Three Promises

by Bishop O'Connell

  “Brendan? Are you here?” she asked, her voice filling the empty air. But it sounded strange, like the air swallowed the sound instead of carrying it.

  Still nothing moved, and despite the feeling of being watched, she began to wonder if she was wrong and he wasn’t here. If she’d been hung up and then been freed, she’d have gotten as far away as possible.

  Or maybe slaughter those that hung me up, she thought, remembering the courtyard and also her last encounter with the Order.

  “I know you told me to go and not come back,” she said, still turning in a slow circle. “But I can’t do that.”

  Silence.

  “I know you’re dangerous,” she said. “I could see that, and I could see you were afraid of what you might do to me.” She nodded. “I know what that’s like. I also know what it’s like to have the deaths of innocent ­people marring your soul.”

  Still no sound or movement.

  “I know what it’s like to be scared of yourself and what you’re capable of but can’t control,” she said. “I was lost and alone myself. Because of that, I won’t leave someone else like that if I can help it.” She pulled off the backpack and sat down, crossing her legs. “And in this case, I can.”

  She thought she saw a faint movement in the trees to her left. She noted it, keeping her magic ready, but didn’t look that way. Instead, she just pulled out a wrapped cheeseburger and took a bite.

  “I don’t know how tough you are,” she said between chews, “but I’m pretty tough too. I’m not as powerful as I was when we first met, but I’ve gotten much better control now. I don’t know if I could take you, but I’m sure I could slow you down enough to get away.”

  A faint breeze blew by, carrying the chill of autumn nights.

  She pulled a bottle of water from the backpack laden with food, water, and even a first-­aid kit, then tossed the bag a few feet away. “I brought that for you. I guessed, since I didn’t know what you like.” She took another bite. “You didn’t strike me as the vegan or gluten-­free type of guy.”

  She took a few more bites of the burger, which was pretty good. She’d have to remember the place, and thank Brigid for the cash to get real food. After a swallow of water, she let out a deep breath and felt her stomach settle in contentment.

  “You’re apparently the strong, silent type,” she said. “Which is cool I suppose, but I guess that means I’m going to do all the talking.” She nodded. “That’s fine. I’m not normally the talkative type, but I’m in kind of a bad place, and I don’t really have anyone to unload on. So, you know, lucky you.”

  She drank some more water and shifted her weight to get more comfortable.

  “I think I told you my name,” she said. “In case I didn’t, you can call me Wraith. Kind of a lot has happened since I last saw you.”

  The words came easy, with only a break to drink some water, or get up and walk around a bit. It kind of surprised her that she wasn’t more scared, but she wasn’t. She talked about her friends, the Order, and everything they’d done to her. Then she started talking about her parents, everything she could remember. It felt good, like talking about them out loud somehow made the memories more solid, more real.

  Brendan for his part never said a word, and Wraith never saw anything but the shifting shadows in the trees. Even so, she was absolutely sure he was there, listening to every word.

  Wraith wasn’t sure how much time passed, and whenever she looked up, the stars and moon seemed entirely unmoved, but she knew that was impossible. Eventually though, she just felt like it was time to go. So she got to her feet.

  “This was fun, thanks,” she said. “I’d offer you my number, but I bet the ser­vice here sucks. And there’s the whole creeper factor.” She looked around. “I’m going to take your lack of laughter as part of your laconic thing and not that my jokes are bad. I’ll be back with more food and stuff. I don’t know when, but it won’t be long.” She put her hands up and shook her head. “No, don’t argue with me. You’re the best listener I’ve ever met, so I’m just going to keep coming back and keep talking until you come out and tell me to shut up.” She shrugged. “So it’s up to you.”

  She smiled at the quiet.

  “I’ll take your silence as an invitation.”

  Nothing.

  “Take care, Brendan. I’ll see you soon.”

  She turned and was about to draw up the striding equation when something flashed in the corner of her eye. Then she saw it again, something twinkling in the moonlight as clouds passed in front of the moon’s face.

  She crouched down and found a battered silver pin amid the dead grass, partially covered with dirt. It was a triskelion, three interlocking spirals over a circular Celtic knot. It was strangely familiar, though she couldn’t place where she’d seen it before. When it didn’t come to her, she stood and held it up.

  “Is this yours?”

  No answer.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll just keep it safe for you. If you want it back, just ask.”

  After a long moment, she tucked the pin into a pocket and drew up the equation around her, setting reality spinning. Before the dark and twisted lands vanished, she thought she saw a pair of blue eyes in the shadows watching her, and she could’ve sworn they were filled with tears.

  Brendan watched Wraith vanish in a mini cyclone. Even after she was gone, he could smell magic in the air. It was still powerful and wild, but now it was more focused, less a tidal wave and more like a fire hose.

  She’s dangerous.

  “Aye,” Brendan whispered. “Aren’t we all.”

  Brendan would’ve sworn the demon chuckled.

  After wiping the tears from his eyes, he walked slowly to the pack, but he just stared at it. It was a large backpack and full near to bursting. He looked from the rucksack to the swirling marks left by Wraith’s departure and marveled at her. After walking through hell, she came out the other side bent on being kind, on bringing more light into the world. Brendan knew full well how rare a thing that was. She didn’t know him, or owe him anything, and yet . . . He looked down at the pack again. That’s when he understood; she was a monster too, of a sort. That group, the Order, had made her one. Rage still churned inside him as he thought back to her telling of what they did to her. It was almost worth returning to the mortal world to find those dark bastards and show them what a real monster was.

  Yes, we could avenge that girl, and her friends.

  Brendan laughed without humor as he knelt down and opened the pack. “You’re a force for justice and good now, then?”

  I’m the embodiment of anger and rage. As you know well, sometimes even the furious can also be righ­teous.

  It bothered him when the demon made sense. He pushed the thought aside and examined the contents of the bag. Inside, he found two cheeseburgers. He’d barely gotten the wrappers off before devouring them, savoring each bite of meat. They’d grown cold, but they were perhaps the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. After finishing the burgers, and licking his fingers clean, he dug deeper into the pack. It contained dozens of plastic pouches. Each had the letters MRE printed on them, and a different meal name printed below that: spaghetti and meatballs, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, beef stew, southwestern chili, and countless others.

  “Meals ready to eat?” Brendan read aloud.

  There had to be two or three weeks’ worth of food. As he moved the pouches, he saw bottles of water underneath them. He blinked and looked at the outside of the bag, then again inside. There was no way all that should’ve fit inside. He reached inside, pushing pouches and water bottles aside until his fingertips touched the bottom of the bag. His arm was in the bag almost to this shoulder. After removing his arm, he lifted the bag, sure it would have to weigh eighty or ninety pounds, but it wasn’t even ten pounds.

  “That’s bleeding deadly, that is,” he sai
d through a smile. “A fecking magic bag.”

  He sat down then and began going through all the pouches as he removed the contents of the bag. When it was done, he had forty-­five meal packs, twenty-­five bottles of water (each thirty-­two ounces), and a first-­aid kit that could’ve come from an emergency room. He shook his head as he looked from the small mountain of goods and the pack that shouldn’t have been able to hold a third of it. A wave of emotion surged through him, one he’d almost forgotten existed. He’d lived for so long angry and hungry for vengeance, he’d almost forgotten what kindness and gratitude felt like.

  “I was wrong, love,” he said quietly. “You’re no bleeding monster. You’re an angel to be sure.”

  He repacked the rucksack, slipped it on, and headed back into the woods to take his place again among the shadows.

  True to her word, Wraith returned. Brendan wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it had no meaning in the Dusk Lands, but from what Wraith said, it’d been less than a week. She brought another pack loaded with food and water, and four cheeseburgers this time. The smell of them almost brought Brendan out of the shadows. Almost. Instead, he sat in the darkness, ate beef stew, and listened to Wraith talk about her friends. There was a wizard kid called Con who’d had a broken arm, but his cast was off now. She brought some comic books and read them to him. They were all about Wonder Woman, an Amazon princess. Another friend, this one a changeling called Geek, had gotten her hooked on them. Brendan had always thought comic books were for young kids, but he had to admit, he liked this Wonder Woman.

  “She’s a Fian,” he thought to himself. “No doubt about it.”

  Wraith also told him about a little changeling girl called Sprout who’d been hurt with Con when the Order had taken Geek and another boy called Ovation. She was apparently none the worse for wear and had adopted Wraith as her big sister. Brendan couldn’t help but think of Fiona then, and Caitlin. He hoped wherever they were that they were happy and safe. Then his thoughts turned to Áine, and the darkness around him soaked into his soul. He didn’t hear much else Wraith said after that, but he was still sorry when she left, and secretly hoped she’d forget about him.

  She didn’t. Instead, she came back again, and again. Eventually, it occurred to her he didn’t have a sense of time, so she told him the date when she arrived. Once a week, sometimes twice, she came to visit and talk while he listened in the shadows. He smiled with pride when she told him how she was finding homeless wizards and changelings and teaching them how to protect themselves. He was more than a little surprised there were homeless wizard kids, and more so that they needed help protecting themselves. Then he remembered Edward, and it made sense.

  “We’ve formed a group of sorts,” she’d said. “I call it the Forgotten Circle.” She laughed. “Geek wanted to call it the Justice League, but I voted that down.”

  Brendan smiled and listened, enjoying every word. He still wished she’d forget about him, but he was also glad when she came back. They’d even worked out a backpack exchange; him leaving an empty she’d take when leaving a full. Realizing he had more than enough food, she’d started bringing more fresh food. The empty wrappers in the bag were received as a request for more cheeseburgers, which she happily filled. Occasionally, she’d also leave in a postcard from some city or another. On each she’d write:

  Wish you were here!

  Your friend,

  Wraith

  The first had been from Dublin, and Brendan had wept quietly when he’d found it.

  “So,” Wraith said as she sat and opened the bag, “it’s been almost three months now and you still haven’t said anything. A girl could start to feel a bit self-­conscious.” She laughed. “It’s okay though. It probably sounds odd, but these visits have been really great. I feel like you’re one of my best friends, and I’ve only ever seen you once.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I wanted to say thanks. I know you’ve just been sitting there listening, but I know you’re there and, well, I appreciate it.” She drew a bottle of golden liquid. “I don’t know anything about whiskey, or even if you drink it, but I heard this was good stuff.”

  “No way are you old enough to be buying that on your own,” Brendan said as he stepped out of the trees.

  Wraith almost dropped the bottle but didn’t, for which Brendan was very grateful.

  “Oh, uh, hey,” she said and got to her feet. “You’re, um, looking better than last time I saw you.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Been eating these nutritious prepacked meals for a while. Thanks for that.”

  Wraith smiled. “No problem. Glad you like them.”

  Brendan shrugged. “The vegan chili is utter shite, but the rest ain’t so bad.”

  Wraith laughed. “Sorry, it’s in the pack. I’ll try to avoid those in the future.”

  Brendan walked very slowly toward her. Wraith watched him, and he could see the fear and hesitation in her eyes. He stopped better than ten feet away, but it was close enough to notice her looking over the tattoos and scars that covered his bare chest and arms. Up until that moment, he’d forgotten he’d been half naked all this time.

  “Nice, uh, tats,” she said, then cleared her throat and looked away.

  “I could use a shirt next time, if you wouldn’t mind,” Brendan said.

  Wraith nodded, but still didn’t look at him. “Uh-­huh, sure, no problem.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “Did you steal it?” Brendan asked.

  Wraith looked at him. “What?”

  “The whiskey,” Brendan said and nodded at the bottle.

  “Oh, that.” She pursed her lips and looked at the bottle. “Would you be angry if I said yes?”

  “Not even a little, love.”

  Wraith smiled and seemed to relax a bit. After a moment of not looking at him, she realized she still had the bottle and held it out for him.

  Brendan stepped forward and took it, then stepped back and looked the bottle over.

  “Bloody hell,” he said and smiled. “This is The Tyrconnell.”

  “Is that good?”

  Brendan opened the bottle and took a long sniff. The smell alone was almost intoxicating. He lifted the bottle and took a sip. Warm liquid silk slid down his throat and stoked warm in his belly. He let out a long sigh.

  “I guess that’s a yes,” Wraith said.

  “Oh, aye. Well done, love. Go raibh maith agat.”

  Wraith blinked.

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome, Brendan.”

  He looked at the bottle. “I’m sure you’re well under age in the states, but it’s terribly rude not to offer whiskey to the person what gave it to you.”

  Wraith eyed the bottle, then looked at Brendan. “Is it terribly rude to decline? It’s nothing personal, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me just now.”

  He shook his head. “Not rude in the slightest. Just means you’re leaving more for me.” He lifted the bottle, “Sláinte,” and took another sip.

  “Well,” Wraith said, “maybe it’s time for you to take the lead in the conversation for a while. Now that I’ve plied you with drink and gotten you to come out of the woodwork.” She smiled. “Get it? Wood work? Because you were in the trees?”

  “I think I need another drink.”

  “Not one for puns, huh? Duly noted.”

  Brendan let out a breath, looked around, then sat down. “All right, fair play. Least I can do is a bit of talking for a change.”

  Wraith beamed and sat down, crossing her legs, and leaned forward.

  “Have you ever heard of the Fianna?”

  THE LEGION OF SOLOMON

  “Nice day, huh, Collins?” Mitchell, the Humvee driver, asks me. He’s a few years older than me, which means just old enough to have beer back home. The guy is about as average as you can get,
which includes his sense of humor.

  I give him a flat look. “Yeah, it’s only 108 today, and we haven’t taken any fire in an hour. I love spring in Iraq.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a dry—­” Mitchell starts to say, but the collective groan shuts him up.

  “Don’t forget about the sand in all your nooks and crannies,” Johnson says from the turreted fifty-­caliber. “Three tours here and I still can’t figure out how it gets in. Swear to God, I used duct tape over my skivvies once. Didn’t do a damn bit of good.”

  We all waited for the punch line.

  “Of course it did provide a new method of getting my regular Brazilian waxing in.”

  We all laugh, and the tension eases, but just a little. Johnson is the funniest bastard I’ve met since getting deployed. He’s tall, has a shaved head, and is 250 pounds of solid muscle. I’m convinced there’s a defensive line somewhere that sorely misses him. Dude is also the best shot with any weapon he puts his hands on, which is why he’s on the fifty.

  I’ve only been in the sandbox a few months, but that’s long enough to know you have to laugh, especially on these convoy missions. I don’t know how Johnson’s done this for three tours. Almost five years.

  Everyone goes quiet as we move into the city. The streets are deserted, which is never a good sign.

  “I wish we had one of those V-­hull rigs the marines get,” I say under my breath.

  “Stow the chatter,” Sarge says over the radio. “Hold up here, I don’t like the look of—­”

  It all happens so fast.

  The lead Humvee goes up in a ball of flame, someone yells “IED!” over the radio, and then the gun truck goes up. After that, it’s all sporadic gunfire, and more explosions all around us. It becomes a full-­on Charlie Foxtrot in record time. That’s the alphanumeric for the letters C and F. For the civilians, the C stands for cluster. You can figure out the F.