by C. L. Roman
Brenna's gaze sharpened and she thrust herself between the Fomorian and her daughter. "We don't have any of the answers you want. Killing us won't help you."
"Too bad." He rubbed his throat. "The satisfaction of killing her will have to serve as a consolation prize." He drew back his arm and then halted, his head tilted to one side as if listening to something they couldn't hear. Slowly, he lowered his arm, and the jade globe disappeared. "I'll have to finish this later," he said and disappeared.
Chapter Nineteen
Jackson opened his eyes and thought that he hadn't gone anywhere. The hut's thatch walls rose around him, as before. "Dammit. I said a level playing field." He glanced at the bed. "If she wakes up before I leave..." He trailed off.
The bed, and Maeve, were gone.
He looked again at the surrounding structure and realized that the hut Maeve had created was solid wood. Not thatch.
"Jackson Delaney," a deep male voice called from outside. "Come and face me."
Jackson stepped outside. A jungle clearing had replaced the meadow. The moon glared overhead, her face shrouded in storm clouds. Surrounded by tropical vegetation, Jackson could hear a river flowing in the distance, and overhead the rumble of a dark sky threatening rain.
"'Nam," he said. "Perfect."
Lightning speared down, impaling the ground and casting an instant of blue-white illumination over the landscape. In the flash, Jackson saw a tall figure, its arm drawn back, holding something dark and oblong. He dove to the side and felt the sting of shrapnel rip through his pants leg as something blasted the ground where he'd been standing.
Crouching, he hustled around the side of the hut, putting it between himself and his enemy.
"We don't have to do this, Balor," he shouted. "I don't care who rules Aelfholm as long as you leave me and mine alone." Before the last word died on the wind, Jackson was already crab-walking away from the hut through the tall grass, headed for the tree line.
"I'm just following orders," Balor yelled. "I'm sure a soldier can understand that. I'll even refrain from using the Eye, just to keep things fair."
"Now I know you're lying," Jackson yelled. "You just don't want to risk destroying Solcruth along with me." Glancing over his shoulder, he kept moving. A blossom of multicolored fire exploded behind him, and the hut disappeared in a cloud of debris. Another ten steps and he reached the jungle.
"All right, you son of a bitch," Jackson muttered. "Let's see just how level the field really is." Eyeing the space where he'd last seen Balor, he raised his voice. "Where is my family?" he asked.
Balor's laughter was the only response.
Tucking the pistol under his arm, Jackson used his body to shield his glowing hands from view. Focusing, he let the Gaimora roll up through his body and then threw it into the air like a kid throws a beach ball. It burst overhead, blanketing the area in a blue-white sheet of illumination.
Balor stood on the far edge of the grass field, his figure stark black against the jungle behind him. Breathing heavily, Jackson dropped to one knee, took aim, and fired four shots.
Pop, pop, pop, pop.
Training his eyes on the Fomorian, Jackson sprinted for the next clump of vegetation. One shot tore through Balor's sleeve, the others tearing furrows in the earth around him. A scream of rage erupted in the ghostly space between thunderclaps.
"You bastard," Balor screeched. "You...AMATEUR!"
Lightning struck as Balor thrust both hands at Jackson's location with surprising accuracy. The jungle burst into flames, and Jackson ran. Ash, flame, and white-hot stones chased him, singeing his shirt and burrowing into unprotected skin. Diving behind a boulder, he used it as cover, took careful aim and shot twice.
This time, one of the bullets found flesh. Balor dropped to one knee, his hand gripping his thigh.
Jackson ran back the way he'd come, firing as he moved until the click-click of the hammer told him the gun was empty. Sliding behind the shambles of a partially destroyed tree, he leaned his back against it and reloaded the revolver. He tapped Solcruth and felt his pocket refill with ammo.
"You can't hide from me forever, coward." Balor's insult bounced over the clearing, echoing back in a way that couldn't be accounted for by the landscape.
Focusing his magick into a thin strand, Jackson pushed his voice across the glade, making it sound as if it came from behind Balor. "Parlor tricks don't scare me, Balor. Neither do stupid insults."
"Nice try, Delaney. But magick has a particular sound, one I know very well." A thin whine cut the night air and zipped through the leaves. A triangular metal blade thunked into the tree Jackson was using as cover. A second shard grazed him, and blood trickled down his face from a wound high on his forehead. "Was I close?" Balor's laughter drowned in another thunderclap, and rain poured from heavy clouds.
Dropping to his belly, Jackson slithered through the mud, avoiding larger rocks and burst trees to work his way around the clearing. Overhead, the zip-thunk of Balor's missiles told him to keep moving, or die.
His two spells had left him weaker, his breath coming in short exhalations that had little to do with his progress through the undergrowth.
"Tell me where my family is, and I might let you live," Jackson shouted.
"Give me Solcruth, and I'll kill you quickly," Balor said, his quiet words only a foot to Jackson's left.
Jackson dropped, spun, and fired in a fluid series of movements, the roar of his gun warring with the thunder, underscoring the lightning.
Hands reached out of the afterimage, gripping his throat, raising him from the mud. "Such a pity that your talent isn't as great as your ego. Doesn't matter anyway, since the women are already dead," Balor said and squeezed.
"Liar," Jackson said, his voice threading its way from his lips. Thrusting his fists between Balor's hands, Jackson shoved upward, breaking the mage's hold and then reversing around and down to trap his arms. In the same movement, Jackson brought his knee up, driving it into Balor's groin with horrific force. A flurry of punches dropped Balor to his knees.
Jackson grabbed Balor's tunic and hoisted him to his feet. "You had better be lying. Because if they really are dead, nothing on Earth can save you."
Blood trickled from the corner of Balor’s mouth. "Ever the arrogant human," he said and dissolved into smoke.
Jackson flailed, slashing the air with clenched fists. "Come back and fight!"
A rock smashed into Jackson's shoulder, spinning and dropping him onto his hands and knees. "Who said I left?" Balor's mocking laughter taunted him as another stone flew, striking Jackson in the back. Another slammed into his leg with the sharp report of breaking bone.
"The trouble is, you need me alive. And I just need you dead." Balor’s voice carried on the wind as rocks and branches hammered Jackson, driving him into a ball, curled on his side, his hands cupped over his head. The blows pounded him, agony blocking out thought and sound.
Darkness enclosed his sight, narrowing with each impact. Suddenly, the pummeling stopped, and Balor's pale face filled his remaining tunnel of vision.
"One last thing before you die, boy. They are still alive, but as soon as your heart stops beating, so will theirs. Solcruth will be mine, and with it, the crown. After that, your little bitch, Maeve, will do whatever I want just to keep her family alive." He thrust his face closer. “At least, she will until I snuff out her miserable life.”
Jackson gripped Balor's arm.
The mage laughed. "Do you think that pathetic attempt will stop me?"
Jackson didn't reply. In his mind, he spoke to Solcruth. Make a hole. With his last ounce of strength, he thrust a flickering blue shock wave into Balor’s chest, shoving him back.
Slack-jawed, Balor dropped the rock and fell into endless darkness.
“Close the way,” Jackson whispered. A wet, sucking noise ripped through the air. In the next instant, all that was left was Balor's outraged scream, drifting on the dying wind.
Jackson rolled onto his bac
k and let the rain wash his blood into the muck. "Maeve." He whispered her name over and over until the dark took him.
Chapter Twenty
Fingers of pale yellow illuminated the darkness, prying at his eyelids. Jackson groaned and brought his hand up to cover them.
"Ssh, now. Don't move. You'll undo all my hard work." A cool cloth descended, blocking out the light with comfort.
"Maeve?" He tugged at the compress, and she brushed his hands away. "My mother? Shawna? I have to..." He struggled to rise, and she pressed him back into the bed with shocking ease.
"Lucky for you, you’re in no condition to do anything at the moment," Maeve said.
He groaned. “How is that lucky?”
“Because if you weren’t this badly injured, I’d kill you. Don’t you ever,” she said and poked at an uninjured square of flesh. “EVER, do that to me again.”
He flinched away from her and tried a shrug that ended in another wince. “I can’t promise –”
“Shut up, before I seal your lips permanently. I've got Arcadia and a host of others looking for your mother and sister,” she said.
“Thank you.”
She waved his thanks aside. “They haven’t found them. Balor has them locked up somewhere, likely with wards placed around them so tight a pixie couldn't get through. It looks like the only way we're going to find them is to force Balor to show us where they are. And since he seems to have vanished..." Her voice trailed off, and he could feel her eyes on him. "I didn't find a body, so I'm assuming he's still alive. What did you do with him?"
"I— I'm not sure. He was about to crush my skull, and he was going to murder Mom and Shawna. I couldn't let him do that. But I couldn't think straight... my brain was..." he trailed off in his turn. After a moment, he continued. "So, I told Solcruth to make a hole. That's the last thing I remember."
"A hole? There's no hole in either realm that would hold Balor."
"If what you say is true, we have to find him. He could be with them right now, for all we know. They could be hurt..." He shoved the cloth off his eyes and sat up despite her protests. The effort left him panting, his vision swimming in the half-light.
"You are injured. You have a broken leg, a mangled shoulder, and several cracked ribs, not to mention more cuts and bruises than a living man should be able to survive. Lay down." She pressed on his chest gently, and he shook her off, nearly falling over in the process.
With a supreme effort, he held himself upright. "Leave it, Maeve. We don't have time for this."
Giving up, she sat next to him, offering him a shoulder to lean against. "I told you, he's not in either realm. Dinael is looking for him too, and I don't think there's any place Balor could hide from the King, even if he wanted to."
"He admitted that he's planning to use Solcruth to take the throne. That's reason enough to hide."
Maeve stared at him for several moments, her mouth working. Finally, she shook her head. "He admitted it to you, not to Dinael. And Dinael would never believe a human over any Fomorian, let alone Balor, who has served him faithfully for over a hundred years." She jumped to her feet and paced the confines of the hut as she spoke.
"Why would I lie?"
With a sigh, Maeve faced him. "You wouldn't. I know that. Dinael doesn't. But you can bet Balor hasn't told him about Solcruth. He still thinks this is just about the power Neala gave you." She framed his face in her hands, examining the pattern of bruises that distorted his features. "Don't put yourself in Dinael’s way, Jacks. He'll kill you and think it a duty well completed."
"I'm not planning to. But I can't just abandon my family, Maeve."
"I'm not saying you should. But even if he is free and can get to them, Balor isn't going to kill them as long as he needs them for leverage."
"Maybe not." He pressed his fists against his forehead. "Where else could Solcruth have sent him?"
She stared at him. "What do you mean?"
"You said there was no hole in either realm that could hold him."
"Right. He'd use the Eye to blast his way out of a physical prison. And, so long as he can tap into the power of the Fomora, even Solcruth couldn't bind him inside a spell for long. He escaped the last trap she set him, after all."
"Fine, so if he's still trapped, she has to have sent him someplace else. Somewhere cut off from the Fomora."
Frowning, Maeve sank onto the bed. "There are three realms: Lower, Upper, and Celestial. The Fae live in the Lower Realm. Humans and their kindred live in the Upper Realm. That includes Gaia and the universe around her."
He lifted his head to peer at her. "And the third? The Celestial Realm?"
"There's no way she sent him to the Third Realm. That is the Realm of Gods. Of angels and demons. Not even Solcruth can get there from here."
"Then where?"
"There is no place else."
"That doesn't make sense. You said she can't destroy, only create. So, she wouldn't have killed him."
"True," Maeve responded slowly, her brow furrowing.
"So... where else is there?"
Outside the cottage, a series of thumps erupted, like someone banging a book on a table with tremendous force. They looked at each other.
"Gran," Jackson said.
"Neala," Maeve said at the same time.
With Jackson leaning on Maeve's shoulder, the couple hobbled out of the hut. The grimoire gave a last leap and fell open to the blank page, writing crawling across the page in leaps and frantic jumps of ink, most of if indecipherable. Finally, a line of script resolved itself into legibility.
In between, you addle-pated ninnies. He's in between the two realms. Where else would he be? Where else could she have sent him with such a vague, incomprehensible command as make a hole, for pity's sweet sake?
"Neala, that isn't possible either," Maeve said, struggling to remain calm. "There's nothing in between the realms. They occupy the same physical space. It isn't —"
EXACTLY. Which is why she created a hole, just as she was instructed by a certain undertrained ninnyhammer.
Ignoring the insult, Jackson sank into one of the chairs, his broken leg held stiffly in front of him. "All right. He’s in a hole between the realms. How do I get to him?"
Maeve rounded on him. "You will not be getting to anyone. You are staying here. I'll go and get him if we decide that's needed. And I'll make him release Brenna and Shawna."
Jackson paled. "No, you won't. He's determined to kill you too. I'm not letting you go after him alone."
"Let me?” Maeve's voice climbed an octave, and her face darkened. “You won't let me?"
Jackson's lips thinned, his jaw settling into a rigid line. "You will not put yourself in danger on my account."
Crossing her arms over her breasts, Maeve stared at him in silence.
After a moment, he sputtered. "He has my mother and sister; I can't risk him getting to you too." He cupped her cheek as her expression softened. “Please, Maeve. Don't you know any healing spells?”
"I do, but with the extent of your injuries, if I used one, we'd both be a step up from useless for several days." Her voice trembled, low and unsteady.
"There has to be a way —"
"Healing spells are draining for both the healer and the healed. They take an immense amount of life energy. If that weren't the case, do you think you'd still have broken bones?" She shouted at him, tears rising in her eyes. "I know you want to go after him, but if you do, he'll kill you and then where will they be?" She knelt beside him, laying her hand on his arm. "Where will I be?"
You two are exhausting. You truly are. Use Solcruth to heal Jackson’s bones. A minor healing spell will take care of the rest. Ask her to create an elixir to restore your energy after that. Why I have to walk you through this step by bloody step, I'll never know... The writing trailed off, getting fainter with each word.
"Solcruth can't heal me," Jackson said, confused.
"Yes, she can." Maeve stared at him, open-mouthed. "I don't know
why I didn't think of it. She can create new bone inside the breaks and adhere it to the existing structure just as your body would over time. She just won't use your own flesh to do it. You'll forever have magick lodged inside you."
"What does that mean?"
She shook her head. "I have no idea, but I don't think we have a choice. Neala wouldn't say to do it if it would hurt you."
The spellbook closed with a snap and Jackson cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? She used to beat me with a maple switch when I was a kid."
"Don't be stupid. She loves you. She wouldn't cause you harm."
With a last, dubious glance at the book, he nodded. "All right then. Let’s get this done." Closing his eyes, he put his fingers on the stone. "Heal my bones, Solcruth," he said.
And then he screamed.
Incandescence shot through his skin from four separate breaks. One speared out of his leg, and three gleamed from his side. A thin, bright spray of light seared out of his upper arm as well.
Gasping, Maeve stumbled backward, tripped, and landed on her backside. By the time she looked up again, it was over.
White-faced and panting, Jackson doubled over, cradling his arm while simultaneously trying to rub the ache from his lower leg and ribs. He glared at the grimoire. "That fucking hurt, Gran! You could have warned me."
There was no response from the book, but he could have sworn he heard an echo of raspy laughter on the breeze.
"You must have had a hairline fracture in your upper arm. I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"We didn't exactly have time for x-rays," he said, the words grinding past lips still tight with pain.
Maeve scrambled to her feet. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, just a little winded. Can you do that spell to fix the rest of it?"
"Oh. Of course. Hold on." She ran into the hut and came back out with a sack in one hand and a mortar and pestle balanced in the other. She set everything on the table and sorted through the bag, pulling out bits of green and yellow plants to toss into the mortar as she muttered under her breath.
