The Bansidhe (Banshee): short story action/horror/fantasy, genderfluid self-discovery

There is no tickling in this story, but I hope you enjoy it.

The Bansidhe (Banshee)

When I departed from Eris’ candy house, all I saw (for days) were distant mountains and dense pine forest. Within a few hours, it became clear that I wouldn’t be able to travel efficiently in human form. So, I transformed into a fisher cat and moved around that way instead.
These animals are a lot unlike their name. First, they aren’t cats. They’re part of the weasel family. Second, they use their scary-looking claws to climb trees, not to catch fish. They’re fast, sneaky as hell, and big enough to bite back before running away.
Those first few days, I traveled as a fisher by day and camped as a human at night. I stayed relatively close to the river, but didn’t hang out by the shoreline for fear of being seen.
I was haunted by the phantom attack I had experienced the day before, and Eris’ warning still lingered in my head:
“You’ve only been here a day. If it found and attacked you so quickly, then you are clearly a threat to whatever it was trying to do. And it would be stupid to assume that it’s alone.”
I didn’t dare build a fire.
Sleep was replenishing, but uneasy. When I couldn’t sleep, I meditated to keep my anxious, roaming thoughts at bay. Before sunrise, I would gather herbs, root vegetables, dandelions, clover, wild nuts, and berries for sustenance. The sunfish were also surprisingly easy to catch, and I was lucky for ample moonlight to do so. Once the sun was up, I transformed with everything on me, and I was gone.
On the fourth day, I decided to break from the relative safety of the river and follow my intuition northeast. I was pulled very deep into the woods. Winter was becoming spring, and much of the environment was still dead and creepy-looking. I didn’t see any signs of animal life. The trees here were tall enough to block the sky, and it was deathly quiet. Later in the day, a foggy mist began to settle over the earth. I did not have a good feeling about what I may meet here, but I dismissed these thoughts as irrational fears of the human mind.
But then again, I was in the Dream World, and this was starting to look like something out of a nightmare.
I finally reached a small grove and resumed human form to rest and meditate. It had grown extremely dark and it was still very quiet. I didn’t even hear crickets or the sound of a light breeze.
I had barely begun camping when I heard the most terrifying noise to ever reach my ears:
It was the mournful, wailing cry of a woman howling in despair.
My blood went cold.
I listened, wide-eyed and horrified. The miserable wails continued, resonating in the dark woods all around me, with no wind to carry it as far as it reached. The dynamics of it were simply inhuman.
I slipped back into fisher form and crawled under a gnarl of tree roots; there was just enough room for me. I had momentarily lost my breath, and therefore most of my strength. This was no woman. It was the cry of a wild bansidhe.
The cry of the bansidhe is an irreparably-disturbed noise that is difficult to convey in writing. It is the sound made by a wounded animal gone mad with pain and psychological trauma. It’s like the scream of someone who is demonically possessed, but worse, because the creature genuinely sounds more hurt and hopeless rather than angry.
A bansidhe’s traditional role is to wail before the death of prominent family members in Celtic families. A wild bansidhe, on the other hand, is a predator of the human psyche. Like a sort of vampire, they would drain the courage and strength from potential prey for days, until the animal was weak enough for the bansidhe to attack physically.
When you hear the call of a wild bansidhe, it’s already too late to escape. It knows it has you cornered, and it wastes no time tormenting and weakening a hopeful meal before luring it to its death.
The noise chilled me to the core of my being, but I was even more afraid because I knew what was happening: I was actively being hunted.
The sobbing howls did not let up, one bit, until sunrise.
As I moved the next day as a fisher cat, I weighed my options.
The third night after making itself known was when the bansidhe would most likely attack. As a human, I didn’t stand much of a chance against one. Bansidhe were super-fast, incredibly strong, and had skeletal frames like small trees. They were like tall, skinny werewolves that grappled their prey to the ground and then tore it apart, alive.
The most powerful animal forms I could currently access were the bear and the mountain lion. The latter, while seeming more ideal at first, was probably too vulnerable... adult bears, on the other hand, were notorious for their strength and surprising agility. I accepted that I would need to engage my predator in that body.
That night, I resumed human form in another small clearing next to several oak trees. I chose this area purposely, as oaks were akin to shamanic energy and would bring me psychological relief. I was fortunate to locate it.
Before sundown, I picked up the most attractive wooden stick I could find and used it as an athame, or “wand,” for an additional protective spell. I found a suitable patch of earth and drew a circle around myself three times, counter-clockwise, with enough room to sit in. While I traced the unbroken line into the soil, I mentally sealed and protected myself inside the border. This would reduce the amount of energy that the bansidhe would try and drain from me.
I sat in balanced meditation within the circle until the wailing cries picked up again, as I knew they would. Though I was protected, this creature was truly powerful, and much of my energy was still lost to fear.
I was defiant, however, and I did not move from the circle until morning.
Now weariness began to take its toll. I was way out of focus, and I was clumsier than usual. I had run out of roots, berries and nuts. I traveled in human form (figuring it didn’t really matter at this point), chewing on dandelions and wishing I could wash myself with water.
In the early afternoon, I could no longer fight the urge to sleep. I found another clearing, drew my circle, and dozed off. That night, I would face the inevitable with all the energy I had left.
I awoke after nightfall underneath a crescent moon and hundreds of beautiful stars... I hadn’t realized the sky was so clear in this spot.
All was quiet around me. I climbed to my feet, trying my best to exude an aura of confidence and control. Inwardly I was terrified, but I had a game plan, and I was ready for battle.
I paced around lightly, trying to get the spring back in my step. I began to pull energy from the earth into my feet, legs, hips and spine. I had not yet recovered my fire rune, a coin-sized object I used to summon elemental fire. Any battle against the Undead would be tough with only simple techniques at my disposal; I doubted my flame-free energy currents would be effective enough. My plan was to weaken the bansidhe as much as possible with magick before taking bear form to finish it.
The cries suddenly began again, but now they were the cries of an abandoned infant.
I closed my eyes and held my ground.
“Good lord,” I said. “Holy mother, please let me survive this.”
I headed slowly toward the cries of the wailing child. It wasn’t far away.
The sky was clear, the earth still coated in cool mist. Trees, plants and rocks jutted upwards and hung in dark, creepy configurations like some sort of oddly high-budget horror movie.
And that baby just kept crying. It was a sound that disturbed me because my paternal instincts will force me to respond to a noise like that. In reality, I knew it was the final luring cry of the bansidhe.
I pushed myself forward and began to manifest my own mist of protection, swirling around my body. It materialized quickly, along with an energetic shield and sword coming from the palms of my hands.

“Artemis,” I invoked. “Holy Diana, blessed guardian of the moon and forests, I call upon you now for strength and protection.”

Above me, a shooting star went by.
And then I saw the bansidhe.
She wasn’t twenty paces from me, and she was on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands.
I couldn’t see her face. She was naked, save for an old and tattered cloth garment tied around her waist and diagonally across her body, like a toga. Her hair was long, gray and faded blonde, unbrushed and straw-like. Her skin was covered in scabs and dirt. Her cries, which now belonged to a woman again, had grown softer, quieter and heavy with her breath.
I didn’t move or say a word.
She kept moaning and sobbing, and the sound was ungodly. I could tell she was a strong one. I could feel my eyes hardening into a focused glare, and my body tensed with anticipation.
Then finally, she reared her head back like a howling wolf and released a bloodcurdling, ear-piercing scream into the night. Her spine was bent much too far for the gesture to look human. Then she got up and ran at me full-speed with a furious, hungry expression, her clawed hands flailing at the ends of long ghostly arms.
I didn’t have time to get out of the way, so I crouched and struck at an upward angle with my sword (the same angle as an offensive lineman when he makes a block). The blow glanced—her hide was extremely tough—but I managed to side-step and duck a lateral swipe from her arm. Her claws were like six-inch kitchen knives.
I hit the creature with a backhanded sword strike off the duck, a rolling maneuver similar to a boxing drill. The light sword caught in her shoulder.
She hissed and grabbed my wrist with a shockingly powerful grip, then yanked me off-center and whipped me to the ground with vastly superior strength.
Now I was on the ground, on my back, the bansidhe on top of me.
Not good.
I raised my shield just in time to block a strike that would have turned my neck into a fountain. The bansidhe hissed again and pinned my other arm with her knee.
In the split second that followed, I changed my light sword into a light grenade and made it explode.
Two things happened.
The bansidhe rolled off of me, screaming and clutching its bloody knee.
The explosion itself hadn’t injured me, but I was heavily disoriented and temporarily deaf because of it.
My ears rung loudly and I saw the world in flashing scrap images that changed every second or so. I vomited painfully.
Despite the situation, I was lucky. The explosion bought me plenty of time to regain my bearings and face the enemy. I found the strength to get up to my hands and knees, and then I managed to stand.
A sense of peaceful calm overcame my nerves, and my vision re-focused. The bansidhe screamed and writhed less than ten feet away.
My energy suddenly felt stronger, smoother, more crystalline. I knew the goddess Artemis had heard my invocation and was giving me a power boost. I had always been in the favor of the Virgin Huntress.
I steeled myself on new legs, and pulled more energy into my body.
This time, two swords emerged, one from each hand.
The bansidhe’s eyes found me; they were wide, expressionless and terrifying, a deep shining red.
It rose to its good knee, spread it’s arms, and howled at me through its gaping mouth.
I screamed back.
She got up and charged.
I focused my right-hand sword at her, and released it like some sort of missile.
The lance of kinetic energy hit the creature straight in the chest, point-blank. The bansidhe was blown backward and went careening into a tree, which splintered and broke upon impact.
I brandished the swords again and ran forward with every intention of finishing this thing while it was still on the ground. Maybe I wouldn’t have to use the bear morph after all.
But her recovery speed was not human, like mine was.
The bansidhe stood up from the broken tree and slowly drew itself to full height.
The creature glowered at me, like a being with some kind of otherworldly power beyond my understanding.
I hadn’t been expecting a psychic glare, and it hit me full-force and made me stop dead in my tracks. All the momentum I was about to use to my advantage was lost.
While I stared back in mesmerized terror, the creature capitalized on my fear, and sprinted at me again with those long, sharp claws coming straight for my face and throat.
In that instant, I felt like a kid wearing a Knight costume for Halloween. All of my hope faded. Whatever I had come here to do—whatever higher task had been appointed to me—would never come to pass.
I had failed everyone who depended on me, and I braced myself to die in pain.

A powerful burst of energy slammed into the bansidhe from the side, knocking the creature clean off its trajectory.
I turned my head reflexively, looking for where the hell it had come from.
There was a blue of motion to my left, and I saw a thin, sturdy figure in black plate armor. His face was covered by a visored helmet and he moved extremely quick, darting across the woodland clearing, his right arm raised and pointed at the bansidhe.
My eyes widened as I realized his arm was actually some sort of cannon.
Everything about this newcomer screamed high-tech and futuristic. Without a doubt, it was alien technology. His armor was sophisticated, light but tough, and it was covered by interlocking metal scutes that somehow reminded me of a samurai.
Three blades that resembled crow’s feathers gleamed threateningly from his left arm.
Curving backward from the elbow of the same arm was a longer blade that gleamed in the moonlight, the perfect weapon to leave a massive, skewering cut against multiple adversaries.
This new warrior was tall, but not overly so. He was well-framed, lightfooted, and moved with good posture. He released another powerful blast on our mutual enemy, who continued to scream violently into the night.
I was shocked at the potency of his weapon. It was much stronger than my guided energy currents, and he wielded it with grace and practiced control I had never witnessed before. His aim was steady, his head on a swivel, with balanced footwork in every step.
The bansidhe did not share my admirations, however. She had found the strength to get up and fight back against her new attacker.
He nimbly dodged her attacks and hit the creature with his elbow blade every time he saw an opening. The bansidhe screamed in either pain or frustration, maybe both.
Highly skilled or not, I’d be damned if I was going to let this guy fight alone.
When I had my first clear shot, I fired another projectile of energy current at the bansidhe. It felt weak, but it was the best I could do. I used my intent to help guide the missile and tack some extra power onto it.
My aim was shaky, and I missed. Pain and fatigue were catching up to me. I tried to push it aside, but I’m still only human.
The bansidhe broke off to charge me again.
The warrior’s eyes found me, red and intense through the visor, and across the clearing he signaled in perfect body language for me to get down.
I crouched; the bansidhe kept coming. Even when almost defeated, she was still terrifying. Behind her, not fifty yards away, the mystery fighter began to charge energy in his cannon until he amassed a huge, glowing orb of liquid-hot plasma.
He struggled to hold it for a second, then he hit a sequence of buttons on his gun with his left hand and released it with a powerful shockwave.
The bansidhe screamed one last time, then burned and disintegrated in a giant flash of fire.

Neither of us moved or said anything for a long time. The night sky was filled with smoke.
I got up and pulled healing energy forth to help my pain. The warrior in black, this strange extraterrestrial being who had saved my life, suddenly turned to face me. He pointed his cannon at the earth and let his blade arm simply drop, so that it hung at his side. The color of his visor had gone from red to a neutral light blue. He looked impressive, and a little scary.
In fact, if I had encountered this being in any other context, I would have been downright terrified.
We held eye contact for a few more seconds, not quite like a staredown, but more like neither one of us really knew what to say.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out,
“Thank you!”
He didn’t move or speak.
I waved. Still nothing.
I pointed my fingers, two-handed, like a gun and gestures as though I were firing shots.
“Nice shooting!”
Still nothing.
I frowned and made the peace sign.
Finally, he tilted his head down and removed his helmet.
I froze for a second with shock.
She was a girl!
At first glance, she could have been Asian, European, or Hispanic. I would have believed either one.
She had straight, jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked pale, but healthy. Her features were very defined and attractive; she couldn’t have been older than twenty.
She looked so out of place in that sleek, fearsome armor, demonstrating clear mastery over such a powerful energy weapon.
She had freckles on her nose and cheeks. For all the time I knew her thereafter, her eyes would always look tired, sad, and swollen, as if from crying.
They were colored a brilliant, beautiful green.
My heart broke, and I forgot all the pain I was in. I couldn’t believe this girl, this kid, had just saved MY ass!
I sent energy out to her, but it hit a wall. She was completely closed off to outside influence.
She must have felt the attempt though, because she spoke right after.
“Who are you?”
Her speech was calm, lady-like, and surprisingly mature. She also sounded tough, like she grew up with brothers and were used to talking to strange men.
I lifted a hand in salute. “Samhain Fangrik, Druidic order Carnelia.”
A look of relief, maybe even recognition, crossed her face. She started to close the distance between us. Her stride was swift, disciplined and militaristic.
As she approached, I saw that she was using breathing techniques to relax. She had anxiety.
When she reached me, it was clear that she was very much in command of her own space.
We stood across from one another, power smoothly distributed. She was almost as tall as me.
She locked her eyes with mine... they were the eyes of a cat, calm, intense, and patient, the eyes of a predator. She held out her left hand, palm down.
“Lorica Blake,” she said.
I took her hand, and we shook professionally.
“Samhain,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s a Sidhe name. A very old, powerful one.”
I said nothing, but nodded yes.
Both of her eyes fixed onto my right one.
“Are you blind in one eye?”
“No,” I answered with a smile. “I can see sound currents with one of them. It’s a shaman thing.”
She nodded, visibly skeptical.
“And you’re a carnelian Druid. You can change form.”
“Yep,” I said.
She shook her head and smiled with her eyes.
“You know,” she said, “you’d be surprised how much a fisher cat doesn’t blend in. I’ve been tracking you for days.”
“I’m impressed,” I said truthfully.
“I’m glad,” she replied.
Then suddenly, her knife blades were at my throat.
She had slowly inched forward while my eyes were on hers, and not her feet. Then she had sprung forward and caught me at a ranged angle.
Naturally, I froze in fear. The way she held the blades told me she knew how to use them, and she wasn’t afraid to.
She didn’t attack, though. We exchanged a very real, intimate look where she watched my eyes for a while, then grinned broadly and showed her teeth in a gesture that was equally fierce and playful.
She withdrew and shoved me by stiffening her arm outwards.
“Finally,” she said. “Someone I can trust.”
I started choking on nervous laughter.
“Well-done,” I said, grinning back at her.
“Sorry about that,” she said, and I could tell she was sincere. “I have to know. You can’t be too careful in these parts. Lots of creeps.”
Now I was offended, and I glared at her.
“Don’t you dare call me a creep,” I said.
She smiled again, this time like a mischievous child and not a killer.
Then I remembered.
“You’re my shade,” I said. “Eris told me you would be here.”
“She told me the same thing about you.”
She looked around at the scene, then back to me.
“We need to get out of here. Anything that’s looking for us is going to see the smoke. We’ll talk when we get to my ship.”
She tossed a small, coin-sized object at me.
It was my fire rune.
I looked at her in astonished disbelief.
“Ok,” I said. “Lead the way.”