With his friends placed into the sleep of the ages, by Fintan Mac Gabhann, a minion of the mischievous Goban Saor, Gwri is forced to serve them in their plot to strike back at Brarn the Reaver. Set before him was six tasks to gather six items. This is the tale of the fourth of those tasks.

ine hundred and forty granite tiles covered the floor outside the great hall in Donella’s fortress of Lisdarrow. So Gwri had been told by Cardew the beaver-headed steward the third day after his betrayal, which preceded the announcement that Gwri’s responsibilities involved keeping each dirty square clean. Such was his punishment for taking up arms against the beast-men, who saw menial labour as a humiliation beyond ken for a warrior.

Yet for Gwri, the drudgery of his task, the bruised knees, and bloodied knuckles were nothing compared to the taunts and casual cruelty of his captors. To them, normal men and women were lesser. And he, being both and neither, was lower still.

Such he had learned on the second day, while still sick and dizzy from the blow that had made him forget the first. It had been then, when dragged as much as carried by two bull-headed guards, he had first appeared before Donella. Cast down before a dais upon which two sat and one stood, the guards forced him onto his stomach. A position that caused laughter from those gathered in the hall, but not from the three before him.

Daring not to look, fearing the spear that tickled the back of his neck, Gwri needed to be content with the look he had obtained of them on his way in. Queen Donella had been easy to pick out, for she was the only female. Dressed in a green gown, which showed off her womanly form, it had been her lynx head that had drawn his eyes. Beside her sat a man, on a throne less ornate than her own, with a lion’s head and wearing the garb of a warrior. While the third, standing to the side, with the head of an owl dressed in a robe similar to the one he had worn from Fin’s.

The attention with which they studied him felt physical, almost enough to drive the fear of the spear’s point from his mind. The tension grew in his body as laughter ended, until silence made him wish for anything to be said, even a pronouncement of his doom.

“Undress.” The command, spoken in a female voice, dripped with malicious glee. “We heard a most amazing story from our contact in Leitergort. We would see if it is true.”

At the command, the touch of cold steal disappeared. Yet he could not move, the indignity of the command holding him locked in place.

“Undress. Or shall we have you undressed? We know, if it was up to us, we would not wish to have our only clothes cut away from our body.”

Hesitantly, Gwri rose to his feet. Not looking anywhere except down, he slowly pulled the grey dress over his head. Clad only in the cursed linen shift he paused, unsure if he could continue. But the slither of a sword being drawn from its sheath forced him to loosen the shift’s ties at his neck and let it slide off his shoulders to the ground. Ashamed, he closed his eyes, not wanting to think about what they saw. The torso, hips, and thighs of a women, though not a lush as those hinted at by the Queen’s green gown. However, all eyes went to his manhood, shrunken to the size of a boy’s, which dangled for all to see.

He burned in rage and mortification. Something made worse when the queen laughed, first muffled titters, then whole-heartedly. This set off her court and soon they added their bellows and snorts, not a joyful chuckle in the bunch. Their mirth battered against him like waves crashing upon a beach. On an on their caustic pleasure seared.

“So this is the slayer of Turi the Younger?” The seated man asked, when the laughter died down. Shifting his gaze to someone standing behind Gwri, he smiled and said, “How embarrassing that must be.”

In answer, Gwri heard a growl from the side, the sound of footsteps bringing forward a man with a bear’s head, grey fur implying an age not apparent in his steps. He said, “My Queen, we of the House Bear, would have this...this thing’s head as á¨raic for the death of my son.”

“And what about House Pig and House Fox, Turi the Elder? Or should it now be Turi the Only?” The lion-headed man asked, contorting his features into what Gwri took for a smirk.

“I am in no mood for you little games, Llewelyn.” Turi said with a snarl.

“Now, now, we cannot have our two most loyal supporters arguing, can we?” Donella asked. “And though we understand your anger, Turi. Llewelyn raises a fair point about Pig and Fox. Too often the lesser houses believe we take advantage of them, this would surely be such a case.”

“Who cares what they think, they would be dirt scrabblers if left on their own?”

“Still, we remain thankful that they are so willing to be at the forefront when our forces go into battle. Though, usually they expect their commanders to notice when it is time to retreat, rather than counting coup along side of them.”

Gwri heard the chastisement in the Queen’s words, so did Turi the Elder, who response took humbler on a humbler tone. “True, my son was always overeager. We warned him of that. So if you will not give me its head, what shall be done to punish this thing?”

“Thing? I like that. Now what to do with it? Kayne?”

“My Queen?” The owl head man, standing behind her, asked.

“You are full of such clever ideas, what would you recommend?”

“Well its death you can have at any time, so for now why not put it to use? Cardew constantly complains he needs more help, give it to him until you have a different need.”

“Will that suit, Turi the Elder?”

“For now, my Queen.”

“Very well. Guards, take this thing to Cardew. Oh, let it take it’s clothes, for we will not replace any that are lost.”

To the sound of renewed laughter, Gwri stooped to bundle the dress and shift into his arms. Then with each upper arm clenched in a fist of a bull-headed guard, he scurried from the hall, trying to match their long strides.

Cardew had not been happy to be given a new maid, but nothing really made him happy. In particular he had been unhappy with a further command, ordering him to make the thing clean the entrance to the great hall. By the way Cardew had carried on, who preferred to send him to the jakes or the kitchen, the steward worried more about getting work done than humiliating the prisoner. But that explained why he was the steward and not a leader amongst his people. He did not understand that if the prisoner was kept out of sight, his fellows would be unable to mock and laugh at it kneeling on the floor, as it tried to remove the horse shit that fell of the boots of your companions. However, Gwri quickly learned this truth, as the cruel haunting of the beast-men, most often by those of House Bear, Fox, or Pig, made that of the wraiths on the frozen sea seem benign in comparison. They did not even allow him his songs, a cuff the head being the usual signal that he unwittingly had begun to sing.

Yet, like a cat with a mouse, cruelty towards an unresponsive victim grows boring. Though Gwri proved fortunate to not meet the mouse’s normal fate when his captors grew bored with his presence. Instead he remained a maid, scrubbing the endlessly dirty floor, days marked only with gruel as food and a hard floor as mattress, his mind constantly seeking a plan of not just escape, but also how to obtain the woven belt. And he now knew where to find it. Every time Queen Donella walked near him, he saw it about her trim waist, its two knotted ends hanging almost to the floor. Yet no opportunity arose, for the bull-headed guards who surrounded the great hall were always watched.

One day when Gwri had almost grown used to his slave’s life, one of those guards ordered him to hurriedly take his pail and hide in an alcove off the entranceway. Barely settled, he heard the outside doors, twice as tall as he, swing open, footsteps following close behind. Nervous, yet curious, he peaked and spotted ten tall men, in shining armour, march towards the great hall. And though none had the heads of beasts, in fact each was coldly handsome, their supercilious expressions and lofty smugness made him realize these would not be his rescuers.

Their stay, in the great hall, proved short. Soon after they entered they exited, pleased looks upon their faces. No doubt providing explanation for the angry shouts that momentarily pierced the great hall’s doors, before they opened to allow an angry Llewelyn, accompanied by members of his house, to leave.

The actions of this day resulted in an oppressive level of tension within Lisdarrow. Though it took many days before Gwri learned why.

Apparently Donella, without the knowledge of her consort, Llewelyn, had sent a missive to the ruler of the neighbouring, Fomorian kingdom. In it she proposed dynastic marriage between herself and its king, Bricriu. The ten men had been the king’s response, who bluntly and rudely chastised her, before her court, for such a presumption by a mongrel. Taken aback, she had not known how to respond, nor had she reacted with more aplomb when an angry Llewelyn accused her of attempting to cast him and his house aside, before he stormed out. Now everyone played house politics, traveling only with their own kind, while House Lynx and House Lion sought to gather allies amongst the other great houses, leaving those of the lesser hoping to go unnoticed.

Once, during this time, Gwri looked up from his scrubbing to find Kayne overhead. Saying nothing, the owl-headed man gestured for the prisoner to follow and walked towards the rear of the castle.

Seeking nervously permission from a nearby guard, Gwri scrambled to his feet and hurried after, Kayne, the most mysterious figure who served Queen Donella. The lone member of House Owl, he held power all seemed to fear. Magic. Rumours spoke of him as a druid of great, awful power, which had brought to him the position of Chief Advisor to the queen, whom all knew he fully supported. In fact whispers reported he now worked on a special project for her.

Their destination proved to be a room full of bizarre items and apparatuses. Apparently, the druid’s workshop.

“Stand there and do not move.” Kayne said, pointing to a corner. When Gwri obeyed, he moved to a table and fiddled with one of his instruments, looking up only when Gwri stirred.

After a time Kayne looked towards the far wall. Following his gaze, Gwri saw a crack appear, which turned into an opening through which the queen entered, before allowing the gap to close behind her. Ignoring him, Donella demanded of the druid.

“Can you do it, Kayne?”

“I can, my Queen. But won’t your people see it as a betrayal?”

“What do I care, the plan will only become necessary if Llewelyn convinces them to betray me first.”

“Is that likely?”

“It is too early to say. Few of the great houses are willing to commit to either side and of those who have, the split between Lynx and Lion is even. However, if I were to guess, I would say Llewelyn’s constant barbs and jibes will prove his undoing.”

“Then why this plan, my Queen?”

“I have not been shy about making enemies of my own, Kayne. Therefore, it is always wise to have a bolt hole.”

“But with Bricriu, he...”

“...has made his opinion of me abundantly clear. And I plan to make him pay for that, but first I may need him to survive. Once in his clutches, I will be able to grasp him in mine.”

“How, my Queen?”

“He is a man, I am a woman. But I will need more of your improvements.” At these words, Donella strolled towards Gwri, then quick as an adder she grabbed him by his long grimy hair, yanked him forward, and pointed towards his face, said, “In particular. This!”

“Ahh, that explains your request.”

Letting go of Gwri’s hair, Donella looked at her hand in distaste before wiping it on his dress. She asked, “Are you sure it is temporary? Will you be able to turn me back?”

“This very night.”

“And will it survive? I would not lose such a pretty face.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Lucky Thing, to suddenly have a purpose. Very well, Kayne, show me.”

“My apologies, my Queen, but first preparations must be made.”

“What?” she snapped. “You said you were ready?”

“I am, but in order for my spell to work you and the thing need to switch garments.”

“If you knew of this, Kayne, why did you not have it cleaned and dressed in something other than rags?”

“Forgive me, my Queen, I did not think.”

“No, you did not, remember to do so in the future. Is it truly necessary?”

“It is, my Queen. See it’s a matter of like seeking...”

“Spare me the details of your accursed dabbling, Kayne. Very well. Thing, strip.”

Gwri’s mind had furiously worked throughout their discussion. At first he had feared the removal of his head, for the rumours of Kayne’s experiments had been grisly indeed. Thus he sighed relief at the realization he would be kept whole. In fact, he felt excited at the chance offered to get his hands upon the belt. Admittedly it would not lead to his escape, but...for now he removed his clothes. Easier this time, since they already knew his shame.

Nose wrinkling as she gingerly took his shift and dress, Donella walked behind a screen in order to change. Returned, wearing the dirty and torn dress, she thrust her own garb at him. Almost he smiled as stepped into the clean shift, little different than his own and probably from the same source. But when he looked for the belt, he did not see it. Not reacting, Gwri pulled on the soft, green woolen dress, gold threaded embroidery at its cuffs, hem, and neck.

Kayne asked, “And the belt, my Queen?”

“Even that?”

“Yes, even that.”

When Donella looked towards the screen, Gwri eagerness almost caused him dash forward. However, he waited for Kayne’s command before he moved and found the long rope. Woven from strands of gold wire, it proved supple as a snake as he wrapped it about his waist. Knotting end over end, he tightened it until no slack remained. Jaw gaping, he saw he filled out the gown as well as had the queen and remembered her comments about improvements. Now he understood why the Goban Saor would have him seek this belt.

“Let’s finish this.”

“Yes, my Queen. Here, drink this. It will help quell any unpleasantness you may feel.”

He handed each a goblet, in which Gwri saw red liquid that smelled like wine. Nervously he took a sip, appreciating its high quality, so rich compared to anything he had ever drank or eaten. Eagerly he emptied the goblet, savouring the glorious after taste. However, when she drank, the queen sway, a glazed look coming to her eyes.

Kayne said, “Now we’re ready.”

Gwri felt a tingling run across his face and over his scalp. Just as quickly it disappeared, but his attention was drawn to Donella. For she now had his face and long greasy hair. Wondering, he reached for his own face, but instead of the expected soft fur, he found nothing changed from when he returned with the stone.

“What? But...”

“Quiet, we wait for one more player.”

“Who?”

“I said quiet!”

This wait proved longer than for the queen, who now stood unaware of what went on around her. After a time, even Kayne glanced nervously at the door. Finally a smile appeared on his face, just before the door to his chambers banged open to show Llewelyn, a snarl upon his face. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him and spoke.

“So the conspirators are all together. Yes, yes I have heard about this abomination you plan.”

At these words he took a long, viscous dagger, its pommel a large ruby, from his belt, showed it to Gwri, and said, “Remember when you gave this to me, Donella? When you promised me we would always be together. Yes, you do, don’t you? Well it’s time to keep your word.”

Before anybody could react he moved the five steps to Donella, who he saw as Gwri, and thrust upwards with his dagger. Dazed and unaware the queen made no attempt to dodge, nor did she feel anything as the dagger`s point smashed through her lower jaw, pierced upward into her brain, and lifted her from her feet. Casually stepping aside, so none of the gushing blood struck him, Llewelyn looked towards a stunned Gwri.

“Dismiss any thoughts of escape, Donella. You’re mine.”

Then with as much energy as with which he had arrived, Llewelyn departed. Gwri found himself looking between the corpse and the druid, unsure of anything. He did not expect Kayne to laugh.

”Oh, well done, Turi, well done. I knew I could count on you to point the dimwitted lion in the right direction.”

Gwri said, “I don’t understand.”

“There is no reason you should. But think, what will happen when someone of Donella’s house finds her dead, so obviously killed by Llewelyn? I’ll tell you. War in the halls of Lisdarrow. Both Lion and Lynx bleeding each other dry, until someone else is able to step forward.”

“Bear? Why?”

“I recently discovered that Turi and I share a hatred.”

“Me?”

“Doesn’t someone think highly of herself. No, we both hate Leitergort. Turi now understands you were a tool in the hands of those women, just as you were a tool in mine tonight.”

“Why do you hate them?”

At this question, Gwri felt that tingling once more, which replaced the disturbing sight of his own face on Donella’s corpse with one only slightly less disturbing, her own. Yet Gwri looked at Kayne. Gone was the owl’s head, replaced by that of a plain featured, middle aged man.

“In your stay at Leitergort, did you never wonder why there were no boys amongst the women? Did they tell you they had all escaped the brutality of men? Once that would have been true, but generations ago. Now only a few can make that claim, the majority being born too, but not born in the village. Those who will become mothers temporarily leave to seek mates and give birth. If the babe is a girl they return with her, if he is a boy, well then any number of things can occur. My own mother, Areia, she stayed with me, looked after me, but when I became a young man she grew sick. Worried, we traveled to Leitergort, seeking their aid. They offered her a place, but not me. My mother would have none of it, but I knew she needed help and so I insisted she stay. In the end, she agreed. It left me......bitter.”

Gwri did not comment on his bitterness, instead he asked, “And me, what will you do with me?”

“Worry not, I cannot have your corpse about, to be found and lend strength to any claim Llewelyn makes that it was you and not the queen he killed. Follow me.”

Through the opening Donella had used, Gwri followed the druid until they came to another wall. Reaching for a lever, Kayne yanked, a narrow section of the wall swinging open as a result.

“Go.” Kayne commanded.

Nervous at what waited on the other side, Gwri did not move until Kayne pushed him from behind. Outside, in the moon lit night, he looked about, until the grinding of stone upon stone wakened him to the realization that escape was truly nigh. Wondering which way to go, his eyes fell upon a recognizable sight at his feet, the Goban Saor’s trail. For once happy to be upon it, Gwri walked, the skirts of Donella’s dress rustling as he moved.

It lead him first to the bottom of the embankment above which he had once patrolled. Then up a previously unseen trail, winding back and forth, to make the climb manageable for someone in skirts. He looked Eastward, seeing the lanterns of Leitergort.

Almost he stepped off the path, thinking to warn them of what may come. But instead he continued towards the mountains.

In that moment Gwri’s understanding of his Grandmother, the Goban Saor, even Kayne increased. Vengeance did not like to be denied.