The Forgotten Trilogy

by Cecilia Randell

She snorted. “No. But it would be an interesting recipe to try. How would you like to be my second pirate?”

  His lips tightened in suppressed mirth and his shoulders shook.

  “I mean, I would not want to take a finger, even the little one, it may affect your playing. And Shar has already lost one eye. I suppose I could take an eye and a finger from Dub, but is that really fair?” She snuggled into the back of the chair, her eyes drooping closed once more.

  Mell half rose and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “No, it would not be fair. If it comes to that, you can have an eye, my blood-thirsty goddess.”

  She gave him a half-smile. “Okay.”

  “Rest. I’ll check on Dub and those damned pixies.” Clothing rustled as he passed behind her chair, heading for the back door.

  “Wait.”

  The footsteps halted.

  “When do the other men of ba arrive?” Ari had come with them to the cottage, but his companions had returned to the forest for reinforcements, so she had yet to scan them. She didn’t want to fall asleep before then.

  “Not until morning. Rest. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

  She curled her toes in the fuzzy-socks, enjoying the softness. Whoever had invented them was truly brilliant. “All right.”

  DUB

  The forge was a mess.

  Dub, Finn and Cu Chulainn stood in the stone building, surveying the disaster.

  “At least everything is still here,” Finn said.

  Dub grunted. Yes, everything was still here, but he must have not secured a window the last time he used the place to make Dano’s tools, because there was debris everywhere. Something had nested in the kindling he liked to use to light the hearth, and coal, coke breeze and ash had been blown and flung around the space.

  He poked at the hearth, digging around until he uncovered the tuyere—the blast pipe from the blower. A lump of cold clinker nearly blocked the hole and he fished it out as well, tossing it onto the workbench for now.

  The bench and clamps were in order. All the tools were in their stands and slots. The anvil, floor mandrel, and swag block were also right where they should be. His supply of black iron and pre-smelted steel, and other metals, were in their storage racks and drawers. No, there had been no thief, he really had simply left a window open.

  Damnit.

  “We’ll help you get cleaned up and then go for anything you need. You concentrate on figuring out how we’re going to turn that shard into what we need,” Finn said, plucking a broom from the far corner where the cleaning tools were kept.

  Cu Chulainn grunted. “We need rest, and soon.”

  Dub’s lip curled into a sneer before he could stop it. Finn rolled his eyes. Cu Chulainn had been harping on that same thing since mid-afternoon.

  “Don’t be rolling your eyes at me, Finn Cumhaill. You know I am correct. The only one of us to get any sleep in the last two days was the goddess, and the green-haired fairy. Even the bomen stayed up the night long to work on tracking the cauldron.”

  That was true. They hadn’t been able to pinpoint an exact location, but they were certain of the direction. Northwest, far enough away that it was no longer on land, and travelling farther through the night. The hope was that the cauldron was on its way to Tir Hudi, or Balor, and that when the time came to follow the connection would grow clearer the closer they drew.

  Which meant they needed a ship. His stomach churned in protest at what kind of deal he would need to strike with his father…

  Cuchi grabbed up a dusting brush and got started on the workbench and clamps. They’d need to be free of any contaminants and impurities. “We don’t get some rest soon, we’ll start making mistakes. There’s no need to be going without, not yet.”

  Dub’s fists curled and he took a step toward the other warrior. Then paused. Cuchi’s eyes were bruised not just from Dub’s hits, but from exhaustion. He, Finn and the rest of the guardi had spent the night and day not only checking each piece of clothing or personal item being brought from the pub, but also working on a way to track the spell that had been laid into the invitation back to its caster.

  Whatever Dub thought of Cuchi, the man was skilled when it came to enchantments and rune-work. Of all the immortals in Connaught, he was probably second only to Oisin. He was also nothing if not clever, especially when it came to the manipulation of raw power. As he’d put it, “How do you think I got the reputation I have?”

  There had been something attached to the invitation, a kind of scrying spell, just as they’d suspected, and as Bat’s vision had shown. They hadn’t succeeded in following it back just yet, but Cu Chulainn, Oisin and Sean from Finn’s unit had worked up a way to trail the connection to the original caster the next time that connection was opened. It all depended on when—and if—that happened.

  “Go get some rest, then,” Dub finally said, grudgingly. “And find Oisin. Take him with you. We do need you two sharp.”

  “He crashed as soon as the wards here were done,” Finn offered.

  Good. That was good. Dub sighed. The O’Loinsigh brothers were finally in over their heads, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. This particular fight wasn’t one he could walk away from, now that his goddess had become involved.

  For a half-second, he contemplated drugging her and his brothers and shipping them off to Alaska. That should be far enough away, right? Let the gods and sidhe and other immortals battle it out once more, let them kill each other off.

  What true warrior doesn’t enjoy the kill? His father’s words slid through his mind. His hand twitched and he itched to pick up his hammer, to beat his frustration out against iron and steel.

  “Is that him?” The voice was light with music.

  Damn pixies.

  “Of course, it’s him.”

  Great, there was a second one.

  “How long have you lived here you don’t know the smith when he shows up?”

  Dub groaned. There were three. And where there were three, more were soon to follow.

  “She told us to help, didn’t she?” the first voice said. It was slightly lower than the others. “But are we helping the frowning one or the bald one? Or is it the golden one?”

  Dub’s eyes closed as he grabbed at the ends of his frayed temper, and Finn coughed.

  “I’m out,” Cuchi said, heading for the door. “Wake me when there’s food.”

  “I guess it’s not the bald one,” the third voice squeaked.

  “It’s the frowning one, I’m telling you. He’s the smith. He was here only a couple months ago. Are you so blinded by the diddies you don’t remember?”

  “Shhhhhh.”

  Diddies? He could guess whose. Dub’s eyes shot open as those frayed ends slipped from his grasp, and he spun toward the voices. One of the vent-opening shutters was ajar, and three pixies hovered there, fading sunlight flashing silver, red and pink through their wings.

  The pink one chirped and they darted out of sight.

  Finn let out a laugh. “Ah, so ferocious, the sight of him scares the pixies away.”

  “Don’t mock me.” What business did those pests have with talking about diddies?

  “What mocking? I’d love to have the ability. Bad as mosquitoes most of the time. Even the ones at the office.” Finn went to the far side of the room and began sweeping. Dust flew into the air. “But… they are useful.”

  Dub kicked the anvil. It screeched to the left, leaving tracks in the floor. With a sigh, he nudged it back into place then turned to the window. “Get in here.”

  The three figures zipped into view.

  “Clean only. Everything stays were it is.”

  Heads and bodies bobbed in agreement. The red one zipped above the others in a jerk then settled, wings flying in a blur. “We can guard, too.” Its little chest puffed forward. “I hear goddesses appreciate a good guarding.”

  The pink one fluttered to his side and slapped him. “Don’t say dirty things about goddesses. It’s a good way
to give them an excuse to smite you.”

  He didn’t need to listen to this. “Clean. Quietly.”

  The three froze, then zipped into action. They really were efficient. It took another hour, but he, Finn, and the pixies got the forge into working order.

  Now, to finally get to work. The real work. “I need the shard.”

  Finn cast a warning look at the pixies.

  “The one off the cauldron? I know where it is. Do you want me to go fetch it?” The silver one was out the window before Dub could say anything one way or the other. And that was the trouble with pixies. They knew far too much, and were far too able at getting into places they shouldn’t be. If it really did come back with the shard, he, Finn and the entirety of the guardi would need to reevaluate their warding skills. Hells, he already needed to do just that, based on what happened at the pub.

  It was a few minutes later that the silver pixie zipped back into the forge with a pouting face and crossed arms. “Stupid sidhe. Stupid druids. Stupid wards. Take the fun from things.”

  Dub suppressed a sigh of relief and scowled. “Don’t be trying to go into places you shouldn’t, and you won’t have trouble with wards. Get out. Now. The rest is for me to do.”

  The pixies exchanged a look and Finn grinned.

  “But the goddess told us to help you,” the red one protested. “What if we just stay quiet? We can fetch, or play messenger. We don’t mind.”

  Dub opened his mouth to deny them, and the pink one cut in. “Ciara also told us to help. And we know what you, and the goddess, did for Dano. Both the Littles and the Bigs are agreed. We will repay the Egyptian goddess’s kindness. And yours.”

  His eyes slid closed. There was no arguing with the pixies once a decision like that had been made. While widespread, they were one of the most tightly knit communities amongst the fae. Once “the pixies” agreed, that was it. They were a little like demented bees with a collective consciousness. Some even had stingers.

  “I’m out,” Finn said, heading for the door. “I’ll fetch the shard then check in on Shar.”

  “He’s probably in the garden, or patrolling the borders of the land.” Once Bat and her things had been settled in the cottage and the wards were set, Shar had disappeared into the small copse of trees near the rear of the property. There was also a small garden near there that Shar had begun a few centuries ago. It was not as well maintained as the one at the pub, but working on it would no doubt do much to restore Shar’s equilibrium. Dub understood. A lot had happened, and it had ever been his youngest brother’s habit to retreat to the land when he needed to sort his thoughts.

  Finn gave a short nod then disappeared, leaving Dub to his—almost—solitude. He sent one more admonishing glare at the pixies then pulled out the sketchpad.

  The wisest course would be to create a cast of the shard, so he could forge the other pieces without damaging it. Doing that would take too long, though, and he didn’t have all the necessary materials here in the forge. He’d have to work directly with the shard through the whole process.

  The tricky part was going to be fusing the stone and metal—it was not something that could be done in the normal world. Oh, there were clever clasps and fastenings and inlays, but he needed the structural integrity of a true fuse if the shard was to be incorporated into a spearhead.

  He needed to recreate whatever was done to the vessel that turned it into a cauldron. For a brief moment he contemplated calling upon Goibniu, but his old teacher would not appreciate it, and could just as likely do something to sabotage the spear as help Dub make it. The Smith was… cantankerous.

  Finn returned a few minutes later and laid the shard on the workbench. Without a word he disappeared back out the door, leaving Dub to his work.

  Dub examined the stone, not as an immortal this time, but as a craftsman. Three of the sides were smooth, nearly as slick as obsidian. Those wouldn’t work. There was a notch on one end, and around the other side were three grooves. These he could use. They would help the metal find sturdy purchase with the stone.

  Sketching a rough outline of the shard, he concentrated on those rough points. Then he began the creation of the runes. He’d need Strength, and Unity. Earth, and metal. He was mixing Irish Ogham runes and the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc brought by the Druids, but this type of magic was less about the technicalities and more about the precision of intent and meaning. He needed to convince and direct the magic, and magic only ever did exactly what you told it to do. No more and no less.

  He examined his construction. There was something missing. Strength, Unity, Earth, and Metal. What was missing…?

  What was the shard? It wasn’t only stone, or earth.

  For Bat, it was… creation?

  Life.

  But that wasn’t all. He needed this spear to not only give life, but to take it. It was a weapon, after all.

  Death.

  Once more he studied the runes. He sketched them again, Life and Death opposite each other, interlocking with the other four. A current started, a low pulse of energy.

  But it still wasn’t enough.

  What else was missing…? Dub didn’t sigh, and he didn’t shift on the stool. He started again, sketching the runes in another pattern. This was what the Smith had taught him. Not just the working of metal, but the crafting of it. And to truly craft, you needed to be able to craft the magic. You needed to envision the end result of your creation, to… project it from your mind into the universe.

  It was not something that could be done if you were impatient, or angry. In this place, in his forge, Dub could finally shed the frustrations and worries of the last couple months. Distantly aware that the pixies hovered in the rafters, he concentrated. Mell came with a plate of food and then left.

  Still he sketched.

  Night fell, and he lit the lamps. His eyes did not droop, and his fingers did not cramp. He was on the last page of the sketchpad when he found the missing piece. He placed it in the middle, between Life and Death, Metal and Earth, Strength and Unity. It tied them together, and created the bond he’d need to fuse the steel to the shard.

  Love. A mother’s love for her children, even those gone astray.

  The tingle of power surged as he placed the last stroke of pencil to paper. He sat back, satisfied with the day’s work. Tomorrow he would begin forging the spearhead. He’d lay the runes upon the floor of the forge, and upon the anvil. He’d sketch them over the steel and over the shard, and chant them as he worked.

  As much as he hated to admit it, though, Cuchi was right. He needed to rest while he could. For now, for tonight, he was done. And he had a goddess to find.

  He missed her.

  Chapter 15

  Bastie,

  I… have no words. But let me just tell you, the grumpy one knows what he is doing…

  - Bat, a satisfied goddess

  BAT

  She shifted, pressing herself into the soft mattress beneath her.

  “I only need a drop. Just a drop and a tune.”

  The words were soft, seductive.

  She opened her eyes to nothing, the dark pressing in on her. She tried to sit, tried to push herself up, but failed. Something bound her to the bed.

  “Just a drop of blood, sweet goddess, and a tune on the harp. That’s not too much to ask, now is it?”

  She blinked. Nothing. There was nothing there, not the bedroom, not the heavy wood rafters of the ceiling, not the posts of the bed frame, not the bedside lamp or the green-curtained windows.

  “I’m not so bad, you know. All I’ve ever wanted was the best for my men, my people. The gods, they neglected us.” The voice wove through her, seeking out the hollow places. It found a pinprick hole in her soul and slid in. “I know they’ve neglected you as well. I wouldn’t do that, sweet goddess. Not to someone like you, not to anyone. I’ve worked hard to return, to come back to those who need me. How could I turn from someone such as you, who needs so much?”

  She knew this voice no
w. It was Balor, somehow. He had penetrated their wards and come into her dreams. Or was this a vision? …Then where was her sight?

  “Oh, they taught you so little of the ways of the soul, and of life. How have you survived?” A hint of derision crept into Balor’s tone and broke the spell he’d been weaving.

  But he was still there, still in her somehow. She was weak, drained from the efforts of the deep scans she’d performed that day, and had yet to be able to replenish herself. Mell had brought her dinner and she’d gotten kisses from him, Shar and Finn before they sent her to bed. The small boosts might be enough…

  She gripped the tendrils of seduction and deceit that Balor had sent seeking through her and tore them apart. They retreated then surged forward, invading through the weak points he’d found. Points she only now realized were not her imagination, but rips in her soul caused by the losses of her existence and past pain.

  These were tears she could not afford to have. She called upon Mother Sky for strength. Please. Please, help me now.

  And she was answered. The response was distant, as though Mother Sky was farther away than a few thousand kilometers, but it did come. Power filtered through her, carrying a hint of dry air, warm sand, and clean lotus. Sending a pulse of thanks, Bat directed this power to the shadowed tendrils, forcing them from her and sealing the tears. It was a patch, not a true healing, but it would hold.

  The only thing that would truly heal those tears was time, and trust. One she didn’t have, but the other she was working on.

  As Mother Sky withdrew, she sent a final pulse of power, just a spark really. This is all I may give now, child. But it should be all you need from me. A rush of tenderness came to Bat, echoing the feeling from the shard.

  “Storeen.”

  Bat stirred, freed from whatever it was that held her immobile. She blinked again, and Dub’s face came into focus, bent over her. There were dark smudges under his bright blue eyes, and a dark stubble dusted his jaw. A lock of hair fell over his brow, and she reached up to push it aside.