A short sword flashed from his scabbard, and he swung it in a whirring arc inches from my face. With a flick of my spear, I parried the blow, twisting his wrist and forcing him to retreat. He jabbed, and I shifted to the left, the clash of steel on oak vibrating up through my wrist as I blocked the attack. Raising the shaft, I cut the Fir Bolg up on the chin then brought the spear point down in a sharp angle through his shoulder.
He belted out a high-pitched scream, and I whirled, clasping the butt of the spear with both hands baseball bat-style before sending him spiraling off the wagon, his body falling into the ravine below.
Bullets erupted up through the canvas of the wagon from inside, tearing a hairsbreadth from my feet.
“Shitshitshitshit!” I jumped, my hand grasping at a strip of canvas as I hung upside down, the path racing below me, dust blinding my eyes.
A Fir Bolg appeared at the rear of the wagon, and I stared down the muzzle of his M16. Digging the butt of my spear into the space between planks, I catapulted back on top, bullets buzzing past me. Tearing a hole through the canvas, I slipped inside the wagon behind the shooter.
He spun around, pulling the trigger. White-hot pain shot through my left arm, and I ducked, sending my spear whirling for his feet. He disappeared over the edge, his screams echoing in the ravine below. I turned, taking stock of the contents of the wagon even as my hand pressed tight against the white-hot wound in my upper arm. Large crates stacked up to the roof of the wagon, but my eyes widened at the sight of an emaciated Malachy bound in the corner.
He grunted, his translucent eyes wild with panic.
I tore the gag from his mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No!” he cried, his bound hands clutching mine.
“No?” I waved to the rear of the wagon. “We’re going to go off a cliff!”
“The Fir Bolgs have an explosive,” he spat out.
“A what?” I shook my head.
“Untie me!” He thrust his fists in my face.
I glanced around at the crates. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know!”
I slipped the edge of my spear against his ropes and they cut away like butter.
The dearg-dubh leaped to his feet. “Help me look!”
“Look for what?”
With a splinter of wood and a screech from the horses, the wagon broke in two. My stomach bottomed out, and I only had seconds to register the sky above tilting at a crazy angle.
Fuck this. Time to abort.
“Don’t you travel out of here!” Malachy screamed. “Don’t you—!”
I threw my energy around the dearg-dubh, flashing out of the wagon and back on the firm ground of the path.
“No!” Malachy screamed, scrambling to the edge of the ravine. The wagon appeared suspended in the air for a moment. Then the crates dropped one by one, and the whole production spiraled down into the darkness below.
Malachy curled himself up into a ball, waiting for an explosion—that never came.
The wind whistled around us, and gravel crunched beneath my feet as I walked over to him and reached out a tentative hand to his shoulder.
“Hey.” I crouched down. “It’s okay.”
He lifted his head, arching an eyebrow and peering down the edge of the ravine. He paused. “Huh.”
“Are you all right?”
He stood and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, either I’m dead and in an alternate universe, or the Fir Bolgs really know how to pack their weapons of mass destruction to compensate for less-than-ideal circumstances.”
I folded my arms and stared down at the shadows blocking our view of the wreckage. “Weapons of mass destruction, huh?”
He nodded. “A sparkly one.”
“So, like, a bomb?”
“Sort of.”
I leaned on my spear, catching my breath. “Did they intend it for us?”
“Nope.”
I turned to face the dearg-dubh, a question lingering on my tongue.
He pointed to the wagon far below. “It’s the bomb that will break the universe.”
Chapter Two
I blinked, clutching my arm and barely noticing the blood seeping through my fingers. “What does that mean?”
Malachy didn’t have a chance to reply.
“Elizabeth!” Finn roared as he circled the bend, sweat beading down his red face. He barreled into me, clutching me against his chest. “What were you thinking?”
“I couldn’t let them get away,” I said into his boiled leather armor. When I first met Finn it was all crisp white shirts and pressed pants, but no longer. Not since the rebellion began. Beneath the dust and dirt covering his skin, he still smelled like home, like something warm and safe.
His hands grazed over my arm, and I sucked in my breath. Nausea twisted my insides and the pain grew to excruciating levels.
“And you’re hurt,” he scolded. “Why would you—?”
I wrenched away and glared at him. “Stop.”
He stilled and stared at me for a moment before his face softened. “Come here. Let me heal you.”
I took a deep breath and allowed his gentle hands to take my arm. Golden light shot from his fingertips, and my skin knitted together in seconds. Only a faint scar remained, and he traced a circle around it as if he could try to contain all my pain. Finn once fought as part of an immortal race of warriors called the Fianna—that is, before we met and began a forbidden love affair. You see, the magical races of Ireland were ruled by a loose confederation called Trinity. These races included the Fae, the Druids, and the Fianna. According to Trinity, the magical races were forbidden to mix, but, well, the heart wants what it wants. In any case, not every Fianna warrior had the gift of healing, but I was grateful my boyfriend did. I folded my hand over his and gave him a weak smile. He didn’t return it but instead glanced over my shoulder at Malachy.
“I hope you brought back something useful,” Finn said in a gruff voice.
“It’s great to see you, too, Fianna,” Malachy said. “I’m doing quite well after my perilous ordeal with the Fir Bolgs. Thank you for inquiring.”
I turned to the dearg-dubh. “So, tell us about this bomb.”
“A bomb?” Finn’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward, his muscles tensing.
I gestured to the ravine. “It’s down there.”
Malachy shook his head. “It’s some kind of explosive device. From what I gathered, the Fir Bolgs want to use it to break the connection to the mortal realm.”
I sucked in my breath. I knew of the Fir Bolgs’ plan but had no idea how they intended to do it. Tír na nÓg, the Faerie Realm, is connected to the mortal world, kind of like a parallel universe situation. Our worlds are separated by a wall of sorts, a Veil, created long ago, after the Celts banished the Fae from the mortal world. A bunch of magical folk created the Veil, a pact was signed, and both sides generally stayed out of each other’s business…until more and more Fae began crossing over to the mortal world. The Fir Bolgs wanted to stop all that co-mingling by severing Tír na nÓg permanently from the mortal world. Kind of like cutting off a tree branch from a huge oak. This would be all fine and good, but it would mean the end of magic in the mortal world, and not only that, who says they get to be in charge? I sighed, glancing up at the sky imagining the Veil, just beyond the mask of this reality. Sometimes I wished we could tear it all down and start over.
Finn’s mouth dropped open slightly, letting out a short breath. “How did they build something so powerful?”
Malachy shook his head and started for the ravine. “I’m not sure, but I can try to fill you in on the hike down.”
I made to follow, but Finn took hold of my arm. “You are not going anywhere near that thing.”
I twisted away from him, fresh rage welling up in my chest. “First of all, you don’t te
ll me what to do. And secondly, that bomb hasn’t gone off, so there must be a detonator somewhere. Haven’t you ever watched 24?”
Finn’s face screwed up in confusion. “24?”
“Never mind.” I shook my head.
“Elizabeth’s right,” Malachy called back to us. “Just don’t cut the blue wire, and you should be fine.” He paused for a minute. “Or is it the red wire?”
Finn grumbled, but he followed us anyway. “I have had training in explosives.”
“Oh, I know all about your work with explosives, Fianna,” Malachy said in a voice just loud enough for us all to hear. My heart lurched at the dearg-dubh’s barb, recalling the way Finn’s former commander had once blown up a building containing several dearg-dubh children. Finn had been there and had lost his wife in the fire. For years, he thought Malachy was at fault for her death (he wasn’t), but even with the whole situation cleared up, old grudges died hard. I glanced at Finn to see his reaction, but only a small flicker of his jaw muscle revealed he had heard Malachy.
I cleared my throat and gripped my spear tighter as we marched down the windy path into the ravine. “So, how did you get captured? Was it in Teamhair?”
Malachy smiled. “That is a fun tale, but the first thing you need to know is that the Fir Bolgs have taken the wizard Edward Thornton captive.”
I stiffened at the name, my blood turning to ice. Thornton was bad news. A powerful dark wizard who would do anything for more power. He had slain my thesis advisor over a magical book, and he had been a thorn in my side ever since. He wanted to use me, use my power for his own twisted ends. On his own, he was a straight-up menace, but the Fir Bolgs were using him somehow, and I had a feeling it had something to do with wanting to control the universe or something stupid like that. Why did supervillains always want to control the universe? I could barely control my ragtag crew of Faerie rebels on a good day.
“Edward Thornton?” Finn’s face bunched up in confusion. “What do they want with him?”
I swallowed hard, awareness hitting me right in the stomach. I was there the night the Fir Bolgs took Thornton prisoner. Between saving Finn, selling my soul to a demon, and trying to protect his Fianna friends, I had little time to process why the Fir Bolgs kidnapped him. Now it was all coming together.
“Thornton is the only person who has come close to accessing the Tree of Life.” Malachy’s long hair blew around his face, and he shoved the wild strands behind his ears as he glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t know how, but they’re forcing him to find it, and he’s getting close.”
I let out a long exhale, my skin prickling despite the dazzling sunlight pounding down on my head. I didn’t know what the Tree of Life was exactly, but I knew it was sort of like the root system that held this whole universe together. The mortal world, the Faerie realm, even worlds I had never seen. Most importantly, though, the Fir Bolgs wanted to cut off the branch of the Faerie realm, and this bomb was the thing they needed to do it—if they could get to the branch…root…stem…whatever.
“So, they were delivering the bomb to Teamhair. For Thornton,” I said.
“Yes,” Malachy replied. “The Tree of Life will function as a catalyst for the bomb, amplifying its power to sever us all from the mortal realm forever. At least that’s what the Fir Bolgs have been saying.”
My ears pricked up. “You managed to talk to them?”
Malachy turned, his translucent blue eyes twinkling. “Just a few, but that’s all I needed. It turns out not everyone is supportive of Balen’s plan.”
Balen was the leader of the Fir Bolgs. He had nearly killed us months ago, but now he had set his sights on greater ambitions.
“What do you mean, ‘not everyone’?” I asked.
Malachy leaned against a boulder, surveying the wreckage. Wooden crates, splintered and shattered, covered the ravine floor, the vestiges of the wagon like a broken toy with half of it sticking out of a small, rippling stream. I tried to follow his eyes, my shoulders tense as he searched for the Fir Bolgs’ bomb.
“I was in a shipwreck once,” Malachy said in a quiet voice. “A few centuries ago. I sat in the hull and watched as a single crack let in a tiny trickle of water. Then there was a second crack, and then another. Until the entire sea rushed in. There are so many types of power in the world, Elizabeth. The type of power the Fir Bolgs try to maintain? It might hold for a while, but eventually it will shatter.”
Malachy jumped over a fallen barrel, his sharp eyes still scanning through the debris. I looked at Finn, who shrugged then brushed past me to join the search.
I blew a lock of hair out of my face. “So, you’re saying not everyone’s on board with the plan. Do you think the Fir Bolgs will revolt against Belan?”
Malachy shot me a look before he continued sifting through the shattered planks. “I spoke with one lieutenant. They like ruling the Faerie realm, of course, but many of them don’t want to break off entirely.” The dearg-dubh laughed under his breath. “It seems after spending some time training in American facilities, a few of the Fir Bolgs have begun to enjoy what the modern world has to offer.”
I sniffed and thought about how much I would love a nice hot shower. Tír na nÓg had its perks, but hot running water, wifi, and Netflix sure weren’t among them, unfortunately.
“And many of them,” Malachy continued, “don’t care for Belan and how overbearing he is. They want something…well…” The dearg-dubh looked up into the blank blue sky, and then he glanced at me with a smile. “They want a democracy.”
I made a low harrumph in my throat. “They don’t act like it.”
“When you’re under an authoritarian regime, you act how the leader wants you to act,” Malachy replied.
“So what are we looking for?” I brushed away thick shrubbery, searching beneath its thorny leaves. Something glittered a few feet away, and I winced as the foliage scratched my skin. My fingers landed on something hard and metal, a slight hum of energy radiating from it. It was small, about the size of a half dollar. I pulled it free and stared at the shiny black object, my face reflecting in the dark surface. Wrapped around the edge were thousands of tiny tubes and wires faintly glowing and sparkling. I flipped it over and gasped, fumbling with the piece of metal and nearly dropping it. The wires connected in a pattern—the Tree of Life. It shimmered faintly as whatever substance it was infused with pulsed inside the intricate design.
“Is this it?” I said to Malachy and Finn in a weak voice.
Finn rushed to my side with a curse, his hands hovering around mine. “We need to contain it. Do we know where the detonator is?”
Malachy threw aside a discarded box and lifted a square piece of metal with a broken antenna. “Found it!” He looked at the side of the detonator and shook his head. “But I think it’s broken.”
“If it’s broken, why is it shimmering like this?” I called out in a thin voice; my hand started to shake, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
Finn let out a long, shuddering exhale. “The detonator might have been triggered.”
My breath hitched in my throat. “Do you know how to dismantle it?”
His face darkened. “This is far beyond my capabilities.”
“This thing could go off any minute!” My voice rose in a panic.
Malachy sidled beside me. “Well, it probably won’t go off in a minute…”
The device pulsed in my palm, radiating a seductive, beckoning power calling to my own aisling senses. I closed my fingers around it, trying to explore the nature of the magic embedded inside. Something dark and silky swept across the edge of my consciousness, and I lunged for it, trying to bring it into the light, put a name to it.
“Elizabeth!” a familiar voice snapped me back to reality, the bright sun searing through my brain as my eyelids fluttered open.
It wasn’t Finn calling to me, but Eamonn and Grain
ne searching for us.
Still gripping the device, I glanced up the ravine. “We’re down here.”
Eamonn would be able to figure it out. He could dismantle it or at least slow it down. I glanced down at the swirling wires and shimmering tubes overlapping in an impossibly intricate pattern, the roots so lifelike, it was as if they stretched and pulsed against the shiny metal, like they were digging into thick soil. The design reminded me of the talisman I wore around my neck, the Tree of Life symbol that belonged to the Fae. Yet, the design on the device had a much more sinister look to it, the branches sharper, more barren somehow. On closer study, the device was a mix of magic and circuitry similar to the M16s the Fir Bolgs toted across the countryside. My stomach dropped, thinking of those destructive weapons that had cut through so many of our rebel forces. Eamonn still hadn’t cracked the code to creating our own guns that could pierce through the Fir Bolgs’ immortality. We confiscated a bunch of the magic M16s, and we could knock them down with regular weaponry, but then what remained was a macabre ritual of beheading and burning. All Fae were immortal, and that was the only way to put them down for good—unless you had these mysterious, magical weapons. My heart ached thinking of the slaughter my rebels were undertaking along the Fir Bolgs’ path above the ravine. I folded up those feelings like an envelope and mailed it away into the abyss, the secret, endless dark corner I kept hidden away. I was getting good at compartmentalizing violence.
That was what worried me the most.
Eamonn huffed, grasping at the hem of his soiled Druid robes as he hustled toward us. “What’s that?” he asked breathlessly, Grainne jogging to his side, her eyes widening as she saw the device.
I let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s a sparkly.”
“A what?” Eamonn’s face crinkled into a question mark.
Finn’s hand closed over mine. “’Tis an explosive device,” he said through gritted teeth. “It could go off any minute.”
“Is there a detonator?” the Druid asked in a trembling voice.
“It’s here,” Malachy said, lifting the metal box in the air.
Echoes from the Veil (Aisling Chronicles) Page 2
