(Note: This fairy tale is from long, long ago, and as such, we have chosen to retain the Old English spellings. Áine is pronounced Ann, Ruairí is pronounced Roar-ee)
Once upon a time, a fair maiden lived in a stone farmhouse near the sea. Her curly hair was the colour of the fertile earth. Her brown eyes sparkled like the dew-covered forest floor on a sunny day. Throughout the island, none could compare to her simple beauty.
The maiden, Áine, lived with a quiet farmer and his wife. They cared for her as their own, since they had no surviving children. The three wee ones the wife bore died in a famine before Áine arrived. They were solitary folk and never had visitors. No one nearby knew that the maiden lived with them.
Almost every day, Áine remembered the fateful day she arrived at the modest home. It happened several weeks before her eighth birthday. She had been on a pleasant meadow stroll with her nurse. Suddenly, a piercing wail led them to a run back to the castle. An acrid aroma and a horrifying sight greeted them.
Flames engulfed the base of their castle home. She spotted her father, the king, on the far rampart. He was fighting off a legion of warriors from the neighbouring clan. Meanwhile, Áine’s mother faced a pale woman in a white dress with long red hair. Behind her, the remaining people fled from the castle.
Her nurse’s hand clutched her chest. “A banshee! Someone will not make it through the day.” Áine’s nurse whisked her away, promising to return the following day with news.
But Áine never laid eyes on the nurse or her parents again.
Throughout the years, the farmer and his wife were kind to her. In return for their kindness, she would help them around the farm. She especially loved watching over the sheep. The beasts grazed in the jade-green meadows surrounding the homestead. A shepherd must go with them to prevent the simple animals from falling over the cliffs that edged the sea.
As she cared for the sheep, Áine would lie in the soft meadow. The scent of the fresh grass unlocked the memories she kept bound tight. The sounds of the crashing waves played in the background as she dreamt of her life before she arrived on the farm. Her daydreams filled with pictures of the young boy named Ruairí. The lad with eyes the colour of emeralds and hair as dark as coal.
Her memory would play back their games of hide-and-seek in the great hall. Their frolics through rock-studded meadows would flash in her mind’s eye. The feel of Ruairí’s hand in hers as they gazed at the sea crashing against the cliffs near the castle. She could almost savour the berries they used to pick.
It was the happiest she remembered being. She often tried to recreate those moments as she grew up on the glen. She often used the dolls of the three departed children to stand in for her and her playmate of memory. But it wasn’t the same.
Áine was by herself. She longed for others to ease the daily workload of the farm. However, her longing for her past life surpassed everything. Áine hoped for even a morsel of news about the fate of her parents. A bite that would satiate her longing.
In ten years, none had come.
One day, a week before her eighteenth birthday, she was recreating the meadow games of her past as she took care of the sheep when she saw him. At first, she thought the black-haired figure was a figment of her imagination. But when he called out her name, her heart was certain—her Ruairí had returned.
She ran toward him, forgetting the beasts. For a long time, they held each other, weeping with relief. She drank in his fresh scent.
Áine asked Ruairí question after question about her family and castle. She found out her nurse died the day of the fire. Apparently, she had been the target of the banshee. The nurse had not revealed Áine’s location before her death.
The skirmish with the warring clan was settled quickly, but her parents took to their beds. They were certain the banshee had taken both Áine and her nurse. The grief of losing their daughter and their home on the same day was too much. The royals had been sick for many years.
Ruairí stayed with them and nursed them back to health while the castle was rebuilt. When they were strong enough, Ruairí set out to find Áine. For five years, he had been looking for her. He had almost given up hope when he stumbled upon her in the meadow as she watched over the sheep.
Áine cried at his story and wanted to return home immediately. But Ruairí has much to prepare for the journey. They walked back to the stone farmhouse together.
She introduced him to the hushed couple who had raised her. Ruairí thanked them and asked that they watch over her for one more night. He promised to collect her with the morning light.
After the evening meal, Ruairí took Áine’s hands in his. He promised to return for her in the morn. They would journey back to her kingdom, where he hoped they would marry. He lifted her right hand and placed a soft kiss on it before he let go and turned to leave.
That night, she was too eager for sleep. Áine got up and went outside for a walk. She wandered too far from home, ending up at the edge of the sea. She stared as the waves crashed into the rocky shore, taking her breath away. She was so enthralled by the moonlit sight that she didn’t notice when the old peasant woman arrived.
“Hello, my dear,” the wizened woman greeted.
“Hello,” she said, a tremor lacing through her voice. She wasn’t supposed to speak to strangers. All her life she had been warned about the evil spirits. But this was an old woman wearing a black dress and a veil. Her long grey hair flowed in the breeze—how dangerous could she be?
“May I offer thee a shortbread?” The woman held a cookie out to the girl.
Áine thought it strange—to be offered a cookie at such a late hour—but like the woman, the treat looked harmless. She was hungry from her walk. So she took it, saying, “Thank thee.”
As soon as she took the first bite and swallowed, the bitter hint of her mistake filled her mouth. Before her eyes, the old woman transformed back into a pale woman in a white dress with long red hair. Her cackling wail wove into the nightmares that greeted Áine. Realisation dawned as she fell into a deep sleep.
Áine had fallen victim to the same evil banshee who had destroyed the castle all those years ago. The evil spirit had returned to prevent Prince Ruairí from finding Áine.
The banshee dragged the slumbering princess to a nearby cave. She laid her in the middle of the stone floor and used a spell to turn Áine into a rock. Her homespun grey dress melted into the folds of a boulder. One topped with a curious, wavy brown streak.
The evil banshee then used her magic to roll a stone in front of the entrance, confident that Ruairí would not find Áine. Even if he found her resting place, he would never know that the rock was the young princess he sought.
The banshee wailed as she arrived at the place where Áine had grown up. The farmer and his wife ran out, but it was too late. The banshee killed them and then fled the area.
Meanwhile, Áine awoke to find her body imprisoned in a rocky capsule. All she could do was sit there and wait for Ruairí to find her. Or for the banshee to work her magic.
The next morning, Ruairí rode out to the glen where the princess had been. He saw the cottage was empty and fell to his knees. When he stood again, he felt a tugging in his heart. It pulled him to the path that led to the sea and to the entrance to a cave that was covered with a large stone.
He hid, waiting for someone to appear. He hoped as night came, he would find out how the stone played a part in the vanishing mystery. Sure enough, after darkness fell, the banshee in the form of the pale woman with red hair came. The evil one rolled away the stone, guarding what the prince was sure contained the princess’ resting place.
He almost ran out, but he forced himself to stay still. He recognised the pale woman. He knew he didn’t have the golden weapon needed to fight off an evil banshee. He would have to wait. Minutes later, the banshee exited and used magic to lock the stone back in place.
The prince waited until he was certain the banshee had left before he walked up to the cave. He tugged, pulled, and pried, but nothing would move the stone. Frustrated, he sat down on the coarse sand. As he considered what to do, he heard a tapping noise. The prince followed his ears, approaching with the stealth of a lion. What he saw was a small old man with a cocked green hat and leather breeches hammering on the wall.
“Little leprechaun, canst thee help me?” Ruairí asked with a cry.
“That depends on what thee needs,” the leprechaun said.
The prince relayed the tale of the banshee and the stone. The tiny man agreed to help as long as the prince promised not to look for his pot of gold. Ruairí accepted, and the two set out for the cave. The leprechaun looked this way and that. The little man walked past the stone many times, tapping it with his hammer.
“Water,” he finally said with authority. “Thee needest water to roll the stone away.”
The leprechaun handed the prince a rickety wooden bucket. Ruairí began hauling water from the sea, pouring it where the little man told him. Soon, the stone was floating. The prince rolled it away as if it were a tiny acorn. The prince and the leprechaun entered the cave.
Immediately, they noticed a boulder in the centre of the cave. One that had a brown, wavy vein through the top of the grey rock. He recognised no sign of Áine, but Ruairí felt her in the cave. The rock tugged him toward it, but he dismissed the notion and left the cave in frustration.
Outside, the salty air filled his nostrils once more. He could taste the breeze on his tongue as he hung his head. He turned to walk away, but his foot stopped before it hit the sand. The pull to return to the cave overwhelmed him.
He entered the cave for a second time, placing a hand on the rock and calling out Áine’s name.
No response. Nothing changed.
He walked outside again, asking the leprechaun if he had any idea where the banshee might take the princess. The leprechaun pointed to the cave, and the prince entered it for a third time. This time, he felt an invisible rope yanking him to the rock. He sat down on it, willing Áine to appear.
Nothing happened.
With a downcast look and a sigh, he got up. The prince started walking out of the cave.
Little did he know, Áine was there, trying desperately to get him to recognise the rock as her. She used the last bit of strength she had to rip out a chunk of her hair. As she did, a hunk of brown rock fell off from the vein within the boulder. It caused such a clatter that the prince turned back. He reached the rock with a few strides.
“Áine, my love, art thou here?” He picked up the chunk of brown rock.
In his hands, the rock turned into a lock of hair. Hair that he knew once graced the head of his beloved. He fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around the boulder, and kissed it.
When he did, the boulder melted. The princess appeared in his arms.
“Ruairí!” the princess said with relief. “I knew you would find me!”
The surrounding stone rumbled a warning.
“Yes, my love, I have come for you. But we must make haste to leave, for the stone door appears to be closing fast.”
In their speed, the prince did not see the leprechaun had entered the cave behind him. A glint of gold—one that the much taller prince failed to see—lured the tiny man to the back of the cave. As the stone rolled back into place, the prince looked around for the leprechaun. The tiny man was nowhere to be seen.
Áine and Ruairí cried out. All they heard in reply was an answering hammer tap from the other side of the stone.
The princess gasped. “The leprechaun’s trapped.”
“Yes, and I must help him. For without his help, I would never have been able to rescue thee. Hand me the bucket, love.”
The princess nodded, handing him the bucket. Ruairí filled the bucket over and over, pouring water into the place where the stone rested.
The heavy boulder floated once more. For the third time that night, the stone rolled away.
The leprechaun ran out, reeking of fear and shining with relief. He thanked the prince and princess for rescuing him. He told them how he cowered at the thought of the return of the banshee. The leprechaun knew he would not survive her wrath when she saw the princess was gone. As a gift for saving his life, the leprechaun gave the prince the golden sword he had hidden in his lair.
The prince and the princess thanked the leprechaun and returned to the cottage in the glen. Áine gathered her things, and the prince got his horses. Together, they rode back that same evening to the castle.
Their arrival heralded in much rejoicing at the safe return of the princess. Plans for the wedding between her and Ruairí began with haste. The date set for two nights hence, on the eve of her birthday.
All was well until the night of the wedding. As Áine walked down the aisle, the banshee appeared. This time, she was clad in a silver dress. Her red hair flung wildly about her shoulders as blood trickled from the corners of her eyes.
“You, my dear, will pay for your deceit!” the banshee screeched. Then she lifted her hand to strike the princess down.
The prince leapt from his spot, unsheathing the golden sword and stabbing the banshee through the heart. The banshee fell to the ground and died. Right before their eyes, the evil spirit’s body melted away, leaving only the golden sword in her place.
The prince picked up the brilliant weapon and sheathed it on his hip once more. He reached out a hand to Princess Áine and led her down the rest of the aisle. The two were married that same evening.
As the words of their nuptials were being spoken, the leprechaun danced on the shore. For at the moment the banshee had died, the cave reopened on its own. The stockpile of gold was revealed in its entirety, which filled him with much joy.
The tiny man was free to move the treasure into his lair, adding it to his own (stockpile) hoard. With this new gold, he was able to fashion a new sword, so he never felt the need to get his old one back from the prince.
Ruairí and Áine lived happily ever after. They ruled over their kingdom with kindness and prosperity. The golden sword passed down to their children and their children’s children.
The kingdom never again fell prey to an evil banshee, all thanks to the kindness of an Irish prince and a leprechaun.
THE END