The Forgotten Trilogy

by Cecilia Randell

  “We got it,” Dub said as soon as Finn answered, skipping the greetings. “The Blue Heron, up at the Keeley docks. It’ll be ready in about an hour, but you might as well head up that way and get settled in. We’ll be right behind you.”

  Then Dub hung up, not even waiting for Finn’s acknowledgement.

  Finn’s fingers tightened around the phone. What had crawled up the Fomoiri’s ass and died? Did something happen to Bat, to my goddess?

  He froze as dread filled him. Possibilities flashed through his mind before he could get himself under control. No, whatever happened had nothing to do with Bat. Otherwise, the eldest O’Loinsigh would not have been so calm. He’d been curt and cold, but he’d been in control.

  Finn shifted and turned away from the prying eyes of the now quiet group of ragtag fae. He needed a moment to gather his balance.

  It had been happening more and more. Ever since he allowed Bat into his heart, ever since he acknowledged the possibility of loving again—of loving her. Ever since the conversation where he told her he didn’t know if he loved her, or ever could.

  He’d been lying—both to himself and to her. He just… wasn’t ready to admit anything. Not until this was over, not until he knew she wouldn’t be ripped away from him by fate.

  He’d known that pain before. Not once, but twice. His first wife had been cursed into the form of a deer and forced to leave him. He’d searched for a cure for centuries before finally admitting defeat. Despite all this, he'd continued to visit her, but eventually she’d forgotten her former life and husband.

  Then there had been Grainne. While he now knew that he hadn’t fully loved her, it had certainly felt like it at the time. The pain of loosing her not just once, but twice still haunted him. He did not regret that day nearly three months ago, or what he’d done in the shadow of Benbulben. He’d worked long and hard to carve those emotions from himself.

  If he lost Bat… he wouldn’t survive. And he knew it.

  Drawing one last deep breath, he turned back to the assembled fae.

  A few dozen fae. A few dozen immortals who were used to being on their own. A few dozen allies whose very nature dictated their rivalries.

  How in all creation was this even supposed to work?

  He trusted Bat, he did. She claimed this was what needed to happen for them to finally take down Balor. That these were the people they needed, that these few would allow them the advantages necessary to prevail.

  He trusted in Bat and her intuition and insight and visions.

  He just didn’t have to like being made to work with such amateurs. He was a trained soldier, once the leader of the Fianna, and currently a captain of the Guardi.

  “So, where we off to now?” Meera snapped at him.

  Finn sucked in a breath, this time out of frustration instead of apprehension. “Keeley Docks. They got a boat.”

  Saoirse stepped forward. “Do you know what kind?”

  “No.” He paused. “Can you operate it?” He knew she was a selkie, but that didn’t necessarily mean she could operate a ship. The seal-shifters lived in the ocean, not on it.

  She shrugged. “Possibly. Have to see what type it is.”

  Finn nodded, putting his attention back on the immediate task at hand. “Anyone else have experience sailing or operating a motor vessel?”

  “Sailing, yes. Engines, no.” That was Con.

  Teagan stepped forward. “No boat experience, but I’m good with machines. Very good,” the banshee said.

  “Anyone else?” He had hoped for more, but wasn’t surprised. Most of the fae they’d gathered were earthbound, taking their powers from the land in one way or another. The Fomoiri were the immortal race that had always dominated the waters around Ireland.

  Dechtire, the silver haired goblin, raised her hand. “I have a small fishing vessel. It’s only a six-meter, but I’m not lost aboard a boat.” She gave Finn a wry smile. “I’ll know what ya mean when ya say ‘port’, and I won’t think ya mean wine.”

  Finn nodded. With these four, and the brothers, they would probably be able to manage. The immediate priority was to get away from the reach of the Wild Hunt while they strategized the next steps for when they reached Tir Hudi and the cauldron. “We’ll finish this up once we’re aboard. It’ll take about an hour to have the boat ready and fueled, according to Dub, so that gives us time to sort things. You four,” he continued, pointing at those who had spoken up, “will go to Dub as soon as we arrive and tell him exactly what you have experience with. The rest of you, stay alert and out of the way.” He paused. “And behave.”

  They shouldered their packs once more. He gestured everyone closer, stretched his arm behind him to pat the harp hanging over his back, nodded, and then twisted his hands, taking them to the next leg of their journey.

  He managed to land them in an empty parking lot designated for the owners of the boats moored at the Keeley Docks. It was a lesser-known marina, luckily, and mid-morning on a weekday didn’t see many people in this area.

  “Let’s go.” He headed for the walk that lead to the docks below, making sure that Old Mike and the human were close behind him. That man was a key piece to unraveling Balor’s plans, and he couldn’t get away.

  “I’m staying behind, now that ya have yer boat,” Finnegan said and didn’t move.

  Finn turned back to him, waving the others to continue. “Not an option.”

  The barkeep crossed his arms over his chest. “I got no business in this.”

  Finn pulled in a deep breath, analyzing the scent. He’d assumed Finnegan was at least part Fomoiri. Crisp apples and the scent of fresh grass after a rain filled his senses. Under it was… holly? “Druid?” he asked.

  The man nodded.

  Huh. Lone druids weren’t that common these days. Most had found themselves in the employ of the Tribunal centuries ago, like Ruith, the seer. While powerful in the use of runes and other learned magics, they didn’t have inherent powers like other immortals. Their longevity was due to the amount of energy they channeled through their body from the earth, as opposed to being born that way.

  “Not a call I can make on my own,” he finally told the druid.

  The other man’s lips thinned, but he shrugged and started forward.

  They brought up the rear of the odd procession.

  “We could use someone skilled in runes,” Finn said, keeping his tone conversational.

  “The boys know everything I do.”

  The boys? Finnegan made it sound like he was older than the O’Loinsigh brothers, and Dub was at least four millennia old. The druids officially landed in Ireland only twenty-five hundred years ago.

  “How exactly do you know Dub and the others?”

  Finnegan twisted his head to study Finn as they approached a set of stairs leading down to the quay. “Let’s just say I helped them out a time or two, a while back. And let’s just say that they’ve occasionally returned the favor.”

  Finn didn’t reply. That was probably as much as he would get out of the man. Truthfully, it was all he needed. Immortals led extremely long lives. There was not one person or deity who knew the totality of what he himself had experienced. He did not need to know the whole of someone else’s existence. Sometimes the best thing to do was to leave the past in the past.

  As long as this man posed no threat to him or his goddess, he would let the past lie.

  Just then five figures appeared on a pier about fifty meters away next to a medium sized cruising trawler, maybe twenty-five meters long. It was older and a little beat up around the edges, but the deep blue paint-job was fresh, and not a speck of rust was in sight. There was a small observation tower above the bridge, and the upper cabin took up at least half the upper deck.

  Finn wasn’t too familiar with boats, just enough to know some basic terms, but he had to admit that it looked like it was going to be a tight fit to get everyone on there. There would definitely be more than a few bodies bunking under the stars and stretched
out on the foredeck…

  The other fae had spotted Bat and the O’Loinsighs, and headed toward the boat. Or was it ship? He honestly didn’t know.

  Finn was bringing up the rear with Finnegan, about halfway down the wharf running parallel to shore, when the attack came.

  Chapter 9

  DUB

  Why fucking me?

  That’s the only thought that would stay in his head.

  After dealing with the nightmare that was his father, and keeping Mell from exploding, Dub was ready to grab Bat and leave everything behind. And he meant everything.

  He really didn’t care about the cauldron, gods, or Balor and what the fucker was trying to do. He cared about his brothers, his pub, and Bat. Unfortunately, Bat cared about what Balor was up to and the repercussions of his return, so…

  So, Dub was now busy mentally brushing up on his knowledge of sea-faring motor vessels. It had been a decade or so since he last had anything to do with the sea.

  As he scanned over The Blue Heron, he decided that luck was falling on his side. His asshole father had actually given him a boat he knew a little something about; and it was old enough that unless it had had a major refit some time in the last couple of years, he would be able to helm the damned thing.

  He waited impatiently for one of his father’s men to come greet them. Bat, Shar, Mell, and Cuchi stood beside him on the pier. Bat shifted, restless. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but held it in.

  What did she think of Da? He’d been focused on Mell and Da while in the office, but the few glimpses he’d caught of Bat’s expression… her expressions weren’t what he’d expected.

  Not that he knew what he’d expected, but she’d smiled at the asshole.

  Dub didn’t like it.

  From the corner of his eye he caught the group of people approaching from the walk above. The dull sound of their steps echoed once they hit the pier and soft murmurs from their conversation floated on the gentle breeze.

  Aside from the occasional creak as a boat rubbed against the docks, it was the only sound in the marina.

  That wasn’t right.

  Dub stiffened. “Mell,” he said. He didn’t need to say more.

  Mell tilted his head. “There are blank spots.”

  “Fuck,” Shar said, his voice low. He moved behind Bat once more, ready to grab her at the first hint of danger.

  Cuchi was a second or two behind them in realizing what was going on. But he did catch on. “How many?” he asked.

  Dub shoved aside the ever-present resentment that welled any time he had to acknowledge the warrior’s presence. They would never be friends, they were barely allies, but he had enough maturity to push the past aside—at least for his goddess’s sake.

  “At least a dozen blank spots,” Mell answered, keeping his voice low. “Three on the boat, the rest…”

  The attack came from the water. A half dozen Fomoiri shot into the air with a spray of salt water. They headed directly for Bat, barely sparing a glance for the men surrounding her. Shar wrapped his arms around her and spun, running down the pier toward the wharf, and the additional fae who were only a dozen meters away by this time.

  Dub blocked two of the men, pushing them back just enough to give him the room to pull his sword from its fold of space. He spun and attacked. He wouldn’t be able to kill them, this wasn’t that type of blade, but he needed to incapacitate them.

  They needed to get on that boat and out to sea. He could only hope that whoever was waiting for them aboard hadn’t had the time to sabotage anything vital.

  He twisted his head to check on Bat. Shar still had her. Mell was beside them, his own sword out and held at the ready. Bright spots of color winked above them all—pink, red, silver, violet. The pixies were diving at the Fomoiri, causing just enough distraction to keep them off balance, for now.

  Dub knew what he had to do, but it went against every instinct he had. He turned away from his goddess and back to the boat. The gangway was in place, a narrow bridge from the pier to the foredeck. He needed to get on board, take out the men Mell had sensed, and get the boat started.

  “What are you waiting for?” Cuchi spat out, then headed up toward the boat.

  Dub was a step behind him. “I’ll head for the bridge. You find the engine room.”

  Cuchi nodded and stepped lightly over the gunwale and onto the deck, heading directly for a companionway at the rear of the cabin. Dub went the opposite direction, toward the bow of the boat and the door to the bridge.

  There really was no time for him to stop and analyze the situation, but he took a few seconds nevertheless.

  Who out of the clan would be the most likely to sympathize with Balor and side with Scath against their father? Which men could he expect to come against? He’d recognized a few of the faces that went after Bat in the half-second he’d had to recognize them. They were among the oldest and strongest of the clan.

  Figures.

  They were also the ones who best remember what it had been like with Balor running things—the wars, the battles, the blood and victory and spoils.

  These were all things that were seductive to the Fomoiri—Dub admitted it. Hell, these were all things that called to him on a certain level. The Fomoiri thrived on conflict, and embraced and revered physical strength. They were a race that struggled to control themselves in this modern era of pseudo-peace.

  Bracing himself, he shoved open the door to the bridge. He took the room in, in a glance. Everything looked to be in place.

  There. A shimmer in the far corner.

  He didn’t hesitate. Tucking his sword back in its fold of space, he dove at the shimmer. His body hit hardened muscle and armor. The two Fomoiri crashed to the deck of the small space.

  Dub needed to finish this fast, or he needed to get them out of the small room. There were too many delicate controls and equipment here—equipment that wouldn’t be able to handle a sustained battle between two immortals.

  He grabbed the now visible man and rolled. There was a sharp pain in his side as the smell of copper filled the air. He didn’t pause, just wrapped his arms tighter around the man, and squeezed. He put all his strength into it.

  A sharp grunt and crunching bone were his rewards. The man still struggled in Dub’s hold despite this. He pulled the dagger from the eldest O’Loinsigh’s side before thrusting it in again, this time twisting the blade.

  An all too familiar haze began to envelope Dub. The battle frenzy was coming on him. He needed to get out of the bridge before it took over, before all he could think about was destroying the enemy regardless of consequences.

  Dub shifted his arms, wrapping one around the man’s neck. Seconds. That was all he needed. If he could just get the correct hold, get the right pressure on the arteries in the neck, he could…

  There. Dub flexed his arm, uncaring if his strength did more than block the flow of blood. There was another crack as a few vertebrae gave way, and the man went limp.

  Dub sucked in gulps of air as he struggled to push back his thirst for blood and destruction.

  Not now, not now. Now is not the time. Need to get the boat started. Need to get it started for my goddess. For Bat. For Bat.

  The haze began to recede. Dub grabbed up the limp Fomoiri from where he’d fallen to the deck. It was Eichil. The Fomoiri was a few centuries older than Dub, and very skilled with a knife. He had a bit of ability with charming the air around him, which was how he’d been able to hide so well. He was usually used for reconnaissance missions, or assassination.

  Dub grabbed the back of his leather belt, dragged him from the bridge, and threw him over the side of the boat. Moments later Dub was at the helm, studying the controls.

  He knew this set-up. Good. The keys were also there. Doubly good.

  Vaguely he wondered what had happened to the men his father asked to prepare the boat. Someone had obviously begun complying with his father’s orders if the keys were where they needed to be.


  He powered up the boat. Lights lit up across the helm and gauges adjusted. They had a quarter tank of gas. Not good, but at least it wasn’t empty.

  The boat had power and basic capabilities. He pushed the button that would start the engines. A low rumble greeted him as faint vibrations made their way from the engine room and to the bridge deck. He kept the boat at a low idle and locked the controls.

  Now that he knew the boat was secure and still operable, he crossed to the bridge door and threw it open. He needed to see how the rest were faring.

  His heart stopped and his stomach dropped, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He wanted to charge down to the dock and jump into the fray, but he also knew that if he did, they risked losing the boat, and any chance of getting away.

  Chapter 10

  Bastie,

  Should I become a goddess of music?

  - Bat, who has no particular title at this time

  BAT

  Shar refused to set her down. She pinched his arm and twisted the skin. All he did was grunt.

  He was fighting against three men, two of them just as big as he was. Mell was there as well, but he had his own attackers to deal with. The pixies, faster than any of the other fae, had zipped forward and were diving at the attackers in semi-successful attempts to distract them.

  There was a cry behind them and Shar twisted his head. It was only a half-second, but it was enough to allow one of the larger men past his defenses. A blade sliced through the air heading directly for Bat’s face.

  Shar spun at the last moment and grunted.

  She knew he’d been hit.

  “Let me down, now.” He couldn’t fight them like this.

  He didn’t answer her. Instead, he ran toward the group of fae that had huddled together in defense, crossing Ari and the other men of ba as they ran to assist Mell.

  She and the brothers weren’t the only ones under attack. Finn and Finnegan were battling three more immortals as a fourth dragged Daniel and Mike away from the main group.