“He said that he took them upstairs after Riangabur took them from you. They looked to be valuable since Riangabur seemed to eye them with longing.”
“Isn’t your man trustworthy?” I asked.
“To the extent that he covets his position.”
“But didn’t he send for you?”
Finn shook his head. “It was Díarmuid. He sent the lad after he roused Riangabur. He knew where you’d come from and thought it best that I be informed.”
I nodded and then held out my hands for the daggers and shield.
He hesitated. “I can understand why Riangabur wanted them.” He held up the one without the proper hilt. “Especially this one.”
I eyed him curiously. “Why?”
“They are all Smithy’s work. Without a doubt. But that one in particular,” he indicated the hiltless one, “that’s different. He made it, well, he was involved in making it, because I can sense him there, but there’s more to it. It’s contains the most power I’ve ever felt in any weapon. Including any of Smithy’s old work, from before.”
I looked at him completely puzzled. “We made it together. Well, he helped me create it. Across the water. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but it was…” My words dropped off. I didn’t know how to describe how it had been between us and all that I’d felt during the dagger’s making.
Finn looked at me in wonder. “It’s as they always said. The two of you. The power. The magic.”
I looked at the dagger. “Magic?”
He held up the other dagger. “This dagger and the shield. They’re made recently. It’s craftmanship of the highest order. A blade honed perfectly. The best weapon possible, across the water. The weapons Smithy made here, before. For battles. They had a power. Magic. Anyone who wielded that weapon would not suffer death.” He held up the hiltless dagger. “This dagger, or rather blade with its improvised hilt, is even more powerful. I can sense it. And if it’s as you say, that the two of you made it together, then…” he looked down at the dagger, “it’s probable its user won’t even suffer any injuries, and anyone stabbed by this blade will die instantly.”
We stood there in silence while I digested his words. I reached for the dagger and held it, trying to feel all that he’d said it contained. I did like the weight of it in my hands. It seemed to feel more at home there than the other one. I had been able to wield it easier during Maura’s lessons. I inhaled and clasped it tighter. A small hum vibrated up my arm. It startled me so much I nearly dropped it. The humming spread through me. It felt good. Right. I looked up at Finn, my eyes wide.
“You feel it?” he asked.
I nodded. Carefully I placed in the belt where it had been before. I could still feel the humming, though it was muted now.
“Look after it,” he said. “That’s powerful and unique. Others will want to have it, if they find out.”
“We’ll have to make sure they won’t,” I said. “Do you think Riangabur knew about it?”
Finn shrugged. “Possibly. It’s hard to tell.”
“All the more reason to get to Smithy as quickly as possible.”
“Agreed,” said Finn.
I took the other dagger and the shield and slipped them into their respective places.
The stone walls loomed above me as I crouched in the nearby shrubs. “Loomed” was the only word for the dark and forbidding edifice standing Bronte-like with glowering clouds surrounding it. No tune could compensate for its presence. No tune at all. And the songs had long since fled my head, taken flight with the jigs and reels and the jaunty dancing. It was the time for battle cries to stir the blood, but my blood remained unstirred and only anxious, worrying and filled with dread.
“He’s in there,” I said. “I can feel it.”
Finn nodded. “It shouldn’t be long before Daghda and his men are here.”
I pursed my lips, biting back the words that came to me. La di da, la di da, I said in my mind. But it was no real tune and any “la” and “di” and “da” that tried to masquerade as a tune were stiff and unconvincing, and would be thrown out with disgust any moment. But they persisted, obeying the commands I’d forced out there.
I shuffled, switched positions and squinted at the tower. I hadn’t noticed any movement since our arrival an hour or so ago. I presumed it was an hour. The only clock I had was the sun overhead. Any internal one I might have possessed had been wound backwards, sideways and smashed. And a “La di da” to that. Finn had patiently explained the general layout of the towers scattered across the land, certain that this one conformed to the old original patterns established, since he could see no evidence of modification. I’d argued for immediate confrontation, but he vetoed that idea. “Foolhardy,” he’d said. “A watchful eye is what’s needed.” At this point I was all for “foolhardy” and wanted to give “watchful eye” the back end of a shovel.
The door to the tower opened at that moment and my body went on high alert. Finn put a hand on my arm, a calming measure that did little to help my tension. A man stepped out, holding two buckets. He was thin with scraggly hair. He trudged wearily away from the door towards us, liquid sloshing from the buckets. The pungent smell of urine wafted in our direction.
Finn pulled me down further behind the shrubs. I could hear the man shuffling closer. He stopped not far from us, set one of the buckets down and threw the contents of the one remaining in his hand at our shrubs. He set it down and picked up the other bucket, emptying its contents in the same direction.
I wrinkled my nose. Fortunately the shrub was thick and little of the urine had penetrated the area where we were positioned. Still, I rose to a squat, reluctant to test the shrub’s filtering. The man, his task complete, turned around and headed back to the tower. I looked at Finn, fire and meaning in my eyes. He shook his head and mouthed “wait” to me. The fire was in my belly now, angry and stirred that he would miss such an opportunity. I rose quickly and raced after the scraggly-haired man, shoved my body into his limbs and brought him down with a thud. The buckets fell with a clatter on either side of him. I took one up and caught him on the side of the head with it, hard. He went still.
I scrambled up off him and headed towards the open door. I could hear Finn at my heels and increased my speed, unwilling to have him interfere. A “why didn’t I use my dagger” mantra cycled through my head as I rushed through the tower door, my eyes blinking at the dim light and encountered a small flagged area and a set of stone steps. I climbed them carefully, trying not to make a sound. The steps were slippery and I nearly fell a few times, but eventually I reached the top. The door leading to a room stood ajar.
The fire was still there, inside me, but stilled at the sight of the large man sitting at the table, his back to me. He was studying the cards in front of him which were spread out in a game of Solitaire. A large collection of jittery nerves joined that fiery belly of mine. I withdrew my dagger, took a deep breath and ran towards the man, who could have easily found a place among any biker gang. I stabbed him in his side, all Maura’s training forgotten in the panic of the moment.
The biker roared and rose up, turning towards me. I backed away and he came after me as if he’d had nothing more than a pinch to his side. I held up the dagger and reached for the other one at my belt and began waving the both of them in his direction. He approached me warily, circling, roaring his anger. I felt one of the daggers begin to hum and the hum vibrated through my body, spinning, swirling, linking with the fire, unravelling the nerves. I circled with the biker, my eyes suddenly focused, my body filled with its own movement, a pattern ancient and unforgotten.
A flicker of fear appeared in the biker’s eyes, but then it was gone and the rage was back. He moved forward, shouting his war cry and I feinted and went for his left side, directing the blade with accuracy. The biker roared again, held his hand towards his side and fell. I looked at the dagger, still embedded in his side, its hilt already showing blood. The other dagger remained in my hand, its temp
orary hilt now stained with my sweat.
Behind me, the door clattered open and Finn came rushing in.
“Saoirse!” He stopped, spotted the biker lying on the floor and made his way quickly to my side. “Are you hurt?” he said, looking me over.
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
He frowned at me. “You were lucky. You could have easily been killed.”
“Maybe, but it was an opportunity.” I shrugged off his look and glanced around the room eager to get on with the search. “Smithy must be upstairs somewhere.”
I nodded over to the only other door in the room and headed towards it. It opened easily and revealed another set of stone steps leading upwards. I started up them quickly, my sense of urgency increasing, the other dagger still in my hand. All the worry and anxiety that I’d tried to keep at bay for days began to overtake me. When I reached the landing and saw the door with its lock, I knew he must be on the other side.
“Smithy!” I called through the wood. There was no answer. “Goibhniu!” I shouted louder. Tears began to form in my eyes, created and fuelled by the worry and anxiety.
I turned to Finn who was coming up behind me. “The key. We need the key to unlock the door.”
Finn nodded, turned around and went back down the steps. I waited impatiently, pounding on the door and calling Smithy’s name. The tears were coursing down my face now, certain that I wasn’t going to like what I found on the other side of the door. Finn returned a short while later, key in hand. He moved me aside and put the key into the lock. It turned easily and I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
We entered the room, Finn leading. I quickly moved in front, scanned the room and saw a figure lying on the cot. I rushed to it and knelt beside it. In the dim light I could make out Smithy’s face, pale and sweating. I put my hand to his face. It was burning up.
“Smithy,” I wailed.
His eyelids fluttered for a moment and then went still. I glanced down his body, taking in the bloodstained T-shirt and the swollen arm. Carefully, I lifted the T-shirt and sucked in my breath. A series of mottled bruises surrounded a deep gash at his side weeping blood. I looked up at Finn, now standing behind me and he shook his head, a grim expression on his face.
I lifted the sleeve of his T-shirt where his arm was swollen. Violent red streaks ran the length of his upper arm. I knew only that the streaks were a very bad sign.
“Broken arm,” said Finn in a low voice. “Gone septic, I think. We need to get him out of here and to a healer as quickly as possible.”
I nodded, too choked to speak. Together, we managed to lift Smithy off the cot, supporting him on either side, and make our way to the door. The fact that such movement didn’t rouse Smithy at all had me even more worried, but I could do nothing about it except try to get him to a doctor before it was too late.
Slowly and awkwardly, we dragged Smithy down the steps, pausing occasionally during our slow progress. Finally, we reached the bottom and went through the door into the open room where the large man lay bound on the floor. He hadn’t yet stirred. A small pool of blood was beside him, but his chest was rising and falling, so I knew he wasn’t dead. At least not yet.
We headed across the room to the next set of steps. The door was still ajar as we left it, but I could hear noises below. Daghda and his men? I hoped so.
A moment later a figure appeared, large and bearded. For a brief second I thought it was Daghda, until I saw the eye patch. I halted in my tracks. Beside me Finn tensed. He looked at me, his eyes conveying a message as he slipped the key into my hand.
“Go,” he mouthed.
I shook my head slightly. I wasn’t going to leave Smithy. Not again. Finn glared at me, his meaning clear. I shook my head slowly. I would face whatever there was to come at Smithy’s side. Finn made a noise of frustration and dropped his hold on Smithy, who fell against me and I staggered under his weight, until he slipped to the floor.
Balor gave a shout and began to stride across the room towards us, but Finn grabbed my hand and made for the steps going back up the room above, dragging me behind him. I tried to resist, but his hold was firm and I stumbled after him. At the top he handed me the key, shoved me in the room.
“Lock yourself in,” he hissed. “I’ll try and fend them off until Daghda and his men arrive. Balor mustn’t get hold of you as well as Smithy. It’s too dangerous.”
He turned and left, pulling the door behind him. I stood there, stunned for a moment, until his words provoked action and I locked the door.
33
Saoirse
The sounds of clashing below became louder. I paced the room once again, unable to stop. The need to act, the need to help the fight below was so urgent I could hardly contain myself. There was no music in me now, only desperation, despair for Smithy and frustration that all fed an anger, a rage whose only music was battle.
That the clashing continued gave me some hope. If Finn was down, they would be mounting the steps, trying to break down the door, but that hadn’t happened yet. I went to the window again, even though I knew I wouldn’t see anything of use. I could hear some faint shouts, but that was all.
I paced again and began to pray to that unknown. I added a request to Anu to look over Smithy, to make this come right. I had no idea if she would hear, if she could or would act, it was just what came to my mind.
A loud thud sounded at the door. I turned and stared at it, wide eyed. The thud came again and then a muffled voice. I made my way closer.
“Finn?” I said tentatively.
“Open up,” shouted an unfamiliar accented voice.
I backed away. “Who are you?” I shouted back.
“Daghda.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, then hesitated. “How do I know?”
A noise of exasperation came from the other side of the door. I heard a shout. A moment later, another voice shouted my name through the door. Finn. I raced to turn the key in the lock and threw open the door. Finn stood there, a broad chested fair haired older man behind him. He had piercing blue eyes and a strong nose. They both held a sword loosely in their hands. I hugged Finn briefly and he gave me an awkward smile in return.
Daghda stepped in front of Finn and grabbed me in a fierce embrace, murmuring words I didn’t understand. I pulled back awkwardly and looked at Finn.
“How’s Smithy? Has Balor been taken? Is everything okay, then?”
The questions flew from me, my eyes going back and forth between the two men.
“Smithy is still alive,” said Finn. “We need to get him to a healer quickly, though.”
“And Balor? Is he alive?” I hoped that he was dead, killed in as painful manner as possible.
Daghda shook his head. “No, he escaped with a few of his men.”
I frowned, disappointment filling me. “Bastard,” I said.
“We’ll get him, don’t worry,” said Finn. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Yes, but it would have been so much better if we could have done it now,” I said.
“Well, that’s for later,” said Daghda. “We must get Smithy to a healer. Now.”
He looked at Finn. “Airmid?”
“Diancecht is back at Tara still, then?”
Daghda nodded. “He is being punished for his actions against his son.”
Finn narrowed his eyes and glanced at me. “I see.”
I watched the two of them, puzzled. “Will this Airmid be able to help Smithy? Won’t he be better with a proper doctor? Back in the real world?”
Daghda gave me a flat look. “What is real? You think this world isn’t real?” He shook his head. “Come, we’ve no time to lose arguing.”
Finn whispered in my ear. “Listen to him. Show respect. He knows better than you think.”
I said nothing and followed them down the steps. At the bottom, I saw men sprawled across the floor. Some bleeding, others unmoving. To the side, against a wall, I finally spotted Smithy. I ran to him and kn
elt by his side. He looked paler than before. His breathing was barely discernible. I looked up at Finn and bit my lip.
He shrugged. “We’ll do the best we can for him.”
“But will we even make it in time to this Airmid?”
Finn looked over at Daghda.
“We’ll have her come here. Let her know, Finn” said Daghda. “I’ll send the boat.”
Finn nodded and left.
I knelt beside Smithy, raised my hand and brushed the damp hair from his face. The skin there was clammy. Should I hold a wet cloth there? It didn’t seem the best idea but I wanted to do something. Anything that might help to prolong his life until help arrived.
I held the cloth against Smithy’s wound, willing the bleeding to stop completely. It had eased to a slow trickle and I took heart from that and used it against the growing greyness in his face, the ragged breathing and the blue tinge to his lips.
I leaned down and whispered in his ear, hoping that would rouse him, give him the will to fight, to stay alive. “Goibhniu. It’s me, Bríd. I’ve come to take you home.”
There was no response, no stirring, not even a flicker of an eyelid. I stroked his forehead. It felt even clammier than before. I leaned down and kissed it and then pressed my lips against his, willing my energy into him. A small puff of air escaped his mouth and I lifted my head, searching his face for confirmation that he’d heard me and that breath of air was his response, but there was nothing. And as I stared I saw that nothing was bigger than any nothing I could imagine. There was no rise of his chest. Nothing. No trace of a pulse. Nothing. Not a breath from his mouth, his nose. Nothing. Nothing. Not a thing.
A small wail rose. It was another ‘not a thing’, it was a power. A power filled grief, stifled for a moment when Airmid came in. She entered like the breeze that I supposed carried her on the river to this place, graceful but determined. She was only a little older than I was, with grey eyes and dark hair. I could see she was taller than me as she strode towards us, her bag held in one long, slender hand, her other hand raised in greeting.
Awakening the Gods Page 24
