Let me tell you a story of old, a story of woe that has been long forgotten.
All of the Highlands were in chaos. War broke out among the chieftains in a dark time best forgotten. Among all of these lairds was one. He was a king leader, brave of heart and strong of will. He grew strong and powerful among his people, protecting them from any threat. He grew so great that even the creatures of lore revered him. Yet he and his wife mourned, for they had no children.
As Fate would have it, the wife became with child one day and gave birth to a daughter some time later. The laird and his wife were overcome joy and invited those from far and wide to celebrate the child with them. Among those to receive an invitation were the king and queen of the Fey.
The courts of the Fey were divided into Seelie and Unseelie. Seelie being the court of the Light Fey—fierce Fey known for their love of music, the arts, and all things beautiful. Their lands reflected this, constantly in perpetual bloom and harvest. While they were known as the more benevolent of the Fey, they were also greedier than those of the Unseelie. They envied the humans who can feel so much, as Fey feel emotions as if through a glass mirror. The Unseelie court, on the other hand, were Dark Fey with more violent natures and colder hearts. They tended more toward destruction and accepted their lack of emotions willingly. Their lands were covered in snow and frost. They were more prideful than their light counterparts.
King Oberon of the Seelie Court of Fey and Queen Mab of the Unseelie Court of Fey appeared at the bequest of the human chief to bear gifts upon the child, with that mischievous Fey, Puck, sneaking in after them. For the laughter of children gave him great pleasure.
Many and all arrived from throughout the land to bestow blessings upon the child. From man to creature, everyone wished to be allowed entrance into the laird’s keep. However, there were some that were not invited. The most unholy and vile of creatures, the most fearsome and loathed of men were not allowed entry into the keep for the celebration. Anger festered in their hearts at this slight, but none of them could raise a hand in protest. None… but one.
As guests ate and danced and sang into the night, the laird forgot all about those he had left outside to suffer the cold, dreary night. But even the celebration was forgotten at the appearance of the woman at the edge of the room.
She went unnoticed at first as the Fey commanded the attention of the room with their gifts. King Oberon approached, his long red robes sweeping the floor behind him. He wore a suit of softest tan fur. He was a large being, towering over most of the humans in attendance. His face was seemingly kind, but couldnae completely conceal the menace that hid behind his dark beard. When he loomed over the child, her laugh tickled his ears. She wasnae scared by his large frame. His warm summer green eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. His answering laugh reverberated throughout the room.
“I gift this child,” he said, “with grace and music. Her song shall be the most beautiful in the land only rivaled by the Fey.”
Queen Mab approached the child next, and the sight of the beautiful queen stunned the court into silence. She was tall, like the King, with raven dark hair sweeping down her back in dark waves. Her face was regal and her eyes an unfathomable dark blue. Her gown was the palest blue and seemed to emit its own cold from the train of it as she walked. Frost was left in her wake. As the Queen stood next to the child, the crowd marveled at their equally stunning beauties. The Queen regarded the child and smiled. “For the child,” she trilled in her mesmerizing voice, “I gift her with beauty unparalleled among mortals. She shall be beautiful, but it willnae do her any good to stir the ire of the Fey.”
Expectantly, the attendees looked to the last of the Fey. Puck was nearly as tall as the other two, yet he still towered over the crowd. He was a wiry Fey with an air of strength and danger around him. Though most women in the room considered him handsome with his crooked white smile, pale blue eyes, and tousled red hair, they still feared the peril that glittered behind his laugh. None truly knew which court he belonged to, which made him all the more dangerous. Though he would oft bend to the will of both Seelie and Unseelie rulers, one could only control him to an extent.
As the other Fey had been presenting their gifts, Puck had been casually sipping from his tankard, leather clad legs crossed casually in front of him. He then stood from his mead to approach the high table, when a chill settled into the air. All around shivered then gasped when, almost as one, all eyes settled on the hag in the center of the room.
Wearing a dark cowl that covered most her face, and rags dragging over her bones onto the floor, the woman was a dark spectre come to put a plague on the festivities. Her eyes were like the last sap taken from an aged tree. The veil over what little of her face was shown gave the appearance of wrinkles and spots that marred her flesh. She was hunched over, hands gnarled, voice raspy like dead leaves before an endless winter.
A whisper ran through the crowd gathered. “Bean sidhe,” carried in the air, holding a note of respect and fear. The wraith, her wails the last many heard as they died, was one of the most dreaded creatures in the land. No one could escape the grasp of Death once she cried for them. The sound of her wails was not exclusive to those that died, either. Many had witnessed a death surrounded by her cries.
As she passed by the three Fey, King Oberon shrank back from her like a child fearing a beating. Queen Mab hissed like a wild beast, yet even she shied away from the creature. Only Puck gazed at her with an amused glint in his eyes.
She bowed low as she approached the throne. The room had quieted with her entrance, a path clearing for her as she walked. “Laird,” she rasped.
“Begone from here, foul spectre,” he thundered. “Your kind is not welcome here.”
“My kind?” she asked with a menacing glint in her eyes. “You wish to have me removed from this keep because I mete out Death’s call?”
“You bring nothing but pain and misery. Tis a time of joy, here. I beseech you to leave, but I will force you if I must.”
“You try to keep Death from entering your home by barring my presence,” the hag hissed. “It is unwise to shun any creature of this land. Had you invited me of your own free will, I would have come and gone with no fuss. I had no wishes of ill towards you or your kin. Yet you disparage me and shun my presence, dooming yourself. Death will come to your home, no matter how you may fight it. In eighteen years’ time I will return, and no number of barred doors will keep me from claiming the life of your child.”
A whirl of wind suddenly swept through the room. The wind seemed to carry a shadow with it that swept up the bean sidhe and then vanished through an open window above the gawping crowd. On the sill in its wake, sat a single bird. It would be a point of great contention later, but many agreed that they recognized the type of bird as a magpie.
The laird turned to the three Fey still huddled together. “Please,” he cried, “cannae one of you do something to prevent this curse?”
The Fey glanced at each other. “Alas,” Queen Mab finally spoke, “even we are powerless before Death.”
“Even more so than ye humans,” King Oberon added.
“There are ways to cheat it, though,” Puck said with a glint in his eyes.
The two royal Fey turned disparaging eyes on him. “What?” the human chief asked. “What can be done?”
With a smile, Puck finally stepped up to where the child lay in its crib. “Lass,” he purred. “I alone hanae given a gift to you, and I alone do not fear the repercussions in interfering with Fate’s hand. But I find that this entire event will be quite amusing for me. I will do nothing to change your fate, but I at least promise that as you die, you willnae suffer.”
The laird’s wife wailed from her seat, sobs bursting forth from her. “Leave this place,” the laird boomed. “You purveyor of spite!”
Puck’s laughter filled the air as he disappeared in a rush of fall leaves. The red and gold leaves fell upon the crowd as he flew off, one landing on the small lass in her crib. The laird couldnae help but think that the leaf looked too much like blood upon her chest.
As the years passed, the laird forgot about the haggard woman’s warnings. She didnae appear again to him. He was arrogant in the knowledge that his power and station would protect his daughter. Verily, he was much more occupied with the child herself than with worrying about her impending demise. The lass grew up to be an unrivaled beauty, just as the Fey queen had gifted to her. And her songs were unmatched by any bard or musician. Yet, she was not very loved by the villagers her father oversaw.
She’d spend her days boasting in the square of her magnificence. When she matured, she seduced the husbands and men of other women. Her conceit stirred the wrath of any who crossed her path. Loved, she was, by her parents, for she was still their only child. The villagers, though, grew to resent her more with each coming year.
They saw hope, though, in the princess’s approaching eighteenth birthday. They were not wishing for her death, as not many recalled the curse of her birth. The princess, though, had been betrothed to the son of a neighboring chieftain since her childhood, and was arranged to marry him in her eighteenth year. The citizens rejoiced that soon her repugnant attitude would be another clan’s problem.
A party was being held for her birthday, on what happened to be the anniversary of her christening. The lass had grown up hearing stories of the event and insisted that this year should host a celebration to even rival that one. Somehow, though, the memory of the bean sidhe’s intrusion seemed to be forgotten by most of the attendees. Either that or they were all loathe to mention the matter, lest they be cursed with her presence.
As he considered his list of guests, the laird wondered whether he should this time invite the bean sidhe. But no, he decided, that would be inviting the curse she had set upon his child through his door and into his home. He would make sure the wraith couldnae enter. Likewise, he would bar Puck from the party. The Fey had all but doomed his poor daughter with his callous desire to be entertained.
He would still, however, invite the King and Queen of the Fey. It wouldnae do well to stir their anger.
He considered the separate list he’d been given for guests suggested to provide entertainment. He’d received a sudden request for a woman known for her song. The missive was written by an unknown hand, as none of his advisors could confirm having written it. However, they all recommended accepting the suggestion.
He stared at the missive once more, then picked up a pen to write an invitation to be delivered to the woman. The presence of a famous bard was sure to please his daughter.
The keep’s main hall was once again crowded with guests. Like the ghosts of nostalgia, the décor was reminiscent of that first celebration. The halls were lit ablaze by lights and lanterns that twinkled as revelers danced past. The clan’s ornate banners waved overhead, the clan’s colors rippling in the wind that swept past them. Vines of roses and wildflowers crawled up the shined stones of the walls, creating a cacophony of color. The tall forms of the Fey towered over the guests, while smaller creatures like Brownies danced between their legs, recognized by their hair-covered bodies. Some of the small, brown-skinned creatures even danced about naked around the room. Every so often, a banner would collapse to the floor as one whizzed by, cackling, or an item was returned to its place after being knocked down.
The laird stared out over the revelry then glanced at his daughter’s expression. Unfortunately, she was unimpressed by the grandeur of the celebration. Her eyes flittered apathetically over the crowd gathered. Many came to try to engage with her, but she dismissed them with a haughty wave of her hand. Her face was a moue. He didnae know what else to do to please her. The occasion was attended by most all the previous guests and more. They’d had to expand the Great Hall simply to accommodate everyone. Many great leaders were in attendance, both human and other. The Fey royals themselves stood near the front of the crowd.
“What bothers you, daughter?” he leaned over to ask.
“While ‘tis is a lovely occasion, I don’t feel like ‘tis mine. The clan is getting all of the attention while I’m to sit up here like some dusty bauble no one really cares about.”
“Many have come to speak with you,” he protested.
“Out of pity,” she finally huffed. “No one really cares about my presence here. They came for ale and good food. ‘Tis all.”
He glanced about, then motioned to a nearby advisor. “Is the singer in attendance tonight?” he asked as the man reached him.
“Yes, laird,” he affirmed. “Her invitation was presented during the second hour of the celebration.”
“Find her and have her come forth to sing,” he commanded. “Her presence shall make a fine tribute to my daughter.”
The officials face transformed into a grimace of disdain before quickly morphing back into its compliant indifference. The laird had already turned away, but he still answered, “Yes, laird.”
The laird considered the singer as she approached. At first glance, the young woman appeared to be plain, yet her long brown hair held strands of blonde and rich coppers within it. Her eyes, a bright brown like smooth amber, were uncanny but familiar to him. She wore a green dress with a grey cloak over her shoulders. He waved her up from her curtsey, indicating her to proceed.
The first note immediately struck all those in attendance dumb. The woman’s song was long and keening, yet beautiful. Even more so than any music the princess herself had ever produced.
The laird’s daughter stirred angrily as a ripple of admiration went through the assembled crowd. “Stop that!” she yelled, nearly unheard over the wailing. “Stop that this instance. You dare insult me in my own home. I was blessed by the king of the Fey himself! No one can claim to have songs more beautiful than mine.”
The young woman stopped, her gaze settling on the princess. “My song is not one that can be so easily overcome by the crowing of an arrogant hen,” she stated simply.
“Arrogant?” the lass hissed indignantly. “’Tis nae boasting when everyone throughout the land knows the story of my christening. I was gifted to be the best singer and musician!”
A calculating glint entered the young woman’s eyes, resulting in a responding shiver of unease going through the laird. “’Tis not the best music, though. ‘Tis not better than the Fey.”
“It is,” the lass sneered. “I could best King Oberon himself with my music and match Queen Mab with my beauty.”
Shock followed by a perfect stillness settled in the room. King Oberon had bristled to almost double his size, while Queen Mab had settled to an icy, dangerous calm. “Och, princess,” the young woman murmured only loud enough for those closest to hear, “one does not so easily trifle with the prides of Fey.”
The crowd fidgeted uneasily, wary of the Feys’ reaction. King Oberon began to move forward, his intentions clearly written on his face. His expression was like a wild, spring gale. None would dare to stand in the way of his fury, but Queen Mab reached out a hand to halt his progress.
“Now, Oberon,” she whispered in a deceptively calm manner, her voice hushed to where only he could hear her. Her eyes never left the laird’s daughter. “It would be ill-mannered as guests to cause a stir.” Her eyes swept up to meet his. “The girl’s impudence will not go unpunished. ’Twould be unwise, though, to act here.”
He met her gaze for a long moment before finally settling. Turning as one to face the head of the room, the two Fey sneered at the laird. “It would become you, child,” Queen Mab said to his daughter, “to show respect to the Fey. We never forget a slight and we do nae easily forgive, either.” With that final parting word, the two Fey left in a sweep of light and magic. Those in the crowd shivered, knowing the Fey queen’s word to be a dark omen, instead of a simple warning.
Many hours after the celebration had ended, that same night, the laird awoke suddenly. He blinked at the ceiling, wondering what had awoken him from such a deep sleep. A sense of foreboding ran through him, but he dismissed it as he glanced around the room. No one expected lurked in his room. Only his wife was there, resting beside him.
He slid slowly from his bed, careful not to disturb his wife in her slumber. He slid on some shoes, a robe, then ventured outside to take a short walk. Instead of going his usual route, he was drawn toward a new path. He’d never noticed it, it was hidden behind some rose bushes, but it was obviously well-ventured. The path led toward a small glen with a brook. He stood there, gazing out at the moon’s reflection on the water, when he noticed a sound just above the flowing of the waters. He followed the sound, curious about its origins.
He stumbled upon a waterfall, further upstream. Beside the water, a woman sat on the bank, shoulders shaking. The laird approached the woman, realizing the sound he heard was her weeping quite bitterly. “Are you unwell?” he called out.
The woman turned, revealing herself to be the keener from before. She held a cloth into the water, cleaning what appeared to be blood from it. “Are you injured?” the laird called, quickening his pace to reach her.
As he got within arms reach of her, she moved with unearthly speed and struck at his legs with the cloth she’d been washing. He stumbled back, shaky, before falling. He sat up, trying to get back on his feet but was unable to move his legs. He lay in a bemused daze for a moment before glancing up at the now standing young woman. “I told you, laird,” she whispered with glee, “that you would regret the slight against me.”
His brows furrowed with confusion, but then her voice finally registered in his mind. As if transported, the image of a seemingly aged hag flashed before his eyes. The eyes that earlier had seemed captivating turned cunning and deadly. “The bean sidhe,” he whispered, horror blooming behind his chest. His daughter! He turned on his arms, his legs having failed him, trying to drag himself back to the keep. The wraith cackled behind him, chilling him to his bones.
“’Tis already too late,” she sang. “Death comes anon, and I will herald his call.”
Desperation mounting, the human laird crawled faster. As the wailing keen that the woman had sung before resounded through the forest, it was accompanied by a scream coming from inside the keep. It seemed to echo all around him as more screams joined the first. Those screams transformed into cries of anguish. The laird hung his head, kenning that there was nothing he was too late. The bean sidhe had paralyzed his legs, and his daughter was already dead.
“Remember this, lofty human chief,” she said, her voice approaching him from behind. “The wraiths of the land and shadows of lore do not take well to being ignored.”
He flinched away from her, expecting her to end him next, but she passed by his sprawled form as if he didn’t even lay there at her mercy. The laird heard rustles approaching from deeper in the forest. Bright eyes popped out in pairs, all menacing. Growls, groans, howls filled the air. With renewed vigor, the laird crawled toward the keep, now yelling for help as he went.
I have also included a Spotify playlist. In it, I compiled songs that I thought reflected the themes and traditions that this story was based off of. You can find the playlist here.
Álainn Inaria 