He glanced down at it and then back up, his gaze roving over her face. “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.” He stepped back, hand on the edge of the door and ready to push it closed.
She put forward a foot, blocking him. A trick she’d learned long ago and that came in handy when dealing with Seth and his occasional surliness. It seemed she’d need to brush off those rusty skills quickly in order to deal with her new landlord. “I need a place to stay tonight. I have a confirmation.” She held up the paper once more and thrust it toward him.
“Which is for tomorrow.” A muscle ticked in his cheek. “It’s St. Paddy’s. We’re closed.”
“I understand your worship of this saint is important to you, but I do not believe I can stand another night traveling. I promise if you simply show me to the room, I will not require anything of you until well into tomorrow. I… need to get dry. I have been wet since I arrived.” Her shivers increased, and she tucked her hands into her armpits, no longer caring if he took the confirmation. She didn’t move her foot, though. She did know better than that.
The man swung the door open and stepped in close enough the warmth of him bridged the gap between them. She was not an insubstantial woman, but he made her feel almost petite. And warm. It was not something she had felt since… Bat shook off the stray thought. It wouldn’t be a good idea to get involved with anyone at the moment, especially someone as surly as this. She was seeking a new home, and she had two months to decide if this was the place her visions had shown her and if they had shown her the full truth. The flashes had only offered a possibility, after all.
A new figure appeared behind the first man, just as broad and even taller. A neat beard framed his dark face, and he wore his hair slicked back. What caught her attention, though, was the patch covering one eye. It was made of dark leather and bore intricate designs tooled across the surface. His good eye was the same lapis-blue as the first man. Brothers?
Her senses stirred, and she braced for another flash, but it didn’t come.
“Dub,” the second giant said. “What’s the issue?” The bass of his voice moved through her like thunder—like storms over the red lands—and she shivered, though not from the cold.
“New tenant is early.” Dub shrugged and shifted back, putting a bit more distance between them and taking away his heat.
The second man rolled his eye and slapped Dub’s shoulder and without a word turned on his heel, revealing a braid nearly as long as her own hair, and then disappeared back into the pub.
He had… dismissed her. Just as she’d been at home. A hollow pit opened in her belly. It was just as the other gods and goddesses had made her feel. They were not cruel, but without a purpose—and all but forgotten by her own worshippers—she’d often been relegated to the one standing outside the circle and looking in.
Or the one standing on a cold threshold, shivering in a foreign country, while lapis eyes gazed at her mockingly.
Enough. The visions had pointed her here. Teased her with the idea of having a new place, and friends. Shown her happiness and contentment. There had been a glimpse of those people needing her. There had been a… promise of hope. And no smug pig would stop her from finding out if this city could be that place.
Gripping the handle of her case, she shifted right up to the man blocking her path—right on the threshold—and confronted him, her heart pounding. “You will move, and you will show me my room. Now.” Bat allowed some of her remaining power to leak into her tones.
Dub’s eyes widened and the scowl fell away, replaced by a blankness that was even more foreboding in its own way. Not the reaction she’d expected. There was something there, an echo of something… extra. This was no mere human.
“Of course.” He stepped back and to the side.
Pushing her chin up, unwilling to show this not-man that he had intimidated her in any way, she stepped fully over the threshold. There was a pressure, followed by a slight pop and an assault on her senses. Power filled her. For one shining moment the room before her was laid bare. Each person’s past, their future, hers to see. The images came, too fast for her to sort.
But wasn’t that the way of it? She reveled in the colors, the feelings, the pure life of it. She’d not had a rush such as this in centuries. Longer. The last had been… just before Narmer conquered the Upper Kingdom, and she’d united with Horus and Set to ensure the lands stayed unified and peace reigned. So, much, much longer than mere centuries.
She pushed away the memories attempting to crowd in and let the new visions flow through her. The sorting would come later. Once she’d seen them, the images were hers and came when they were needed, as they were needed. It was the seeing itself that had always been unpredictable.
Oh, don’t you now remember, love
When you gave me your right hand
You vowed if you got married
That I should be the man
A voice filtered through the swirls of images, and her attention focused on the far side of the room, and on a man cradling a guitar. He stroked the strings with long fingers, bringing forth a delicate sound.
I wish I were a butterfly
I’d fly to my love’s nest
I wish I were a linnet
I’d sing my love to rest
His tenor was smooth and filled the room, carrying over the low conversations of the patrons. He smiled at her, his deep brown eyes merry despite the wistful yearning of the song’s melody. Something in his face reminded her of Dub. So, not a mere man either.
I wish I were a nightingale
I’d sing to the morning clear
I’ll hold you in my arms, my love
The girl I love so dear
She stood before him now, and the room she hadn’t really seen fell away until she and this man existed alone. Joy and sadness and something that may have been affection wrapped around her.
The girl I love so dear
The last note faded, and with it those feelings as well. Bat became aware of the smile stretching across her face, matching the man’s, and blinked back the tears that had gathered in her eyes. She wasn’t even upset that he’d manipulated her so thoroughly. It was deftly done, and she sensed no malice in it, just a wish to share a song. Besides, he’d distracted her from the state of her fingers.
The chair to his left was occupied by a slightly-built, red-haired man holding a fiddle, but the seat to his right was empty. She gestured to it. “May I?”
He gestured to the chair, inviting her to join them. “We’ve got a bit of a sing-song going. Do ya play?”
“Mell.” Dub’s voice cut across the room. He still stood near the door, arms crossed and her case beside him.
The musician, Mell, gave a dismissive wave. “It’s not a bother. If she’s after renting the room, she’ll be seeing the bar. She should get to know the patrons, and us.” He turned in his chair, angling toward her. “So, do ya? Play?”
“Some. It’s… been a while.” More like a few centuries since she touched anything other than a sistrum. She missed it. Then why have I not played? Had her life really become that confined—had she become so limited in herself?—she stopped indulging in even the simplest of pleasures? Such as playing any instrument she cared to? Yes. “And, it was never anything like that,” she continued. “That was beautiful. Maybe after my fingers thaw out?”
“Classical training?” he asked, still wearing his smile with ease, though it had gone from joyous to gentle.
She snorted. “Something like that.”
“Here.” The second man, the one-eyed giant, stood beside her. She’d been too absorbed in Mell to notice his approach. He held a mug out to her, steam rising from the top. “Take off yer coat, it’s just keeping ya wet. Have a sit and we’ll get ya settled when the night’s done.”
She struggled out of the coat and traded it for the mug. An earthy yet sweet scent rose from the green-glazed clay, and wonderful heat seeped into her fingers. She took a cautious sip, and that warmth fl
owed down her throat and spread through her belly. Tea, with a dab of honey, and something more with a bite. It was good.
And this one-eyed man had shown care for her. Had brought her tea without having to be asked or telling her to make it herself. And the third man, the music-maker, had so casually invited her to join in with his friend. Maybe they were different from the majority of her own people. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “As Mell said, it’s no bother.”
“I’m Bat.”
That got a small uptick of his mouth. “I know. We rented ya the room. It was on your application.”
“Oh.” Of course. Heat flooded her cheeks. She’d not been completely isolated over these last centuries. She knew what the Internet was. She read, tried to keep up on the current events of the world. But it was one thing to read of them, and another to experience them. Even such a small thing as filling in information onto a screen, and having it appear thousands of kilometers away seemed something magical, something a god would be able to do—and humans did it every day.
His brows pinched. “Did you not do your research on who you were renting from?”
“Are you not trustworthy?” She raised a brow.
“And you are deflecting.” The giant crossed his arms and frowned.
Flash. The giant, a great sword in his hands, blade covered in blood, pieces of gore clinging to the tip. Leather armor protected his chest and tattoos stood out along his arms, stylized animals and circling spirals. He wore a savage expression and his hair hung loose, falling around his shoulders.
Bat took another sip of tea, stalling for time. She’d known as soon as she crossed the threshold that this place was special, a temple of sorts, possibly. Altogether, it appeared her new landlords were as well. Were they gods as well? Forgotten and diminished as she had been? Or maybe sorcerers, as the ancient priests had been?
“Well?”
“I had a friend help me. I wanted to spend some time in the area. But I haven’t… done much traveling. She chose the place, helped me fill out the application.” A room with three extremely attractive landlords? Yes, Bastet would see that as a very good idea.
“And you trust her that much?”
“For gods’ sake, let her alone. We’re not axe murderers, and she’s here now.” Mell hit a dissonant chord on his guitar. “And tell her yer name already.”
The giant ignored his brother. “Well, Bat, it’s glad I am you made it to us with no harm. I am Searbhan O’Loinsigh.”
“Except you can call him Shar. He’s the only one of us to get saddled with a completely unpronounceable name.” Mell strummed a new melody and turned to the redhead next to him. “Ready, Dano?”
Bat smiled up at Shar. “I thank you for your concern.” It was unnecessary, but she did appreciate it. He probably needed to… take a chill pill. It was one of her favorite, recently learned, terms. She’d overheard a young woman on the bus use it to describe another passenger who complained through the whole ride.
Shar gave a short nod, strode through the tables and slid behind a narrow bar set up along the wall to her right. It was made of a solid slab of scarred wood, stained a deep brown, and polished to a sheen. Shelves of bottles and glasses lined the wall behind it, and a few patrons sat on stools. Others sat at tables dotted around the room, heads bent together. There was even a short set of no more than three booths at the front, near the entrance. An occasional burst of laughter sounded out above Mell and Dano’s song. One man sat alone in a corner booth, a pipe hanging from his lips and smoke winding up from the bowl.
Unthinking, she toed off her flats and pulled her legs up, getting comfortable. Dub crossed the room with her case, disappearing through a doorway near the end of the bar and returning a few minutes later without it. The yeasty scents of beer and bread, the bite of alcohol, and the sweet aroma of tobacco lulled her. She continued to sip her tea as her limbs finally thawed.
Her gaze landed on a small harp propped against the rear wall. Her fingers twitched, remembering fingerings and patterns. She rose, her bare feet hitting the rough flagstone floor, and crossed to where it sat near a small hearth. It waited there, for someone—no, the right one—to make it come alive again.
She picked it up. Made of a mellow wood that was carved with fish, birds, and spirals, it felt light in her hands. She plucked a string and the tone it made matched the wood—smooth and golden.
She turned back to her seat and Mell watched her, a curiously intent look on his face. Dano shot her a side-eyed glance but kept his chin down, holding his fiddle in place. Neither one broke the melody of their current tune, though she felt their full attention on her. A quick survey of the other patrons yielded either curious looks or quickly averted eyes.
All right. Resuming her seat, Bat ran a finger along the edge of the harp, sending a small pulse of power into it. An answering tingle came back, and the wood hummed. An enchanted instrument then, or one that had been used in many rituals. Well, she was no stranger to these.
Folding one leg under her, she placed the instrument in her lap. She didn’t play, not right away. Instead, she listened to the rhythm of Mell’s song, and how Dano accompanied him. When she had it, she began.
There were a few false notes and a few missed strings; the spacing was new to her. But she adapted, and soon her song merged with theirs.
When they finished, Mell stared at her, something close to awe on his face. She hadn’t seen that expression in far too long.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“I am Bat.”
He shook his head and set aside the guitar, his face hard. There was a warrior side to him now, just as there was in his brothers. “No. I know your name. Who are you? What are you?” He paused, but not long enough for her to speak. “You have power. We felt it at the threshold, and it grew as you entered. But you are no fae, nor are you of the clans. And you are not of the Fomoiri, I would know. So, who are you?”
She tilted her head to the side, her hair sliding along her shoulder. The terms he threw out sounded vaguely familiar, though their meanings escaped her for the moment. “I am Bat. That is who I am. I am… I am she of the two faces.” Who was she? She used to be the Unifier, the peace of the lands. She used to be a fertility goddess and presided over festivals and rites. She used to be an advisor for the kings, showing them the truth of the past and the future. She used to be a guide for the dead, flying with their spirits and reuniting the pieces of their souls. She used to be a nurturer, and a savior, and a guardian against chaos. All these things she used to be, at one time or another.
Now… she was a forgotten goddess, seeking a bit of peace.
His face eased, as though he could sense her thoughts. “Well, Bat, she of the two faces, would you like to play another? You start, we’ll follow.” He took up his instrument and glanced at Dano, who nodded. Bat didn’t get anything from the smaller red-haired man to indicate he was also a diminished god or sorcerer, but surely he must be—they all must be—to be sitting in a locked pub on the night of another holy man’s celebration?
The strings of the harp quivered under her fingers, as though asking to be plucked. She started slow, picking out the mostly forgotten tune as it came to her, filling in the missing notes with snips of new music inspired by this land. Her fellow musicians came in slowly, weaving around her melody, supporting it, enhancing it. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the moment.
A voice joined them from across the pub, singing in a language she didn’t know, with words that flowed in counterpoint to her melody, blending with Mell’s guitar. After another moment a new one, higher pitched and feminine, accompanied it.
She could feel Mell’s powers reaching out to both her and the patrons, and she seized upon it. She could sense the balance of it, but also that something was missing. Comfort. And that was something she could provide.
It all came together, and for one shining point in time, she felt at home.
Chapter 3
DUB O�
�LOINSIGH
Dub took his place behind the bar and studied the patrons, looking for signs of unrest or protest against the newcomer. Tonight, they had mostly regulars, minus the humans. In addition, there was a pooka in the corner and a banshee at the bar. He knew them, but not well. They tended to keep to themselves most of the time and rarely came to town.
The girl, Bat, started up another song, his brother and Dano following her lead.
Not a girl, though, is she? If his research was correct, she was a damned Egyptian goddess. He’d tested her at the door, needing to push her into showing herself—her power—if she had any.
Well, he succeeded.
She’d pushed him back. Not physically, but the flavor of her power was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It had felt like Brigid, but... not. It was warmer, though somehow distant. As if this being, this woman, was so far removed from the reality of everyday existence that she would slip through his fingers in an instant.
Definitely the taste of a goddess, not a mere immortal, and a far, far cry from the young woman she resembled. That she was Egyptian added both a good helping of anger and a dash of fascination to the situation. He wondered how many of the patrons were of the original immortals to come to Ireland, and just how many of those remembered their true origins, and what had driven them from the land of their birth.
He himself was not one, but he’d heard the tales from his father, who’d heard them from his own. Of a land of gods so numerous that all beings other than the humans needed to sustain them were driven from the land. That it had all happened before the great flood—also before his time—had never mattered to his father.
When Bat stepped into the pub and over the threshold, the world shifted. Every single one of the patrons had felt it. Whether it was a shift for the better or not, they would find out soon.
Then she went and picked up the Uaithne, the Dagda’s harp. Left at the pub nearly six centuries ago—by the god himself—with the cryptic words “for the Unifier,” it had sat there since. For who would dare to touch it? Apparently a nearly nonexistent Egyptian goddess.
The Forgotten Trilogy Page 2
