‘Fair enough. But am I going to get into trouble with Dad for this? Or worse, Hector?’
‘Probably,’ said Niamh. ‘When don’t you?’
Grady shook his head. ‘Great. Here we go again.’
‘Right,’ said Niamh decisively. ‘Let’s have a chat with the angry pixie.’
Quinn smiled and clapped his hands, calling Fingal’s name as he did. A flash of light lit the room and the one-eyed pixie appeared before their eyes, as angry as ever.
‘There’d better be a damn good reason for calling me again. Didn’t we do a good job for you today?’
‘Well it was certainly memorable,’ said Niamh as diplomatically as she could. ‘There’s something else we need your help with. Something only you can do.’
‘Extremely dangerous and every chance we’ll die at the end of it?’
‘Possibly,’ said Niamh nervously. The little pixie had a way of making her extremely uncomfortable but this time she had misread his mood.
‘Sounds like just the job for us!’ he said happily.
Niamh breathed a sigh of relief. She might be making the plan up as she went, but with Fingal and the pixies on her side she felt there was a chance, a slim one, that things might work out after all.
Chapter 24
The Circle of Stone
The afternoon light was already beginning to fade as the children touched down by the lake edge at Morrigan’s Daughter. Mountain tops were painted pink and gold as the westering sun faded towards the horizon.
The lake edge was unusually silent. Gentle waves lapped at the pebbled shore but not a breath of wind ruffled the treetops. A morepork hooted in the forest canopy but all sounds seemed to be muffled with the closing of the day.
‘There’s no one here,’ said Niamh softly as she and Grady walked towards the clearing and the circle of stone. The low light seemed amplified by the flecks of gold and silver that lay within the heart of the stones. An eerie glow emanated from the clearing as the children approached.
‘This looks weird,’ said Grady, feeling uneasy. ‘Why are the stones glowing like that?’
‘It’s the energy of the day being released,’ said a voice from behind them. The children spun round to see Aoife walking towards them. Her blood red clothing and bow looked a great deal more threatening than ever before. And they recognised them now for what they were. The clothes of a hunter.
Niamh stared at Aoife’s face wide-eyed. ‘Your scar!’ she said, pointing.
‘What of it?’ said Aoife, touching it gently.
‘You didn’t have that last time we saw you.’
‘You must be mistaken. I’ve had this since long before you were born.’
‘How long?’ said Grady accusingly. He looked for any trace in Aoife’s face that she was lying about her scar but there was nothing to suggest a lie. He moved slowly closer to Niamh until their shoulders were touching.
‘She really believes she’s always had the scar!’ said Niamh through the bond.
‘That scar came from your wand!’ said Grady. ‘But that was hundreds of years ago now!’
‘Better you don’t remind her then,’ said Niamh.
Aoife circled slowly around the children, smiling at them the same way a hunter would smile knowing the prey is trapped. She put herself between the stones and the children. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how I got this scar.’
‘You might be surprised,’ said Niamh coldly.
Aoife’s smile vanished as she gave Niamh a menacing look. ‘I thought I may have earned a little more care from you than that comment might suggest you are prepared to give.’
Niamh glowered back. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d guess the scar was caused by a blasting spell. Perhaps from a blackthorn wand,’ she said, drawing her own wand and dropping her broomstick to the ground.
Aoife, for the first time that Niamh could remember, looked puzzled. ‘You couldn’t possibly know what gave me this scar. And I think you should put your wand away. There’s no telling what … accidents … might happen when wands are drawn.’
Niamh felt anger rising at the sneer in the witch’s words. But she knew that now was a bad time to try to take on this sorceress. There was no sign of Azrael, and her mother was … somewhere else. But not here. And that was the important thing. ‘Who are you?’ she said, partly to buy time and partly because she wanted to hear the words herself. Whatever else the witch was, she had taught Niamh things her own family had not.
‘What a strange question!’ said Aoife, throwing back her head and laughing. The sound echoed around the clearing as if she had been joined by a chorus of cackling hags. ‘Who do you think I am?’
‘They do not need to ask you that,’ came a voice from the shadows in the forest. Niamh and Grady breathed a sigh of relief as an indistinct figure emerged into the light. The late evening sun highlighted the craggy visage of Azrael.
‘You,’ said Aoife quietly. There was no anger in her greeting. Just a loving sadness left from years of separation. ‘I wondered when you might come.’
‘Did you think I would leave these two to you? They are just children.’
Niamh felt dismissed by the coldness of Azrael’s words. They sounded as if he saw them as insignificant in the grand scheme of his plans.
‘These two?’ said Aoife, cocking her head to one side. ‘You do yourself a disservice. You and I both know they are more than two.’
Aoife laughed again and walked slowly across the clearing to Azrael. Niamh thought he looked suddenly old in the fading light, especially when measured against the radiance of the witch.
‘I’ve known from the start. But I had to see how far they had come, and how far they had to go. She is certainly her mother’s daughter. It didn’t take long to understand why I was drawn to them. I don’t think they know what they could be,’ she said with absolute certainty.
‘Still believing your own mad thoughts,’ said Azrael. ‘They know almost everything they need to know and when I am gone they will know it all.’
The Morrigan held his gaze as if trying to see the truth of his words in his eyes.
‘You are much more free with secrets than you once were.’
‘The time for secrets is long gone,’ said Azrael. ‘Why don’t you introduce yourself properly. I doubt you have done the children that honour yet.’
Aoife smiled at the children. ‘I think they know who I am. I think they have known for a while. Haven’t you, Niamh?’
Niamh’s heart thumped loudly in her chest. The gaze the witch cast upon them was that of a predator. ‘You’re the Morrigan,’ Niamh said quietly.
‘Well done,’ said the witch, but her mocking tone made it clear there was no praise in her words. ‘You have such promise. Do you know what you could accomplish?’
Azrael walked to a low stone off to the side of the circle and sat down. ‘I imagine then that you are here in your beneficence to help these two realise their potential.’
Aoife bowed, but the smile that graced her face did not touch her eyes. ‘I am but a servant of the powers you created. The children could be great, you know. Greater than you, greater than me. You gave them the chance to walk the path to that greatness.’
Azrael’s eyes swivelled sideways to the children. He held Niamh’s eye and gave her a sly wink before reaching beneath his robe. ‘The service you provide wouldn’t be the sort they need, my friend.’
Aoife looked sad at Azrael’s words. ‘Is that all I am to you? Your friend? After centuries of time and a shared history deeper than anyone on this earth could imagine? And after all that, you would draw your wand on me?’
Azrael stood again and withdrew his wand from beneath his robe. The finely carved elm nestled into his hand as if an extension of his fingers. Niamh and Grady could feel his power growing as he flexed his fingers around the wand. ‘I would not draw this on a friend. And I would not draw this on someone I loved. But I will draw this on you. The children know who you are.’
> ‘So do I,’ said another voice from the lakeside. Grace walked slowly towards the group with a determined look on her face. Her hair was tied back, revealing hard set eyes and a grim countenance. Her wand was already drawn and nestled, twitching, in her palm.
‘They look like sisters,’ said Grady. ‘Why didn’t we see it before.’ Here, with the two facing each other, the resemblance seemed supernatural. Azrael glanced at the children and smiled. ‘Don’t be too surprised. You have been under a spell from this one,’ he said, pointing at Aoife. ‘But here, with your mother alongside you, the spell has less power.’
Niamh’s eyes went wide. ‘Can you read our minds too?’
Azrael laughed. ‘No. Much as I would like to claim that talent. But one thing age teaches you is that faces give away much. It’s something this one learned a long time ago,’ he said, gesturing to Aoife. ‘That’s why her face is never the same for too many years. But there is one thing I know that has always stayed with you.’
‘And what might that be?’ said Aoife.
‘Your scar. Did you never wonder that no matter what form you took, no matter whose body you stole, it stayed with you?’
Aoife looked uncertain, as if she could not understand why the question would be asked. ‘I did wonder, once. But the sorcerer that cast this spell will be long dead. No others from our time exist now.’
‘Are you so sure?’ said Azrael, smiling again. ‘Can you not feel that the wand that gave you the scar is close? You are strong enough to feel the signature of the witch that cast the spell. It lives within you now.’
The Morrigan looked disconcerted but her eyes flicked across the children and settled on Niamh’s wand.
‘That’s not possible,’ she said with venom. ‘You could not possibly have …’
Niamh stood as tall as she could and held the Morrigan’s eye. ‘The spell that gave you the scar came from over there,’ Niamh said, pointing to the now more densely overgrown section of the forest in which she and Grady had hid. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. I couldn’t believe you would do that to someone.’
Grace looked shocked. ‘You showed them what happened? How?’ she said to Azrael.
The wizard shrugged. ‘There were things they needed to know. And you know them better than I do, but even I can see that telling them one thing will mean nothing unless they see it with their own eyes. They are much like their parents.’
The Morrigan looked more than angry now. Niamh could feel the hate radiating in waves from her.
‘It was not wise for you to come here,’ the Morrigan said coldly to Grace. ‘You know that tonight especially you are no match for me. You never were.’
‘But it’s not just me, is it?’ said Grace, moving closer to Niamh and Grady.
The Morrigan threw her head back and laughed again. ‘You think these two can help you? That is your plan? You are not just mistaken but sadly underestimate me. Do you think I have avoided you this long to simply let you stroll up here tonight? Do you really think I couldn’t escape from here, from you, from him, if I really wanted to?’
The fading sun caught the snowy peak of a mountain and reflected an orange glow from an icy ledge onto the circle. The Morrigan closed her eyes and raised her hands towards the light, letting it suffuse her face.
‘Tonight of all nights you are least matched to me,’ she said, opening her eyes again. ‘Lughnasadh is my night. You know I will never be stronger than I am tonight.’
‘You may be right,’ said another voice from the circle. By the raised steps the form of Modron slowly grew from the ground.
Niamh and Grady looked at each other as the troll arose. The last time they had seen both her and the Morrigan at this place a woman had died. Azrael’s sister had died.
The long room in the castle seemed desolate and empty as a flash of light appeared behind one of the statues. If you weren’t looking for it you would never have seen it, but eventually a pixie head appeared over the top of the carved helmet of a particularly spiky looking knight.
‘It’s clear,’ said Fingal’s voice after a moment. He was joined by many more flashes as other pixies appeared in the room. They looked more fearsome than usual this time as most sported a large blade strapped to their back. Their unruly hair and patched clothing made them look nothing less than a gang of marauding pirates.
‘Right lads!’ Fingal began to say.
‘Oi!’ said a voice from the back of the group.
‘Sorry Fengal. Ladies too. You know what we have to do. And this time we’ve been allowed to have as much fun doing it as we like. There’s something more important than thievery going on here, so no one, and I mean no one Nigel, is to take anything they haven’t been told to take.’
An indistinct mutter came from the middle of the floating pixies.
‘What was that, Nigel?’ said Fingal in a school-masterish tone.
‘I said I won’t steal anything I’m not meant to,’ came a much louder but angry sounding voice.
‘Good. Now let’s get to it. The sunset is nearly here so we need to get in and get out. Hup to it!’
The pixies needed no more encouragement. Like a swarm of angry, badly dressed wasps the pack split up, each group heading for one of the twelve tapestries hanging on the walls. The wizards and witches depicted on them seemed to look concerned at the onslaught. The pixies were fast and ruthless. Blades were drawn and each tapestry was swiftly cut from the frames on which they hung. As they fell to the floor another group flew in, rolled them up, and with another flash of light they, and the tapestries vanished. It was only a matter of minutes and the walls were stripped of the ancient artworks.
Fingal looked satisfied as the last tapestry vanished. The work had been neat and fast, as any good theft should be. But as he was about to exit the room the door swung open and the grogoch’s head appeared around the frame. The creature moaned loudly when it saw Fingal but the pixie disappeared.
The grogoch scanned the room and saw the walls devoid of their decoration. A low keening sound came from beneath the twiggy hair. The creature looked forlorn but after a thoughtful moment appeared to reach a decision. It scuttled out into the corridor, ran down towards a patch of wall that looked identical to all the others, and pressed on it. A small section of the wall, small enough that only the grogoch would fit through, swung back, revealing a tunnel. He scuttled into the darkness. The panel swung shut behind him and the corridor became silent again, save for the faint echoes of a clattering pot.
The Morrigan paced around the clearing like a lioness ready for the hunt. Gone was the friendly demeanour the children had seen. In its place was dagger-edged alertness. The witch stepped closer to Modron and smiled, the anger and sharpness replaced by a gentle touch on the stone creature’s face. ‘Thank you for coming, my friend.’
Modron bowed stiffly. ‘We have a long history,’ she said in her chiming voice. ‘There is much to be put right tonight.’
‘How could you do this?’ said Niamh. Betrayal was written across her face. ‘I thought you were our friend?’
Modron showed no sign that her appearance beside the Morrigan was anything other than proper. ‘Things are not always what they seem,’ she said, with utter conviction. ‘Friendships are ephemeral, especially when viewed from my perspective.’
‘Your perspective?’ growled Grady. ‘You mean the perspective of someone who obviously doesn’t know what friendship is?’
Modron shook her head. ‘No Grady. I mean from the perspective of time. You see things over such a short lifetime while we see the good, and the bad, in people over eons. You should believe that I know what I am doing here tonight.’
Grady froze as he felt the stone Modron had given him begin to vibrate gently in his pocket. As nonchalantly as he could he placed his hand in his jeans pocket and closed his fingers around the smooth and unusual object. As he did so he heard clearly the words of Modron ring out in his head; ‘Trust me.’ Grady stared at the troll, trying to hide his surprise, an
d saw the most imperceptible nod of its head.
‘You see?’ the Morrigan said to Grace with clear delight in her own cleverness. ‘You come here with two children who do not know what they are, an old man who does not have the power to defeat me, and with your own doubts and deceits.’
‘My deceits?’ said Grace. ‘I’m not the one hiding in the shadows hunting dragons for sport.’
‘Really?’ said the Morrigan. ‘Have you told the children this circle could be their way home?’
‘We already know that,’ said Niamh defiantly.
‘You don’t know the half of what this circle can do,’ snapped the Morrigan. ‘This will do more than take you home. This portal can give you the power of both worlds. The power I know Balthasar tried to take from you but failed.’
‘You knew Balthasar?’ said Niamh, shock written on her face.
‘Oh yes. I knew him. Nasty venal little man that he was, but yes I knew him. He told me about his plans for you two,’ she said, gesturing at Niamh and Grady. ‘But he never would have been able to work out what to do if I hadn’t shown him the way.’
Niamh thought back to their battle in the Vault of the Treasures with Balthasar and shook her head. ‘He said there were others. I didn’t think he meant you, though.’
‘No, you clearly didn’t think, did you? I’ve had to do the thinking for you.’ She pointed an accusatory finger at Grady. ‘Do you want to go home? Modron has already shown you the way. Tonight I can make it a reality for you and teach you how to come back whenever you want.’
‘You have no power to do anything of the sort,’ snorted Azrael, interrupting the Morrigan’s performance. ‘Only the elves have the power to do that.’
‘These two could do nothing without me,’ roared the witch. ‘I even had to teach this one basic flying skills that her mother should have done. You would have released them into a battle without the wherewithal to defend themselves. Just as you have tonight!’
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