18. Niamh

She does not turn out to be Eirne. I find myself both relieved and disappointed that I am not yet come face to face with my mother. I yearn for her part of the puzzle that forms who I am and fear what I may discover within it.

Clad in the patchwork dress, which is an eerily perfect fit, I follow Dew into an enchanting little grove. Around its perimeter, small log houses pock tree branches and brightly coloured cloths welcome us like hanging vines.

Fern greets us as we approach the centre of the grove, where at least thirty clurichauns are gathered. "She is eager to meet with you, daughter of Eirne," they assure me again, casting an approving glance over Dew's handiwork with my garment. Fern offers a small hand and I take it, unsure what else to do, as they guide me towards what looks like a human-sized chair, but for those gathered is as large and imposing as a throne.

"Lady Wattle," Fern's voice booms suddenly, "I present to you Eirne's daughter."

On the throne, a clurichaun with wild grey hair, untidily braided, sits up to her full height and inspects me with penetrative grey eyes that resemble my own. A seer, then. Clearly Lady Wattle commands great respect, an elder of this tribe. Her assessment made, she simply says, "Welcome, Fair One."

I am taken aback by this blending of the alien with the familiar. How does a clurichaun elder know my father's nickname for me as an infant? It is becoming clear that these strange beings know who I am, or at least who my mother is, and yet none of them seems to know or has asked for my name.

"Greetings, Lady Wattle. Thank you for welcoming me into your home," I offer with a small bow, not knowing what else to do.

"We have waited long for you," the elder continues, her grey eyes wandering over the gathered folk. There is perhaps a hint of hope in their unfamiliar faces. "We are eager to hear the song of a thousand years in our grove once more. The last of our kind to hear it was my grandmother, and she was only able to remember fragments."

"Forgive me, Lady Wattle. While I would love to sing the song of a thousand years for you, I am afraid I do not know it. I have never learned a song by this name."

The pale grey eyes fix on me. "But you will. Indeed, you have already begun."

In my mind the echo of that shrill, wordless sound I made in that dark cave. My light. My hope. My way out. Perhaps there is more where it came from.

"You are here as our guest, Fair One, as you learn the song. Fern has organised lodging for you on the outskirts of our grove. First, let us feast!"

Fern ushers me to a seat at a long, low table near the throne. None of the clurichauns engages me in small talk and I am left to observe the gathering. I am not the only musician present; as an abundance of food is laid before us by small hands, some of the clurichauns take up instruments in the centre of the clearing and launch into a jig. The tune echoes one I might once have known, but its edges are eerily angular. Both familiar and alien. I try to suppress the undercurrent of anxiety that accompanies consuming Otherworld food. I have broken the most basic rule of travelling between worlds; perhaps it has already trapped me here. Surely my father has taught me better than this; though perhaps my fey blood means I play by different rules.

"Lady Wattle," I address the elder, who sits to my right. "I have a question for you, if now is an appropriate time."

She takes a moment to digest a bite of food, grey eyes fixed on me. "Ask away, Fair One."

I incline my head in what I hope is humility. "You mentioned that your grandmother was present when the song of a thousand years was last sung. Did she pass any of it down, teach it to her children and grandchildren?"

"It is not a case of teaching," Lady Wattle replies, "but of listening. The trees know this song better than any clurichaun. It is they you should ask your questions."

"I do have one more, if you will hear it," I hazard. She nods for me to go on. "Does this song have a particular purpose?"

She closes her eyes a moment and breathes deep. "It connects us to the Ancient One." Then she takes up her food again with sudden greater interest.

It reminds me of a story my father told me, of a song that wove together past, present and hope for future peace. This he crafted when he first entered my mother's realm, with the aid of her whole community, and it played a crucial role in the coronation of a new king. I wonder if the crafting of this song will be as vital as its instructions are vague.