, with animal traits; cause trouble; Rómhánach term)

kelpie (infamous water si; true form varies but always some equine element, shape-changer; alien evil)

killmoulis (like a brownie in size; bipedal; long snout, long tongue, alien appearance; helpful and a pain)

kitty-with-a-wick = will-o-the-wisp

kobalos = Rómhánach term for goblins, who seem to be much more malevolent there

kobold = coblyn, coblynau (similar to killmoulis in appearance, though mouth runs much of snout and is full of razor-sharp teeth; live underground in the Catacomb and dig mines, rarely appearing in the surface world, and then almost always only at night; will raid cellars for food and drink - especially drink; trade with dwarves, often requesting some mundane in exchange for jewels and precious metals; often become mischievous and can be a huge pain but if attacked, any kobold survivors or witnesses will return with more of their kind to curse the guilty parties; their curse is one of the most powerful known, and is greatly feared, so much that a cursed individual will often be exiled - even among dwarves)

korrigan (true form is like a gnarled dwarf; can change shape to beautiful woman, kills those beguiled)

laignech faelad = faolchúnnach; specifically those around Degad

lamia (true form is half female, half serpent; can change shape to be beautiful female; usually wicked)

lammikin = bogey that drinks blood, causing death and especially pestilence

lampades (underworld nymphs; almost never seen in the Realm of Time and Consequence; Rómhánach term)

lanthorn = will-o-the-wisp

les-bilieux (An Domlastacht; primal si spirit that has no corporeal form; instead it animates a mass of vegetation, fungus, mold, etc. and becomes an extremely dangerous monstrosity)

leannan sidhe (nasty female si that inspires artists/poets/singers/etc while it drains their life away)

leath bhrogan (male si; usually shy, occasionally mischievous, can be helpful; love drink)

leimakid (meadow nymph; Rómhánach term)

leuce (Rómhánach for spirit of the poplar)

leucrota (hideous, evil si; similar to a dog-lion hybrid; mouth opens wide, with bony ridges; imitates voices and haunts forlorn places, stalking and killing any who pass)

limnades = water nymph; Rómhánach term`

lubber fiend (terrifying but often helpful relative of goblin; works for milk, but violent if wronged)

lunantisidhe (spirit of blackthorn bushes)

mandragora (type of homunculus created by alchemists that incorporates the si spirit from a mandrake)

mandrake (most mandrake or springapple are harmless plants; some, inhabited by a si are dangerous)

meliae (Rómhánach for spirit of the ash)

melusine = Rómhánach term for mhaighdean-mhara/gwnragedd annwn living in fresh water

merrow (females are green-eyed race of mhaighdean-mhara; males are ugly, powerful, can be brutish)

mhaighdean uaine = gwnragedd annwn

mhaighdean-fearán (harpy children will be harpy, male variety, or mhaighdean-fearán; mhaighdean-fearán are beautiful, with lovely wings, except that from knees down have legs/feet of a hawk; mhaighdean-fearán never seem to be wicked like harpies and are often benevolent but as they are competition for the female harpies, they are, sadly, often murdered shortly after birth)

mhaighdean-mhara (mermaid - blue-eyed race, thickly webbed hands, smooth tail; angelic, benevolent; blue-eyed mhaighdean-mhara almost always wed humans, especially Éireannach)

mhaighdean-mhara (mermaid - green eyed race -mischievous and occasionally cruel)

morgen = siren

na fir ghorma = blue merrow; these merrow are especially foul tempered, even wicked

naiad = type of nymph that is associated with waters, both still and rushing but NOT seas or oceans

napaeae = nymph of glens, grottos, lowlands; Rómhánach term

nereid = type of nymph associated with seas and oceans; takes bipedal or mer-form; usu. helpful

nix = mhaighdean uaine = gwnragedd annwn

nuckelavee (the "top dog" of the evil sidhe, nuckelavee is widely feared by virtually everyone)

nymph (shapchanging si ; often takes female form; often tied to a specific land form, body of water, etc )

oread = nymph of mountains, ravines, etc.; Rómhánach term

panes =pan, satyr; Rómhánach term

peallaidh = type of shellycoat; the peallaidh dwells in forlorn waters; not vicious but inadvertently curses

peerie folk = trooping faeries; peerie folk are seelie

pegaeae = naiad; Rómhánach term

peryton (si, like stag-giant bird hybrid that casts shadow of humanoid; vicious killer, loves to eat hearts)

pixie (small; less human-like than sprites; often take form of hedgehog or hedgehog hybrid to escape)

pooka = puca

puca (powerful shape-changing sidhe that usually is an annoyance at most; can be deadly samhain)

rawhead-and-bloody-bones = bogeys who inhabit places of water, esp. wells, and enter homes; contrary to belief are not always murderous of children; usually attack only "naughty" children or turn them into a living stain, that is in peril of being rubbed out or thrown out by parents; some are, however, remorseless murderers of children and the enfeebled)

redcap = powrie (deadly si, appearing as a twisted little gnome or bent skinny dwarf; lightning-quick)

satyr (see faun for difference; the male si with a humanoid upper body, and two goat legs below; although head is humanoid they do have two short horns)

scaedugenga = puca

sea monk = type of kelpie found only in large waters, seas, oceans; armored carapace; immense strength

sea trow = type of trow that lives in water

seelie faeries (can be mischievous, pranksters, but on balance good and benevolent)

selkie (si who take seal and human shape, shedding seal skin; require seal skin to return to seal form)

shellycoat = type of kelpie, the least-dangerous; even innocuous, but deadly if pressed; shell-like armor

shony = type of black dog; these are actually beneficial, their appearance an omen of coming storms

sianach (carnivorous, dangerous si being probably related to leucrota, but deer-like in appearance)

sidhefro (trooping faeries, either seelie or unseelie)

silky = female brownie, called such by its propensity to wear thin garments

siren = morgen (similar to mhaighean-mhara, also beautiful, but deliberately seduces and kills)

sluagh (possibly the damned spirits or souls of wicked persons now deceased, though they do not remember their past lives, and may be malevolent entities - though they share a vulnerability to iron weapons and are probably some kind of faerie; sluagh usually congregate in groups, swooping in silently on the wind, and are notorious for attempting to waylay departing souls and spirits during wakes; excepting their perilous attacks on those recently deceased, they generally cannot cause major harm to humans, though they certainly can and do inflict potentially fatal diseases on domestic animals; slaugh prowl the night and also attempt to lead upright races astray; often coorperate with will-o-the-wisp; appear in various guises, especially as large misshapen crows that are most often silent; also can appear as ghost-like shadows or misshapen and emaciated faeries).

spriggan (small, like bogles, but more aggressive; can change form - young even more so; often "faerie guards" as well as thieves; can grow quickly to giant-sized; will steal babies and raise them, replacing baby with small spriggan; those who harm or neglect this spriggan will be mercilessly attacked - usually ambushed at night and slain terribly, as a warning to others)

sprite (small faeries, human like but usually pointed ears - typical of si; insect-like wings often ornate)

spunkie = type of corpse candle that IS dangerous; acts like a will-o-the-wisp, lives in forlorn places

swan maiden (similar to selkie but animal form is swan)

sylph (generally invisible si that is an aerial spirit; many can take the appearance of slender girls)

talking-trees (si spirit that melds with a tree and can talk but does not move)

tangie - type of kelpie

tarbh uisge ("water bull"; related to kelpie, but less overtly evil, though dangerous; will mate with regular cows, producing very powerful - and very dangerous - bulls)

tiddymun = type of ghillie-dhu who inhabits bogs and fens; usually friendly, wrathful if bog is drained

tree spirits (including spirit of the birch, old woman of the elders, old man of the hawthorne, et al; primal si spirits who inhabit trees, in many cases making them talking trees and walking
trees; demeanor often varies, and is influenced by the tree species)

troll = trow (one of the most powerful si; feared; can only be destroyed by completely destroying liver; trow are often barbaric, sometimes surprisingly civilized and clothed, but still many will fancy if not pursue a meal of human or other si flesh)

trow = troll

undine (water nymph; usually elemental in form, can take form of beautiful woman; Rómhánach term)

unseelie faeries (malevolent faeries, attack with stealth and swarm; often set traps that can be lethal)

urisk = mill brownie

uruisg = satyr

vough = nix

walking-trees (si spirit melds with a tree that becomes animate, and usually can talk as well)

watcher (strange shadowy figures; disappear if approached; might be a ghostly entity rather than a si)

water horse = kelpie

water sprite = type of undine that can also take (large) "sprite" form and fly

will-o-the-wisp (usually mischievous, often malevolent si that can appear as a light - brightness as desired - or virtually invisible like a dull soap bubble in the air; attempts to mislead others or, with increasing frequency, lure monsters to their location)

woodwose = ghillie-dhu

wrach = type of hag; has a sickly cow's head; spreads disease at night especially to children

wulver = laignech faelad / faolchúnnach; Rómhánach term

yannig an od (si who appears as an owl and hoots three times; often asks for pity after each hoot; those who attempt to help will be attacked and destroyed, leaving behind only a gust of air)

Garden Spider

Father's Burden

Outside he is wrought iron but his soul shakes with anxiety. Once his clearance was verified they told him her flight number. Now it had arrived and the shuttle to the dirtside transit system is on the tarmac. Soon Meara would come through the g-transit gateway and down the long hall. If not she would already know about Oscar from having gone to meet him, and Ronan would have lost a daughter as well as a son. He wonders if he’ll make it back home in that case.

The arrival gate is a long silver wall paralleling the grav shuttle pathway. The shuttles come from the military starport, bearing soldiers just arrived from theatre. Father knows from his own experience that Meara comes in on a starship, probably one too large to land at the ground-side port; she must have transferred to a smaller boat. That is all academic now, since the time for her shuttle is almost at hand. Still it keeps his mind off of a few possibilities.

He now knows the exact time of the shuttle's arrival; earlier he had a more general idea. Father came three hours before the estimate. He is both eager and anxious. He wishes more than anything to see her; he wishes almost that much to avoid her pain. Like his own hurt it is assured.

The moment has arrived. The light at the gate goes from red to green. The shuttle has come to its destination. Ronan looks at the board above this, Gate 15. Fifteen is a significant number, if only for today. Meara was fifteen the last time Ronan saw her. This is the gate she will come through, if she is still alive. Ronan served twenty-four years active duty in the Fornast war zone. He cannot help but go over in his mind everything that can go wrong. His discipline gets the better of his anxiety and he averts his gaze from the numbers-board to the gate. Four years have passed. He’ll recognize her in an instant.

The shuttle is right on time, to the minute. Soon the large gate opens, its tinted diamond-glass doors sliding smoothly to the left and right. Soldiers begin to come through the gate. These warriors are a collection of navy crew and Marines. They have come to Trinity for respite and recuperation. They have earned this rest. Father fears his daughter will have precious little of either once she knows what has happened. He prefers that fear to the other one; perhaps he will wait as the lines trickle out and the shuttle departs, and Meara will not come through with them.

Father has seen over five hundred combat missions in twenty years of waging war. He has four Purple Hearts, dozens of medals and commendations, as well as the Cross of Honor, the highest non-posthumous award in the Armed Forces of the Nation of Antares. As he waits for his daughter to emerge through the gate he feels a nervousness that he has not known since his first tour. It is not the combat or ever-present death that gnawed at him and gnaws at him still. It is the waiting.

Father waits. More soldiers pass through, some Solomani Human, some Vargr, a trio of Menozyne. One of the crowd, near the end of this particular group, is a red-haired girl whose beauty is all too familiar to father's weary eyes. She is here. She is alive.

He wants to rush forward and embrace her. He wants to touch her face, to quell any irrational fear that she might be a phantom. He does not. She has always been exceptionally perceptive. She will know. He waits for her to see him. He does not have to wait long.

She looks at him for a moment. She is stunned that he has come. He cannot hear her above the cries of joy and relief and the general ebullience of reunion. She says only one word, which he reads on her lips. "Father." She stares into his eyes. The briefest second of joy, accompanied by an ephemeral smile, vanishes almost as quickly and involuntarily as it began. The surprise and joy of seeing father is washed away by his severe stare. She knows.

She wants to run to him. Instead she walks. Her weary mind wishes to resist but her soul drives her forward. She must hear his revelation. She must share his pain.

“Father,” she pauses for a moment. A brief wounded look flashes across her face. It is gone as quickly as it came. “Who did we lose?”

“We lost the twins.” Father does not hesitate. This is too important and she deserves to know immediately.

She knows immediately. Oscar, her idol and protector from childhood, her guide and teacher from fleeting summer days, is gone.

“Did he…” She chokes up and looks away from father. She clears her throat and breathes deeply, regaining a tenuous composure. Her voice returns; it is lower than usual from her efforts not to break down. “Was there a box?”

“Yes, Meara.” Father calls her Meara when there is gravity. “Oscar’s come home. We laid him to rest at St. Cronan Hill.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She does not openly weep. She is too hurt for that. She wishes to speak. She does not. She cannot. More soldiers on leave rush by to greet relieved loved ones, but they are phantoms. Only father exists now, father and St. Cronan Hill.

“They’re awarding him the Posthumous Cross of Honor.”

She’s not surprised. The Posthumous Cross of Honor is Antares’ highest honor. It still hurts the same. She looks into father’s face. His stoicism cannot completely mask his agony. She is afraid to open her mouth. She will lose her composure. The look is already on her face, but she does not wish to fall down and weep. That will come later in East 5025. She has never wanted to be that which she is not; her battle against emotion is not one of denial. She sees father’s own struggle and does not wish to erode his resistance by falling apart in front of him. It is her duty not to cut him down.

Father is not unwise. “I wish to see you, Meara. Can we meet tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Her voice is a whisper. “Yes, please.” It grows thought it wavers.

The two stand silent. Father knows it is a risk to continue; still he must.

“I am proud of you Meara. Never forget that we love you.” Again he calls her by her name.

Through the tears she rallies. Her voice is clear once more.

“I love you too, father. Thank you for coming.”

Father manages a smile. His blue eyes, light in shade yet darker than Meara’s, are not lost in some remembrance. He stands silent for a moment. Father wishes to ride with her to her apartment. He will not. She needs that time to comprehend what has occurred. Father steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder. She looks up. The emotions are apparent. She closes her pale blue eyes and embraces him.

He takes a step back and touches her cheek. For a moment she looks at him as a child looks to her father after something dreadful has happened. It is the look what wonders why and begs a comforting answer. There will be no solace and the war will not allow any return to those innocent days. They both know this in their hearts. Father turns to leave. She watches his black coat flutter slightly at the bottom and then fall back to place. He walks, quite slowly at first and then at a normal pace, toward Visitor's Gate Six and the grav shuttle that will take him to his quarters for the night. Meara stands for a little while. The universe is returning. Father merges into a small crowd that becomes real again.

It is time for her to go to East 5025. The apartment is home in name only. It is even less now. She picks up her small travel bag and heads off to the right, toward the general soldier's egress and the awaiting grav carriers.

The flight to East 5025 is low-level, following clear lanes between the structures of Newhaven Barrack and the picturesque sandstone cliffs of Mount Keating. Meara normally watches the scenery through the syn-diamond window. It takes her to a time and place light years away from pain and death. Today she does not. Today pain and death are sitting at her side. She holds up through the trip, though it takes all of her might, and still it is a very narrow victory. She is thankful that she is alone in the passenger section.

Meara departs from the grav carrier and walks to the entrance of East 5025. She uses DNA, brain wave and retina recognition to gain access to her assigned apartment. It is all a routine. The port promptly opens and she goes inside. She lays her bag on the table in the central room and without pause walks into the bedroom. There, her routine is interrupted. Instead of shedding her sidearm and uniform and taking a reinvigorating shower, she stops at the foot of her bed. For a moment she hesitates, staring at the bottom of the bathroom entry port. Then she sits down on the bed. She looks up through the ceiling that she occasionally sets to transparent. It is currently in that mode. She can see the long leaves of a willow dancing on through the fingers of a strong breeze. Still looking at them she lies back on her bed. She makes not a sound except for her steady, deep breathing. There is nary a whimper or grimace as the tears flow down the sides of her face.

Father comes by the next morning. He does not come very early. He knows she won't have slept well. He's still up early, as he always is. He partakes of a simple breakfast and takes a walk. It is close to noon mid-day local when he arrives. The two do not have lunch, opting instead for a late dinner. When Meara meets him at the door she smiles a little. There are no words; there are too many.

They speak for some time. It is news from home rather than the front, deliberately lacking in gravity. Meara shows him some holographs, those she is permitted to possess out of theatre; almost all of them are from the last visit to Trinity. She shows father her hunting trophy from the last visit.

The two grow hungry as the hours march on like minutes. Father continues the small talk that is meandering, slowly yet irresistibly, toward its necessary destination.

"I imagine you can't wait to have a good meal."

She smiles. It's true. Compared to their martial ancestors, the Antarean warriors table fare is a great improvement. There are still many times when supplements and lukewarm water are all to be had. Her days on Trinity will distance her mind from that unpleasantness. She talks the matter over with father, who defers to her decision; after all, it is Meara who hasn't decided in months what she'll be eating for dinner. She calls the Newhaven Barracks catering service and places her order. She thinks of father, even though he would not name his preference. She is sure to request six bottles of Guinness to go with the meal.

The g-raft arrives precisely when desired. The two eat at the small nanoplastic table near the open kitchen portalway. She is pleased when she sees father's reaction to the caramelized duck breast and salmon pâté. The dinner is quite good, even better than expected, and those expectations were high.

Meara lets herself think of Oscar as the two finish their meal. “He fit his name in many ways." She doesn't need to tell father who she's talking about. "We always knew he’d be a great warrior and he has proven us right. He loved deer hunting. They were a gift to him, it was a joy to hunt but he always told me never to abuse the gift, to love and cherish it.”

Father nods. Meara looks at her cup of tea while she speaks.

“He taught me to hunt, you know. Remember my first deer? He was even happier than I was.”

Meara goes silent for a moment. Her eyes look at a forest and a hunted deer. It will look even better that night, that innocent night from their childhood. Surrounded by penny buns it will be a meal to savor for years to come.

Dinner is over and father is ready to speak. It was a very good meal, just not venison and penny buns.

“I thought about telling you not to do this. After we lost Eithne. I thought that one of you might stay home, tend the animals and the earth; be safe with your mother. God knows Rory wouldn’t have listened. But I know you were born for this. Your gifts and your fire. Your love. Who was I to deny this life to you? I remember how much you wish to marry, to have children. I pray that will happen when your work is done. In my heart I know you couldn’t do one without the other.”

Meara looks into his eyes. “I will always desire that, father. It won’t change. I don’t just reach from the thorns, I reach into them.” They both look at the thorny vines tattooed around both of her wrists. “If God willing I am to live through my term, I will give life back to our people, our family. I fight for them and I swear to God that I will renew them. It’s not just a desire, it’s my duty, such a beautiful duty. I wish that more than anything else. I am blessed to be able to do both.”

They both think of Oscar.

“Each of you, my daughter, has eclipsed me.”

She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him no, to tell him what a mighty man he is. After all, he won the Cross of Honor. Father preempts her. He reaches over and touches her lips.

“Please, no words.” He then touches her cheek. “I love all of you and I am proud of all of you. But Meara, I do miss you the most.”

She cannot speak now. The longing to see her siblings, those among the living and those departed, is too strong.

“When you were born you brought us such joy. Oscar was so excited he couldn’t sleep for two days. Even at seven I think he was already a man. He was your protector.” Meara nods. “He loved you mightily, Meara. He’ll always be watching over you.”

“I wanted to go hunting with him again. He loved that. I wanted him to teach my children the signs of deer and the berries and leaves. I wanted him to have all of these things for himself. He deserved more, father. We keep paying for our enemies’ sins.”

“I know, Red. I know. Every breath of air we have bought with blood.”

“No more. Oscar…” Her voice trembles with his name. She recovers. “He didn’t die for some wicked empire. He died for us, his people and his nation.” Meara looks down at her cup. She breathes heavily.

Father speaks again, “We won’t let our enemies forget that. Ever.”

“No we won’t.” Her voice is low and severe.

Father takes the silver beverage cylinder and pours Meara another cup of blackberry tea. Blackberries grow wild on Sidhe. They came with the Solomani exiles. Like the other members of the Flanagan family Meara loves them. Father has brought several homemade packets of blackberry tea. They’ll remind her of home.

Meara watches him fill her cup. She takes a sip when he is done.

“How are the farm and the hills?”

“Waiting for you, as they have been.”

The tea brings a little calm.

“Have you seen Thorn King?”

“Yes, only at twilight of course. I saw him a few days before I left. Watched him in the moonlight off the snow, out by the wheat field. I remember when you could have shot him.”

“He’s too much a part of us. Oscar smiled when he found out.”

“Old age will have him. There are endless deer to choose from, we don’t need him in our oven.”

“Oscar loved tracking him. Said he was no ordinary deer. I believe that. I’ve hoped…” She drinks tea, swallows hard and clears her throat. “I hoped Oscar would show him to my firstborn.”

“I pray you’ll return home with a strong man who loves you as much as you love him. I can’t ask you to come home, neither of us knows if you’ll be able to honor the promise.” Father pauses for a moment. More is on his mind than he’ll reveal. “Who knows? I may not be there to greet you. We have these precious moments, Red. I think I’ll hold on to them.”

She looks at father and blinks to clear her eyes. He continues, “I haven’t seen you in almost four years. You’ve become a beautiful young woman and quite obviously an excellent soldier. I know in my heart that Oscar is very proud of you. He’s not the only one.”

“Thank you father.” She feels all the longing for home and family that she has felt the past four years. “Thank you so much.”

“I brought you a few holographs from home. Most from last fall.” He removes a small box from his handbag and lays it on the table. She looks at the box for a moment.

“I miss the hickory smoke. Wood in theatre doesn’t smell like ours. It usually smells pretty bad. Sometimes the smoke is plain horrible.”

Her words fade as they come to an end. The two sit silently for a short while. Meara thinks about how far father has traveled.

“Thank you for coming, father.”

“Of course, Red. I only wish my reasons were different.”

Again there is silence. The steam from the blackberry tea rises into the air, dancing in ribbons as it disappears above the opened steam cylinder.

Father speaks. “I know you cannot tell me what you do. I wouldn’t want you to. There is so much I would request from you but I have no right, and you can’t make the promises I would ask of you, no more than I could in my youth. I know you are capable and diligent, wary of our enemies. It is comforting.”

“I want to have a family of my own. God knows, more than anything. I won’t ever know that joy if I’m careless. It keeps me focused on the war. I can’t promise I’ll come home in the end, you know, I wish I could, father. I’ll do my duty, I’ll always do that.”

“I know you can’t promise, Red. What you said is more than enough. Thank you for giving that to me. It eases our loss as much as anything can.”

Father is older. The lines on his face hold the shadows longer than they used to. Even at seventy he could still pass any Marine physical examination. Four years later and he’s showing his age. Perhaps he won’t be there to greet her.

Father pours a small cup for himself.

“I had to come tell you about Oscar. I wouldn’t want you to find out from an e-mail or info release.”

“I know this has been terrible for you, father. I am grateful that you came. It means so much to me.”

Father touches her cheek again and smiles. “Your husband will be a blessed man, Red.”

She smiles back. “And I’ll be a blessed wife. I’m already a blessed daughter.”

He’s not wearing his old uniform or his medals. She wishes he would have. He always looks younger and stronger when he wears the blue Marine dress uniform. She was a Marine sniper for her first tour of duty; after thirty-three missions her confirmed number of kills stood at twenty-one. Two years ago she left that service for the Special Forces. Once a Marine, always a Marine; her right bicep sports the anchor tattoo that is a tradition of Solomani Marines since the old days on Earth. Above that anchor are the three triangles of Antares. Those triangles are also on the lower back of her neck. Her people have embraced their coreward home and have proven time and again that they will fight to the death for it.

The tea has its intended effect. Meara thinks of the blackberry brambles beneath Knockanulty Hill. Old Kirby, tail wagging in excitement, never ceased to stir up trouble among those brambles, usually in the form of angry hornets. Grandfather Luke often spent the whole day up on Knockanulty Hill. Kirby was always at his side.

Meara sips and swirls the cup of tea. “Grandfather put whiskey in his tea.”

“He put whiskey in everything. Probably shared it with old Kirby; no wonder that dog lived so long.” Father knows where she’s been.

“Remember when he bought me my first rifle, that five-point-five millimeter Teleorman? Rory wouldn’t touch it after I put the mushrooms on the stock."

“That’s why you did it.”

She smiles and nods. “I miss Rory.”

“So do I,” says father.

“Have you heard anything? Is he alright?”

“Still in Lishun. I couldn’t go and tell him about Oscar. I made him an h-card. I wish I could have seen him though. Last they’d heard he was fine. I pray that still holds true.”

“So do I, father, every day.”

They hear the soft ticking of the kitchen clock. Many clocks still tick, over four thousand years after Hooke and Huygens, though now it's just for the effect.

“He’s still in the J-troops. I’d have fewer lines on my face if one of you became a mechanic or quartermaster.”

“Rory a quartermaster?” Meara’s face has a wry smile.

“Alright, it was a fool’s hope.”

They laugh a little. Then there is silence. The soft ticking fades in again.

Father hesitates. This is rare. Then he speaks.

“I’m a grandfather again.” Father knows of Meara’s hopes and dreams, and the agony she is feeling over the loss of her beloved brother. He knows that her life could be cut brutally short; she may never live those dreams. He thought about not mentioning this. He originally considered sending her a message, after he left, to await her return to Trinity for the next training and recuperation period. He knows Meara would want to know. He knows it is right to tell her.

“Father! That’s wonderful! Who? Aonghus?” Meara lets the joy flow through the pain of recent loss.

“Yes. His second daughter. Named her Dubheasa from her dark red hair.”

“How beautiful! How are Aonghus and his family?”

“Very well, thank God. He’s still training recruits in artillery. The whole family helps us out on the farm. You can imagine how much his son loves the place.”

Meara nods slowly. She remembers the farm and the deep forests around Shillelagh; lazy Sundays spent fishing along the River Boy or walking the pebble beach at Drumgranagh. Father does not disturb her journey. Se comes back on her own time.

Meara blinks and looks at father. “You still like Guinness?”

It is a foolish question. It is meant to be. Father raises an eyebrow. The message received, Meara hops to her feet and hastens to the little kitchen, returning with two cold bottles of Guinness stout.

He looks at the label. “Over four thousand years our own.”

“Hard to believe sometimes, but yet it’s not, is it? We kept our ways, our names and our faces. Few Imperials have red hair but every one of your children does. Well, Rory’s is a little more brown, but still it’s rusty colored. And we all have blue eyes.”

“No hair redder than yours, Red. And no eyes bluer,” says father.

She smiles in humility. Beneath the uniforms and martial prowess and farm girl resilience she is actually quite shy and introspective.

He looks upon this beautiful young warrior before him, his flesh and blood, the living legacy of his people. That legacy flows in her blood and shines in her eyes. Earlier he noticed the tattoo on her left upper arm, the black eagle of Connacht. Marines always get tattoos on their arms; father has three of his own. It is what they get, and why, that matters. He feels the pride and deep appreciation that only a father can feel when his child exceeds all possible expectations.

Meara looks at father. Gradually she ceases to smile; her thoughts are too serious to be diminished by levity. "I promise to God, my children will know in their souls who we are, who our forefathers were. I won't allow any of our enemies, not the Imperials or Virus or the Vilani make them ashamed of their identity. We will keep our names and our faces, father. Oscar did not die in vain."

Father leans back a little. He smiles. "I see that, Red. I see everything that matters alive in you."

His words touch her deeply and stoke a mighty fire that warms her soul. It is a fire of ancient strength. "Thank you, father."

He continues, "Of all the battles and victories, watching each of you become who you are, strong Solomani men and women, from Colin to the twins to you, Red, that's been the greatest pride and joy of my life."

She thinks of his awards. She thinks of the Cross of Honor, the highest non-posthumous award granted by the Nation of Antares. His heroism on Antarctica - then Victor Fornast 0606 - earned him that great honor. His quick decisions and willingness to completely disregard the enormous risk turned what should have been a stinging defeat into a stunning triumph; a triumph that would prove critical to winning the world for Antares. The conquest of Antarctica made the other systems of the Antarctica Cluster untenable and forced Virus to make its greatest territorial concession in almost one hundred years.*

For a moment Meara is silent. She is honored beyond measure by his words. She looks into father's eyes. They are blazing and clear. He is still a lion. Perhaps he'll be there to greet her.

After a few moments she speaks, "All of this is for our homes and our people, and our brothers-in-arms who do the same. Still, I miss you terribly. I miss the farm and the woods, the night sky back home, the apples and the berries up on Knockanulty and Knockmoy."

"They'll be there, Red. They'll remember you."

She wants to tell him to be there too. She does not. She'd like to avoid the pain right now.

Father must sense this. "I'm glad to see that the food is good here." He picks up the beer. "And they have Guinness. It should be as nice as possible for the soldiers. I'm very pleased with Trinity."

She eagerly follows his lead. "It's beautiful, father. There are woodlands and mountains. Ava - she's a pilot in close support - we're going to visit the mountains this Friday. I want to go hunting if there's time."

"I don't imagine you'll take a service issue." Father wonders out loud.

"No, I leave that here. I'll check out a rifle at the recreational armory in Garrane. They have a nice selection, even a few retro ETC's if that's your fancy."

Father knows her well. She'll choose one of the gauss coil guns. He asks about the target.

"What are you going after?"

"Hillcutters. Look like a cross between a pony, a hyena and a lion. They say they're along the lines of a pig but other than the hooves and the sweet meat I don't see it. They're all over the mountains here, north and south."

Father asks a father-question. "Are they dangerous?"

"They can be." She gets a wry little smile. "Don't worry, father."

"I won't. It's just easy sometimes to let your guard down when you're on R&R."

"I won't even tangle with them unless I'm absolutely sure it's one of them that gets it and not me. Really I just want to get out, breathe the clean mountain air. It's humid and miserable in theatre. Some days it's like trying to breathe through water. When we're not in dress of course."

"Is it winter where you're going?"

"No, it's almost fall, just like here."

Father nods. "Perfect. The meat will be sweeter."

She pauses for a reflection. Father continues, "Fall is my favorite time of year." He is looking at some distant memory.

"Mine too," Meara says. "I always loved when you'd slaughter the winter hogs and we'd have too much to store. All day runnin' around the woods and then come home to Limerick ham and colcannon."

Father listens, but is still watching his memory. "Colin loved the fall, just like we do. You don't remember him, he left when you were a baby and he never came home. You remember hearing that he'd been killed."

Meara nods.

"I had gone home for a year leave, training and accumulated time. I met and married your mother in that time. Colin was born while I was back in theatre. Your mother brought him to Deerslayer and I'd see them on standard leave. Two years later we went home for good. You probably remember me telling you this, over and over."

She does, but father is not informing her of some revelation. He's reliving the moments.

"It's always nice to hear about our family, father, whether I've heard it before or not."

He nods with a half smile on his face. "Colin looked the most like your mother."

She complements his observation. "Aonghus looks the most like you, father."

He nods. "You look just like him in your old marine holos", she says.

Father moves on to Aonghus, his second and eldest living son. "Aonghus always loved the artillery. His best chance for that was the army, and he was fortunate to get his wish. He's always been level-headed and will take good care of the land when I am gone."

She doesn't dwell. "Do you think Ronan will ever come home?"

"He'll visit, that's about all. He won't' leave the Marines until he has to, one way or the other. He'll go coreward and hunt Gashikaners before he'll take a training position."

They fall into silence. In a couple of years, when she's just shy of 22, her combat obligation will end and she will elect to go home. An equally important, perhaps more important, and certainly more fulfilling obligation awaits her there. She thinks about her brothers and remaining sister. She thinks about father. Who will be there when she arrives? How will she come home? Joyous, in the embrace of a loving husband, or will she also come home in a box? Will she come home at all? Colin didn't, neither did Eithne. Will father be there, after all they have been through and all she has yet to endure? Will Rory come home? She takes a long drink from her bottle of Guinness. Time is slipping through the fingers of the day.

Father seems to read her thoughts, and brings her back from her longings and doubts. "I took a walk just before I came by this morning. It's warm but not too hot outside. Does it snow often in the winter?"

"Yes, father," she says. "It doesn't time with Christmas like on Sidhe but it's still nice."

"You're on Trinity for Christmas, right?"

"Yes. I'm still here. I leave on the first of the new year." She knows that is sheer luck.

Father is happy for her. "You're very fortunate to have your leave at that time of year. In my first twelve years of service all my Christmases were in the field."

"I'm very happy for it." She looks a little to the side, toward a vision of Christmas years past. Oscar is there. She watches a moment and then returns to now. "Sometimes, though, the longing is sharper."

"I can understand." Father is expert at such things. He was forty-two when he came home for good.

"I imagined you would, father." She knows of course. Before Aonghus came home the Christmas table must have been a lean shadow of its former glory. Now, at least, there will be more little ones to fill empty chairs. Perhaps someday hers will be there. Meara smiles a little. It's one of joy, with a small arc of sorrow.

"I still watch the movie," she says. "Thank you for sending it to me."

"Of course, Red. It wouldn't seem like Christmas without Alastair Sim."

It is a dangerous subject right now, in face of what has happened and who they have lost.

"Would you like another Guinness, father?" Meara asks.

"No thanks, Red." Father almost never waves off a second Guinness.

Her sister crosses her mind. "How are Sinéad and Michael?"

"Good, last I heard. I expect they'll be starting a family soon."

"You and mom are gonna be grandparents over and over." Meara allows herself a brief image of what may come to be.

Father is distant for a moment. He looks at the table. "I hope so, Red." He lifts his head and comes back. He looks deeply into her eyes and continues. "For years to come, I hope so."

She smiles at father. She spins the base of her nearly empty bottle before picking it up and finishing its last offering. The two sit silent for a little while. It really has been a long time.

Meara breaks the pause. "Michael's a pilot, right?"

"On the Chancellorsville, a strike cruiser. He met our Sinéad on leave at Fomhórach**.

"Yeah, she sent me a e-message about Fomhórach. Sounds a lot like Trinity. I'm so happy for them, I know she wants a family too." As individuals, Meara and Sinéad are quite different; together they share the same powerful desire.

"If they'd been on the same ship they'd probably have transferred her after the two wed." Father knows the rules. He lived them for twenty-seven years.

"Was he rotated back to the Green Zone?" Meara asks without deliberation.

"He qualified for training duty at NSS Diarmuid," says father. "I imagine they'll make their futures there."

"Oh yes, I remember now. He had over ten years combat duty." Meara speaks and then frowns a little. "Things slip your mind, important little things."

Father sympathizes. He's been in combat many times before. He knows what it's like to face Virus. He looks at Meara as a father at a beloved daughter; she at him as a loving daughter to her honored father. Both share a deep admiration that further strengthens their already unbreakable bond.

There is a little more time for small talk and remembrance. The two converse for a while, occasionally silenced by a particularly powerful memory. Father finally accepts a second beer.

The evening wanes. Soon father will leave for his room. The next morning he'll be off. Neither knows when, or if, they will see each other again. The hour is late, perhaps in more ways than one. It is time for Oscar.

Meara speaks, broaching a question that will necessarily lead to Oscar. Father is both wise and considerate to allow her to choose the moment.

"Is the corn dolly still on my dresser?" The last word is distorted by her sudden emotion.

"Yes, Red." Father almost whispers. It is agony to see her suffer, but he must let her make this journey.

She chokes back her tears. "He made that for me. I didn't want to bring it here, I was afraid I'd lose it. Now I'm so glad it's safe at home."

Father speaks, this time in his normal tone. "It's like it was yesterday. I see the whole thing, Rory running from Oscar. Rory never destroyed another of your dollies after Oscar was through with him."

Meara keeps walking the road. "He took me fishing and hunting, picked berries with me. He loved the natural world just like you and grandfather." She stops for a moment and then continues. "He would howl at dusk and get the wolves started. They'll mourn his loss, I know they will."

Father nods. He sees Oscar howling into the snowy night. "They're not alone in that," he thinks.

"It will get worse before it gets better," she says. "It's already so bad." For a moment she loses her composure, then it returns.

Father speaks. "I've lost two sons and a daughter. Time dulls the pain but never the loss. Meara, I know enough not to worry excessively about you. Still, I'm no father if I don't implore you to take care. Don't allow this to cloud your judgment back in theatre.

She looks down. She can no longer hide the hurt on her face.

Father continues, "How many have you got, Red?"

"Eighty-one confirmed." Her voice is low. Father is impressed but does not hesitate with his words. She doesn't even mention that one of her kills is a Ripper.

"Passion might raise your average but not your total. When you return home, that total will be your vengeance. It is already heavy."

"I won't let things change, father. I promised never to jeopardize my brothers-in-arms. I'll go on as before. This won't cloud my mind, it's a burden for my soul."

"We share that burden, Meara. We always will."

There is a necessary silence. It is nearing twenty-two hundred local time. A grav carrier shuttle will be arriving shortly.

He wishes to stay. He would stay until she has to return to theatre. He knows that he cannot; it will be a constant reminder of the loss at a time when she needs to escape from such things, such as it is possible. It is time for father to depart. Meara feels this too. She takes a brief respite from her thoughts and emotions to see him off.

"Take care, Red," Father turns back to say as he steps to the exit.

"I love you father."

Father comes back and kisses her on the head. Then he backs up to the exit. He stops a moment but can add nothing more. The door closes behind him. Meara does not run out to see the g-carrier shuttle speed off. He wouldn't want that.

Meara rises from the table and goes to her bedroom. There she gets out her clothes for the night. A long shower and a little music later and it's time for rest.

Trinity's moon is not unlike Earth's, save it is darker and somewhat less scarred. Its landward face is marked with a significantly darker patch, the remnants of an ancient magmatic cataclysm. There is a single ceiling toward the heavens above her bed and Meara usually leaves it one-way transparent. She looks at the moon and at the stars beyond before drifting off to sleep.

Somewhere just over the threshold of slumber a wolf is calling.


________________________________________________
*The conquest of Victor Fornast 0606 - Antarctica - forced Virus to abandon six solar systems to the triumphant Antareans. The cost in lives and materiel that would have been lost securing those systems independently would have been very high. The assault and commitment to high-intensity warfare in what Virus believed to be a relatively secure system was a huge risk, but one that paid off enormously.

**Formerly spelled "Formore" by the Imperials, its inhabitants - and the Nation of Antares - never called it by that incorrect name. To them it is Fomhórach.