The Obsidian Dagger

by Brad A. LaMar

  Screeeech!

  After sliding to a stop at the curb, Oscar threw his door open and bent down to put his head between his legs to keep from vomiting.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Dorian smiled shyly.

  “Nope, he’s just fired up about how great of a driver you are,” lied Brendan.

  Oscar took the car and drove it around to the rental place and left instructions for the kids to meet him at Gate 4 in twenty minutes.

  “Thanks for all your help, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie shook off the thanks. “It was my pleasure, Dorian. I learned a lot on this little trip.”

  “Do you think your dad was okay with what he found out about your ancestors?”

  Brendan shrugged. “I think so. Just knowing that the O’Neals had lived in that area before they came to the States seemed to satisfy him.” Brendan scratched his head. “Though, I’m a little disappointed that it turns out we aren’t descended from Leprechauns.”

  “Well, you performed as admirably as any Leprechaun,” smiled Dorian. “And besides, your clan worked side by side with my ancestors all throughout the Magick Wars, and you continued their legacy.”

  Lizzie looked up at the sight of a red sports car zooming their direction. “That’s the chump who splashed us.”

  “Oh yeah.” Brendan held out his palm and the front tire blew apart, sending the red car into a spin. It spun all the way into a small retention pond where the water was just up to the half way mark on the door. The sunglasses-wearing dude inside tried to wipe all the muck off his face.

  “Cool,” said Lizzie. “Hey, wait a minute. You get to have magic powers to take home? No fair!”

  “I already told you, I’m cool like that,” he smirked.

  “Bye, Dorian.” She hugged the Irish girl and stuck her tongue out at Brendan before walking away, talking to herself about how ridiculous it was that Brendan had magic and…

  Dorian fixed Brendan with a stare. “Why is it that you still have your power long after the rest of us lost ours?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. The name Nauda ran through his mind. Morna had called him Nauda’s champion, but he still didn’t know the name, and he was too afraid to ask Dorian about it. He knew he had Google on his phone, and he told himself to take some time to learn all about this Nauda.

  She stared at him again.

  “Honest,” he said holding up his hands to display his innocence. “Luck of the Irish, I suppose.” He gave her his most charming smile. “Oh, thanks for hanging onto my sword for me. I don’t think they would have let me on the plane with it.”

  “It will hold a place of honor in Corways, but,“ Dorian smirked in a sultry way. “I want you to take this back to America with you.”

  Brendan’s heart leapt to his throat as Dorian wrapped her arms around his neck. He could barely breathe when she smiled and leaned in for a kiss that was truly magical.

  Epilogue

  Old Things New

  The darkness had not left the Black Forest with the demise of Morna. Instead, the storm had grown worse and the landscape more ominous. The trees grouped themselves together as if for some sort of protection. The wind was harsh and unrelenting. The clouds billowed overhead and the rain fell in sheets dropping black water on the landscape. The river threatened to overtake its banks.

  Any creatures, predator and prey alike, were forced to run as the ground shook and sharp, jagged obsidian was forced upwards piercing the land. All over the Black Forest these rocks appeared and tore at unfortunate trees and stabbed into herds of animals. The death and destruction only fueled what came next.

  Black lightning shot out of the sky and struck the tower of Morna’s castle. The bolt entered through the balcony window and slammed into the dagger that pinned the witch’s lifeless body to the altar. The dagger hummed and became heated. Morna’s body burst into black flames that licked at the altar but could not burn it. It only took seconds for her corpse to char and turn ashen.

  The storm raged on, but all seemed still within the tower. That was until the skeletal hand of a long forgotten evil cleaved its way through the middle of Morna’s charred remains. It emerged up to the shoulder and the boney fingers found their hold on the handle of the dagger. Using the dagger for leverage, a skeleton dragged itself out of the altar and found its footing on the stone floor. Still clinging to the dagger, the skeleton took stock of its environment.

  With a a wave of its hand Morna’s ashes and the ashes of the insignificant Leprechaun king swirled through the air around it. The cloud of death encircled the skeleton and it held the dagger out, pointing it toward the balcony and the enraged sky. Black lightning struck the dagger again sending crackling streams of energy circulating throughout the ash dome.

  The energy and ash crackled and baked and shrank in on the skeleton. Wet flesh and muscle began to take hold, sticking to the bones. More and more tissue affixed to the bone, splotchy and bleeding. Time sped and soon the entire frame was covered in new flesh and porcelain skin. Golden hair grew at an accelerated rate and fell upon the shoulder of the newly formed being. The rest of the ash took the forms of armor and a cape.

  The being admired the new attire and the flowing cape and the black glint of his lightweight armor. He held the dagger out and it extended twelve inches to become a formidable sword. He sheathed it at his waist and walked toward the balcony. He paused near a wall and waved his palm over it. Instantly, a cloud of smoke seeped out from between the stones and came together in a kneeling mass at the feet of the golden haired being.

  “Dullahan,” the being said. “I call upon your service.”

  Dullahan made a fist and crossed his chest. “I pledge my service to you, my lord.”

  “Rise. There is much to do.” The being and Dullahan stepped onto the balcony and looked out over the Black Forest at the wasteland that it had become. “Behold, my old friend. Elathan’s kingdom upon this earth begins small and simple, but soon it will be as grand as my others.”

  “Yes, my lord,” agreed Dullahan, standing at his new master’s side.

  …

  Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, a passenger plane glided through the air at five hundred and seventy miles per hour on route to New York’s La Guardia Airport. The flight attendant had just handed Brendan a bag of peanuts and a Coke when he felt it. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Lizzie. “Feel a disturbance in the force?” she joked.

  Brendan chuckled a little. “Something like that.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “I’m not sure.” Brendan lowered his voice and leaned in to whisper to Lizzie. “Before the witch died, she warned me that I should get ready for war because some greater evil was on its way.”

  Lizzie just stared at him. “You mean this whole thing isn’t over?”

  Brendan didn’t know how to answer. He leaned his head back and tried not to think about it, but he could feel that it wasn’t over. He opened his bag of peanuts and took a swig from his Coke.

  “I’m sure she was just talking, that’s all.” He smiled at his sister. “I’m sure it was nothing. I’m just tired.”

  Brendan looked down as they flew through the troposphere just above a bank of storm clouds. He was surprised at how strange it felt to actually be flying above the clouds like that and not be riding a ghost or a griffin. Brendan eyed the lightning carefully. Dark magic was coursing through the atmosphere ripping through the sky in black streaks. He heaved a heavy breath knowing that the lightning represented suffering and pain and things that were yet to come, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Lizzie about any of that.

  On the other side of the aisle, Oscar clutched the Knot Charm in his hand and felt the comfort it offered him. It was warm and familiar. He thought that he might just toss it in a drawer when he got home, but he wasn’t sure that was possible. It was too comforting to hold, and he recognized that he might be relying on it to some degree to help cal
m his nerves.

  Luckily, his airplane seat was comfortable. He was so comfortable that the familiar presence of the shadowed man from his dream escaped him, even though the man who sat three rows back was one and the same.

  The dark stranger projected his thought into Oscar’s mind. “Two sisters yet to find. Do not fail me.”

  “I won’t fail,” mumbled Oscar as he turned away.

  Brendan glanced over at his father. He had sensed something odd about the old man since they met up in Corways, but he couldn’t place what it was. At the time, he was just happy to see his father alive and well, but something about him was different. He recognized it now.

  It could be nothing, he told himself, but the witch’s warning had him on edge. He didn’t know from which direction or in what form danger would come, but it didn’t really matter, because Morna had been right about one thing. He was Nuada’s champion, and that meant something great—or least he hoped it did.

  This book has ended, but the adventure doesn’t have to...

  If you liked The Obsidian Dagger, you’re sure to love these other titles in the Celtic Mythos series by Brad A. LaMar:

  The Megalith Union (Book 2)

  The Dominion Pulse (Book 3)

  Coming February 2015!

  Celtic Mythos

  The Megalith Union

  A Preview of Book 2 in the Celtic Mythos Series

  Brad A. LaMar

  Please note this is an uncorrected proof from the author’s manuscript. Changes to the text may be made before publication. Please consult with the publisher before quoting from this text.

  Prologue

  The First Wave

  The Cobb – 1721

  How many people are with us, Da?”

  His daughter’s voice pulled Toren O’Neal from his thoughts as he tilted his head in her direction. He smiled an old man’s smile though he was only five and forty years.

  “I don’t know, Sorcha.” He stroked his young daughter’s hair and held her closer. “So many want what we want.”

  “A better life?” Sorcha replied.

  “Aye, a better life in America.”

  Toren had found a small place for himself and his daughter in the hold of the large British ship, The Cobb. They were joined by families that numbered in the hundreds: Scots, Irish, and Brits alike, all destined for America. Many believed that the young British colony was their best chance at having a life they could call their own. Perhaps a life that was joyous.

  That was not why Toren O’Neal had joined the voyage, however. That was not why he had uprooted his precious Sorcha from his family land in Ireland. He glanced down at his daughter and was comforted that she had fallen asleep, her breath in sync with the rhythmic motion of the ship on the water. He closed his own eyes and fell back into his memory.

  …

  How many weeks had it been since he had last left Corways? As much as he loved the town and her people, leaving had not been a difficult decision. However, as it always is where close communities are concerned, he felt guilty for leaving. Queen Finna had tried her best to convince him to stay.

  “I still don’t understand why you think you need to leave, Toren,” stated the miniscule queen, looking agitated and exasperated.

  Toren had known Queen Finna and her clan for his entire life. Generations had passed and their lands had sat side by side with nary an argument to be had. The O’Neal clan and the village of Corways lived as true neighbors, looking out for the other and counting on the other to do the same.

  “I know it is hard to understand, but it is in everyone’s best interest that I take Sorcha and go.”

  Queen Finna was elegant royalty and was a good and fair leader. She had shimmering silver hair that was tied neatly in a bun and sat just below her crown. Her blue dress casually danced on the breeze. Her Leprechaun clan, as they referred to themselves, had thrived for thousands of years with very little contact with humans. The O’Neal clan was the exception.

  “There’s nothing that can be done about it, Finna,” Toren continued. “Fate has forced my decision and I have no choice.”

  “Why don’t you have a choice?” Queen Finna willed herself to take full human size. Normally, this would have fascinated a person, but Toren had already seen it happen dozens of times. She stepped closer and reached for his hand in a grandmotherly manner. “Your family has been as close to our village as any family of Leprechauns. I don’t see why you would need to go.”

  Toren patted Finna’s hand and sighed. “My father made me promise to do all that’s within my power to protect Corways and her people. This is something I have to do.”

  Finna was speechless, and he recognized her silence for trust. She trusted that he was making the right decision, but as he sat in the hold of The Cobb gliding to an uncertain future, he wasn’t sure if he trusted his own judgment.

  He shook off the doubt as he looked at his Sorcha’s innocent face. To keep her innocent and to protect her was his task, and in America he would find a way.

  …

  “Conchar,” whispered a voice in the wizard’s head.

  Conchar had grown used to the voice and by all accounts wanted to ignore it, but it was persistent and unshakable. He had reluctantly begun following the voice’s commands and fulfilling its requests. Requests like standing on a little plot of land adjacent to Corways. This was a dangerous place to stand considering that the war with the Leprechauns was ongoing.

  “Why have you brought me here?” Conchar demanded.

  The voice remained silent. Conchar knew from experience that the voice would continue speaking when it chose to, so he began to walk the grounds. Being a wizard, he already had acute senses when it came to the arcane, but since the voice had joined him no more than eleven months prior, his senses had become exponentially better. This enhanced sensory perception easily picked up the powerful, latent energy that permeated the land. Conchar doubted that he needed the enhancement from the voice to sense the power this land held. Admittedly, he might have mistaken the sensation for something else entirely, but he would have sensed it nonetheless.

  He walked the lush, green acreage pressing his boot heals into the ground with each step. He took his time and was careful to search high and low all across the landscape. He was a keen observer, but noticed little that was out of the ordinary. Trees, acres of crops, a shed, a small cottage were all there was. He halted his stride when he reached the threshold of the cottage.

  “Go in,” commanded the voice.

  Conchar obeyed and pushed the door open. It swung inwards without resistance, and he stepped inside. His eyes were overcome by the darkness, but he willed his vision to compensate, and the entirety of the room soon came into view. There was nothing fancy about the amenities in this home, not like his castle in the Black Forrest in Scotland. The family that lived here were not poor by Irish standards, but they were not affluent either.

  “Who lived here?” he asked the voice.

  No reply.

  Conchar took note of the haphazard surroundings and deduced that they family left in haste. Why they ran, he was sure only the voice and the family knew.

  “It is not here,” sighed the voice.

  “What is not here?”

  The voice paused. “It matters not currently. Come. We have much to do in preparation of my return.”

  This statement took Conchar by surprise. “Your return? Who says that I would allow that?”

  The voice actually chuckled. “It is incredible that you think you have a choice. To be clear, you are marked as mine, and to be in my favor will hold great rewards.”

  Greed was deep within Conchar’s heart and he could not conceal his pleasure.

  “Come,” repeated the voice. “Your master commands it.”

  Conchar strode to the door and into the night air. “And what name does my master answer to?”

  “You may address me as Elathan.”

  Conchar smirked with satisfaction as the clouds burst o
pen and showered the earth with rain. Black lightning flashed across the sky and Conchar knew that he was in the favor of gods.

  This book has ended, but the adventure doesn’t have to...

  If you liked The Obsidian Dagger, you’re sure to love these other titles in the Celtic Mythos series by Brad A. LaMar:

  The Megalith Union (Book 2)

  The Dominion Pulse (Book 3)

  Coming February 2015!

  About The Author

  When he’s not fighting evil witches and wizards, Brad A. LaMar is an educator who resides in the Indianapolis Metropolitan area. He has taught science to middle school students for twelve years and works with teachers facilitating professional development and school improvement. He is married to Lori, a beautiful and supportive woman, and together they’re raising Evan and Paige, two intelligent and wonderful children.

  The idea for the Celtic Mythos series came from his love of science fiction and fantasy and the underutilized and abundantly rich folklore of the Celtic people. They are so much more than Leprechauns! Brad has always loved a good story, and upon researching the mythos of the Celtic Isles he became enthralled in the type of story he could tell.

  Brad has always enjoyed writing, but in the beginning it was more for examples to share with his students than it was for anything else. It wasn’t long before Brad found himself writing every night and submitting his work for publication. Brad finds publishing a tedious and painstaking process, but he says it’s worth it. There are so many more stories to tell, and he can’t wait to get started.