“There is an internal struggle happening within your friend,” Airmid stated. “I have never come across anything quite like this before.”
“I love him,” Dorian said. “Dewi said that Elathan poisoned him when he went into the lake seeking to retrieve the sword.”
Airmid’s expression showed concern when the name of the dragon god was said, but she let that part of the conversation lie while she tried to help the young human. “The struggle that I speak of has to do with that poison. There is the influence of two gods within him!”
“Okay, I get that, but why do you look so surprised?” Dorian asked.
“I’m not just talking about any old gods here. We are talking about the two ultragods,” Airmid clarified. “What are your names?”
Dorian introduced herself and then pointed at Brendan. “His name is Brendan O’Neal. He is one of Earth’s Protectors.”
The goddess nodded knowingly. “He must have a great deal of inner strength, Dorian, to be able to keep both gods at bay.”
“There has to be a way to help him.”
Airmid offered a thin smile. “There is, but I’m afraid that it’s impossible now.”
“How could it be impossible?” Dorian demanded.
“While I’m a great healer, for something this dangerous I would need my special flask, and I lost it some time ago.”
Dorian perked up thinking about the items in her bag. “I know who has it, Airmid! We would just have to find her.”
Airmid’s mouth dropped wide open. “You mean my flask was on Earth this whole time?”
“Well, it’s not on Earth anymore, it’s here in Otherworld,” Dorian informed. “Brendan’s sister has it, but I don’t know where she is.”
“If she’s here in the realms,then we can track her down. It’s not every day that Earthlings arrive in Otherworld.”
Dorian’s head turned quickly when she heard an anguished scream bellow from Brendan’s mouth. His arms thrashed down and away from his body and a wave of energy erupted from his palms, tearing the ground around him into sprays of dirt and debris.
“He will not be able to travel with us, Dorian. He’s too dangerous,” Airmid observed.
“What do we do with him? We can’t leave him here; he’ll hurt someone or himself.”
“I doubt that he could hurt himself,” Airmid retorted. She thought for a moment and then began to walk towards the Protector.
“Be careful, Airmid!” Dorian said in a rush.
Airmid approached Brendan cautiously, being mindful that she was dealing with a potentially volatile individual. She herself was not a warrior; in fact, she despised fighting, but she understood what sort of responsibilities the Protector had thrust upon him. Nuada would often speak about Earth and the humans with such delight that Airmid nearly asked if she could go to Earth. She never asked and the window of opportunity closed. This chance meeting was probably the closest that she would ever get to Earth.
“Brendan?” the goddess cooed. “Can you hear me?”
Brendan’s body looked like a light show resplendent in silver and golden energy. Crackles of each of the two metals sizzled in the air around him making her approach seem more and more foolish.
“What!” he replied through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched so tightly that the whites of his knuckles were on full display. “I want it to stop.”
“I know. My name is Airmid, and I can help you,” she said soothingly.
“Airmid?” Brendan repeated and then his mind slipped back to the vision. “Nuada stole your flask. I watched him take it.” He fell silent for a moment. “He stole my life!” He drove his fist into the soil next to his right leg smashing a rock to bits and creating a large divot.
It took Airmid a moment to process what Brendan had said. “It’s alright, Brendan. I’m a healer and I can help you. I just need you to focus on my voice.”
Brendan nodded, but his body was still shaking. Airmid began to sing words that were foreign to both Brendan and Dorian, but the tune was Celtic in melody. Her voice was haunting, bordering on angelic. Brendan could feel his mind calming, seeking rest. Her song penetrated his consciousness, drilling deep into his brain, buffering the internal battle that waged between the ultragods’ influence. Finally, he felt his mind and his body give in to the song and the world around him disappeared, replaced by a peaceful dreamscape. His body collapsed to the dirt in slumber.
“Is he okay?” Dorian asked, moving in beside Airmid.
“Yes, he’s asleep, entranced.” The goddess turned to face the Leprechaun Queen.
“Do we leave him here?” Dorian inquired. “It doesn’t seem right to leave him like this.”
“No, he will be safer at my estate.”
Airmid, though not an ultragod herself, had considerable power. She focused on Brendan’s unconscious body and after a few minutes he rose into the air. Airmid whispered an incantation and Brendan’s body floated off into the distance and eventually out of sight.
“Wait,” Dorian said as she began to go after him.
“Dorian,” Airmid interjected. “He’s under my care, and he will be waiting for us when we return with his sister and my flask on my grounds.”
Dorian took a deep breath and chose to agree. “What next?”
“We need to find my flask.”
…
The goddess and the Leprechaun walked in the opposite direction of where Boann had positioned herself. It was by dumb luck that she had even heard her cousin’s voice, and even dumber luck that Airmid happened to be caring for a mad Protector.
Boann and Airmid had been estranged from each other for the past century, but it basically had come down to a philosophical difference of opinion. Airmid believed in the healing power of water and Boann knew that for water to be at its most powerful it needed to be used as a destructive force. It was a simple disagreement that led to estrangement.
But now Boann had something substantial to bring back to Camulos. Surely he would reward her.
She waited until Airmid and the girl had left her range of vision before she ran to the river and dove in; with little effort on her part she swam towards Sarvaloo with great news for her master.
Chapter 9
Harsh Realities
Things had changed in Sarvaloo since Camulos’ arrival. Joy seemed harder to come by for the other, lesser gods, but the Watcher of Tir na nOg didn’t really care. He had never been a god who tried to please anyone other than himself. While he was content to finally rule the idiots of the realm, he wasn’t pleased with the rumors of resistance.
Four gods and two goddesses were marched into his great room by a group of fachen. Camulos only knew one out of the group, a god of battle named Neit.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded Neit, his shaggy beard bouncing almost comically as he huffed.
“I might ask the same, Neit,” Camulos retorted. “I’ve heard rumors of a resistance among your numbers.”
“Among my numbers? Preposterous!” Neit exclaimed.
Camulos rose from his seat and stalked towards the gathered six. “It appears that some in this fair realm have taken issue with my rule. They question the validity of my claim over Tir na nOg.”
“Granted, your arrival and your claim over the realm was a surprise and the feel of the realm is noticeably different.” Neit glanced at his fellow gods and goddesses and received nods of confirmation. “And then you make a show of killing Pwyll, Rhiannon, and Maponus. What do you expect from them?”
“I expect fear. I expect obedience. I expect that I will not be questioned, Neit. How many more do I need to kill—because I will kill as many as needed—before the inhabitants of this realm accept their fate?”
“Thus is the nature of power and position, Camulos,” sighed Neit. “You will have no pushback from the likes of us, but there will inevitably be some. If it pleases you, we would like to join your ranks.”
“Oh?” Camulos asked.
“What better
way to show your power than to create an army of like-minded warriors who are loyal to you?” Neit proposed.
“Go through Boann on this; she is my second in command,” Camulos said with a wave and a nod before the six gods left him with his thoughts. He considered how the other gods and goddesses in the realm could impact his future plans. Did he need to further perpetuate fear?
He looked up when Boann entered the great hall. She was slightly damp and wearing a sly grin on her face.
“Master Camulos,” Boann said by way of a greeting.
Camulos held up his hand to silence her. “Neit will lead a task force that will report to you, Boann. They will rid this realm of any dissenters.”
“As you desire.” Boann walked over and sat down on the seat just to the right of Camulos’s own chair. “My inquiry into the woods bore fruit, Camulos.”
“Oh?” he replied.
“I was spying on my cousin to see if she was one of the insubordinates when she met up with a strange pair near the river. Airmid was deep in conversation with a Leprechaun and a human.” Her sly grin transformed into a devilish smile as she watched his eyes widen.
“Do you know who they were?” he asked.
“I can’t say that I know who the Leprechaun was but the human seamed very important. He was kneeling on the ground and all of a sudden he blasted the earth with some sort of magic. I thought humans possessed no powers.”
“They don’t, except for one certain bloodline.” Camulos’s mind was racing with what it might mean to have the Protector in his realm. “Do you know where the human is now?”
“My cousin is treating him for poisoning. He’s unconscious and most likely at her estate. Would you like me to fetch him for you?”
Camulos nodded. “Bring him to me—alive, because I am going to do the one thing that Elathan has failed to do. I’m going to kill Brendan O’Neal.”
…
“Inhabitants of Otherworld, hear my words,” Elathan’s voice sounded through the air above Lizzie’s head.
The voice made Lizzie and the others freeze in their tracks. Aine’s expression was the most confused out of her group.
“Elathan,” Garnash said by way of explanation.
“I am Elathan, the golden god, the destroyer of worlds, and now the supreme ultragod of all six realms of Otherworld.”
The voice floated around Lizzie, Frank, Garnash, Rohl, and Aine. In truth, Elathan’s voice could be heard all throughout the realm, all throughout every realm. Every peak and every valley, every forest and every ocean, all carried the sound of the golden god’s voice.
“Each and every dominion pulse is under my influence. My Watchers are in place and should be recognized for their supremacy. Very little will change in your day-to-day lives with the exception that all sentient beings will swear their allegiance to me. Any who dare to oppose me will be destroyed without immunity. My Watchers will see to it.”
“This is terrible,” Aine squeaked. “This is much worse than I feared.”
“Otherworld will be spared in my conquest, but the Earth, Nuada’s prized world, will be destroyed after her people are made to suffer.”
“Come on, man!” Frank screamed to the air. “That’s not going to happen. There’s no way we let that happen, right?”
Garnash’s eyes dropped downward and his head shook slowly. “I don’t know. He’s more powerful now than he’s ever been.”
“Nuada is no more than a relic of history. There is no hope. There is only Elathan.”
“We can’t let this stand,” Aine pleaded to the others.
“But how do we stop him?” Rohl asked.
“The trial of the traitorous warrior gods Arawn and Argona will be held in Sarvaloo in Tir na nOg under the judicious care of Camulos the ultimate god of war.”
The last of his words faded and the normal sounds of the world around them returned. The group stood in silence for a moment.
“Maybe now the council of elders will listen to me,” Aine said. “Then we would have more warriors when we go to retrieve Faolan.”
“Okay,” Lizzie replied. “One problem at a time.”
…
Camulos smiled confidently. Elathan’s announcement couldn’t have come at a better time for the god of war.
“Do you know what this means?” he said to Boann. “I get to kill both my hated enemy and his.”
Boann bowed and closed the doors behind her, intent on helping her new liege. After all, his success would only further her own quest for power.
…
Dreams—nightmares really—began to race through Brendan’s unfocused mind. So many of the horrible scenes flashed into the forefront of his thoughts. What had started off as a peaceful dream world had morphed into a hellish nightmare. Niseags as large as steam freighters whipped majestically through the skies over Ireland spouting torturously chilled blasts of breath across the plains and the moors. Fachen the height of trees tormented people of the Black Houses in Scotland, shredding flesh and spilling blood on the cobblestone streets. Ruas, fresh with bright yellow veins protruding from their skin, bounded like insects over Syracuse’s campus.
All of the images frightened him, but he knew, somewhere in the back of his psyche that these were events that could be imminent on Earth.
The myriad of disturbing images bombarded his consciousness almost shook him out of his sedated state, but one small glimmer of light bounced in and out of the scenes. It felt familiar, yet so unknown to Brendan. He had learned much since his first visit to Corways, but upon arriving in Otherworld he knew that there was still too much that he didn’t understand. Part of him wished he never had to know any of it. The other piece of him knew that this world and these realms were in his blood. It was his inheritance and a responsibility that he could not shun, no matter what poison Elathan had injected into his veins.
The ball of light floated just ahead of a gruesome battle scene, somewhere near Callanish where Giants, Vampires, witches, and wizards, battled a band of insurgents that put up more of a fight than had been anticipated. The light began to move in a more intentional pattern, Brendan noticed, and he began to follow it, moving in and out of skirmishes where lives were lost in the slash of a blade or a gash from a magical wound. He sidestepped it all, trying his best to ignore the fracas.
The light beckoned him from atop a hillside where it hovered and waited. He climbed the hill one painful stride at a time until he finally stepped into the ball of light, which welcomed him completely.
It was blinding stepping into the light. The feel of the place was so different than it had been in the stress and anxiety of the war scene. There was silence at first, but soon the whispering of voices spilled over the quiet with inflection and a singsong melody.
Minutes passed before Brendan could make out what was being said, but eventually the speakers could be heard clearly. Two women were standing ahead of him in a room with cloudy walls as if the walls were part of a dream room of sorts, one of the figures had her back turned to him, though he recognized Caoranach’s face right away.
“No reason to think that,” Caoranach said to the back of the other woman’s head.
The other woman turned to face Caoranach.
The Morrigan’s look was grim. “You don’t think that one or more of the gods or goddesses could grow that ambitious?”
Caoranach shrugged. “Which among them is that powerful?”
“But if they were to become so, what then?”
“For the sake of argument, sister, let’s pretend that one among the immortals were to grow powerful enough to capture the dominion pulse of a realm—to what end?” Caoranach said, her curiosity peaked.
The Morrigan looked off into the distance in thought. “It could be cataclysmic for those of the realm. A god or goddess could force his or her will on every creature of it. They could strip the realm of all of its resources with little effort and with little resistance.” She faced Caoranach. “If one among them were able to gain a
ccess to a dominion pulse of a realm, then all could be lost.”
Caoranach smiled. Brendan could see in some twisted way how beautiful the mother of demons was, a fact none too surprising now that he realized she and the Morrigan were related.
“But would there not be an adjournment?”
The Morrigan scrunched her eyebrows and considered the question. “Once the dominion pulse has been tarnished there is no way to repair it.”
Caoranach nodded and began to walk away, a slippery smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“But there is one thing that could be done,” the Morrigan called after her.
Brendan saw the look on Caoranach’s face shift, although the Morrigan could not see it. Caoranach quickly put on a less devious smile and again faced her sister. “And that would be what?”
“If and when the dominion pulses are compromised, there is only one thing that could salvage hope for the inhabitants of the realm.” The Morrigan studied her sister’s face; Brendan could tell that she, too, knew Caoranach’s true nature. “The pulse is not an entity that is easily controlled, sister.”
“You speak of it as if it were alive, Morrigan. Some would think you mad.”
The Morrigan chuckled. “Some would be correct,” she agreed. “The dominion pulse is the very heart and soul of a realm. It is the lifeblood of a realm.”
“So you say,” Caoranach challenged.
“So I know,” the Morrigan corrected. There was a subtle shift in Caoranach’s stance that the Morrigan must have noticed. “If someone were ever able to locate the pulses they would have to corrupt them…”
“…then that would give them control over the realm, as you already stated,” interjected Caoranach.
“Mostly. Like so many things in life, the dominion pulse is not exactly what it seems. It’s more than a thing to control or contort. Even if someone ever does poison the pulse a part of it will scatter, remaining clean and pure.”
“But you said there was no repairing the pulse if such a thing were to occur. What good would that do?” Caoranach asked with a snicker.
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