by S A Archer
Chapter Sixty-Two
Falling… Through too much brightness to even see. Losing all sense of up and down. Tumbling in space. Unable to inhale.
Then Malcolm’s back bashed into something. The force slammed his breath from him.
When he sucked back in, fresh air filled his lungs.
And then the magic came crashing in like an ocean to cover him.
Malcolm rolled from side to side, struggling to process the incoming sensations. His hands pushed into the air, trying to knock the excessive magic back, but it was pointless. It crushed around him. Drowning him. It rushed into his nose and mouth with a riot of scents and flavors. Prickled and twisted and tore at his flesh. Even with them closed, lights burned his eyes. Crushing noise slammed into his ears. Malcolm rolled away from it and curled into a ball, covering his ears and screaming. It was so much. Too much.
Scrambling, he jammed his hand into his pocket. The second his fingers touched the silver ring, the torment ceased in an instant. Like someone flipped a switch. Malcolm dug the ring out of his pocket and slipped it onto his finger, not caring about the itch of it.
Battling to catch his breath, he rolled face down in the grass and closed his eyes. The only scents about him now were springtime. New grass. Clean soil. A hinted fragrance of flowers.
A gentle breeze played with his hair. Soothing.
The ground beneath him was solid. Holding him so he didn’t need to hold himself together.
He tasted blood, having bitten his tongue at some point.
The murmur of confused voices drew Malcolm to open his eyes again. The grass beneath his fingers grew like it did in time lapsed video, reaching up for the sky, poking between his fingers and waving with the teasing of the wind. And when it was maybe as tall as the length of one of his fingers, it stopped growing and just glimmered with the most beautiful emerald green.
Malcolm pushed against the ground and got himself halfway sitting up.
Looking down at his hands, he saw the streaks of blood. He wiped at his face and neck with the front of his shirt, coming away with blood smears. He’d bled out of his eyes, nose, and ears. There was a lot of snot on his shirt now, too. Really gross. But better there, than all over his face. His ears rang with the memory of agony, leaving him wondering if there was permanent damage.
Glancing around, he found himself on a bit of a hill, with something like twenty or so paces to the top, and down to the bottom of the crater below. Other people moved around him. Trip lay a little to the left of him, propped up on her elbows. Willem sat to his right, rubbing his eyes like he woke up from a dream.
Malcolm’s body ached so much. With effort, he flopped over onto his bum, so he could look around.
Different ones were starting to pull themselves up off the ground just as slowly. Everyone just tossed around on this hill with Malcolm, or down in the depression below, or across the hill on the other side.
In the middle of them all… at the center of the crater…
Malcolm wished he could look at it without the silver on his skin. All he saw was what looked like a black pond stood on its side. But just the surface, not the depths of it. No frame kept it contained. Just an oval wall of black, rippling liquid as tall as a telephone pole, and just as wide.
Where they were now was not the Isle of Fey. It was no place on Earth.
This was the new realm.
They had done it.
And the only thing keeping him from shouting with the joy of it, was the memory of Donovan. Of seeing him unravel into threads of golden light and fly apart with the explosion of magic.
Malcolm struggled to push himself up, but wooziness dropped him right back down on his bum. His head spun, so he propped his elbows on his bent knees and pressed his hands to his head to settle it down.
Others struggled too, not managing to find their feet yet.
All except one.
The man closest to the liquid wall got up slowly. Tall, and strong as ever.
Malcolm couldn’t even voice his hope. Just watched with stunned, wide eyes.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Like some of the others, Lugh climbed out of the crater to cast his gaze for the first time over the new realm of fey. Unlike the Mounds, the sky here was no illusion, but a true sky; blue interrupted with the first splashes of white clouds. The sun was bright and beautiful, and Lugh felt his connection to it warming through him with the rays. This realm had light because of him. Because of his part in the creation. And the plants grew, reaching for his sun. He might not have stood in the center of the magic that spawned this new plane of existence, but he’d played an integral part. Pride, like only the Seelie could summon, surged within him.
Beyond the hilltop, rolling grassland cascaded forth into the distance, where sharp azure and purple mountains rose from the mists. Already, streams cut new beds in a lacework across the countryside. Lush forests and greenery unfurled from the landscape, like opening flowers. No doubt the magic of the wood elves and fairies in the enchantment were to thank for that. As the dwarves were for the uplifting of the mountains. And the selkie were for the forming of oceans elsewhere. Each fey bringing their gifts and crafting this whole of perfection.
“Can you believe it?” Kieran asked as he turned to Lugh, his amazement bright on his youthful face. Nothing of the hesitancy or distrust that had stained the earthborn before. Just pure astonishment in a genuinely fey moment, among those few fortunate enough to witness this event. And for this moment, it was unsullied by anything that had come prior. As fresh and new as this realm that stretched before them.
Willem gave a whooping laughter and launched himself into Lugh’s arms. The Sidhe embraced the Scribe with equal joy. “We did it! I always believed! I knew it! You’ve seen us through Champion! I knew you would!”
“You mean Donovan,” Kieran corrected. “Donovan brought us through.”
With that simple statement, the first chinks in the elation appeared. Lugh knew he wasn’t the only one who felt it.
As Willem made to argue the point, straightening his tunic, Lugh placed a hand on his shoulder. “Leave it.” The Scribe’s frown softened, but didn’t vanish.
No one need tell Lugh when Donovan returned to them. He felt the Unseelie’s presence as he’d once felt Danu’s. Like the throb of a base drum’s percussion rolling in his chest, or the heaviness of an approaching thundercloud, looming menacingly in the sky.
Lugh knew Donovan came for him alone. Felt it in the weight of his soul. He stepped back, away from the others, and crossed to face the Unseelie.
They stood before each other, as they had many times in the past. Only this time was infinitely different.
The stone seriousness in Donovan’s eyes was as hard as ever. Although tall, and handsome as he’d always been, Donovan’s very presence now carried the weight of the realm. And in that dark gaze Lugh felt unveiled. No Seelie illusions, or twists of logic, or rationalizations could hold against that. Before Donovan, with his intimate connection with all magic, Lugh felt utterly exposed; heart, mind, and soul.
Everything that had ever happened. Every thought he’d ever had. Every lie he’d ever told. Even the fullness of his service to Manannan, and the magic that yet linked him to the Seelie king, unfurled within him for Donovan to see.
Even with his very essence laid bare, in all his imperfections and pretenses, Lugh stood before Donovan. His pride, despite his flaws and failures, keeping him tall before this man that had been as much enemy as friend for as long as they’d known each other.
Donovan barely raised a hand, and the magic of the realm rushed forth with tidal force. It flooded into Lugh like a storm surge, driving him down to his knees. Lugh clutched at his chest. At the power that cascaded through him. He choked out the word “Unseelie” for that darkne
ss flavored the magic of this realm with the very essence of the Sidhe who ruled it, as surely as Danu had flavored the magic of the Mounds.
Magic vined through Lugh, leaving no shred untouched, discovering even the foreign magics woven into him by Manannan. Lugh grappled within himself, struggling just to survive the tempest. Lugh knew Donovan saw everything. Every lie. Every hard truth. Every inch of pride in which Lugh armored himself.
And then it ended. As abruptly as it began.
They both knew now, with complete certainty, what was to come.
Lugh raised his eyes to Donovan’s. The stormy look still rolling with fury there. And with all he’d seen within Lugh, the Unseelie held himself remarkably calm. But Lugh had witnessed the rage that lie beneath. He’d felt it slam through him.
Donovan jerked his head toward the portal. “Go.”
Lugh knew what he must do now. He rose to his feet, his own expression as intractable as Donovan’s. Turning his back on the others who’d watched all that transpired… and yet with no clue as to the depths of what had truly occurred… Lugh walked away.
He passed through the portal back to the Isle of Fey without a backward glance. And he knew he would not gaze upon this glorious new fey realm again until his purpose was fulfilled.
Chapter Sixty-Four
For a minute, Malcolm thought Donovan and Lugh were going to fight. But instead, they only glared daggers at each other.
What bugged Malcolm though, was that Donovan seemed to do something magic to Lugh, which dropped the Seelie bloke to his knees and Malcolm couldn’t see what it was.
He couldn’t see anything of the magic going on around him with the silver on him.
He couldn’t even see if Donovan was really ok, after going into a million threads and then coming back together again.
Something about him had certainly changed, but Malcolm couldn’t exactly put his finger on what it was. But like everyone else, he witnessed what Donovan did to Lugh, without interfering.
Whatever it was, looked like it had to hurt. Lugh gripped at his chest, fighting to breathe, as if his very heart were being crushed. He hissed the word “Unseelie” like it was a curse word. But then the pain seemed to cease, and Donovan kicked Lugh out of the realm with a single word. “Go.”
Malcolm figured that meant that their truce was over. They’d said it was only until the realm was created, and he guessed their hatred of each other couldn’t tolerate even a minute longer.
Only after the Seelie stormed through the swirling dark wall did everyone risk gathering around Donovan.
Malcolm pushed himself up, and managed to propel his unsteady footsteps forward at a limp. Each step jarred his fried nerves, but he forced himself to Donovan’s side. Reaching out, Malcolm touched Donovan’s forearm, reassured to find it solid. “Are you alright?”
“I feel everyone.” Donovan said, his voice sounding odd like it echoed within him. He glanced at Kaitlin, “Just as I once felt you. Now… I feel everyone.” He paused. “As Danu felt everyone connected through her to the Mounds.”
Donovan seemed to contemplate that for a moment, then glanced at Malcolm. “Except you.” He lifted Malcolm’s hand and then rubbed his thumb over the silver ring. “You are like a void, with the silver upon your flesh.”
“I can’t…” Malcolm shook his head, eyes stinging. “It’s…”
“Too much magic.” Donovan finished for him. And then he reached up to stroke his thumb over Malcolm’s cheek, wiping away some of the blood that he’d missed.
Tiernan hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “You think Lugh will try to return to the realm?” Jerking his head toward the swirling energy wall of the portal.
Donovan’s voice was dead serious. “He will, if he is the man I have taken him for.”
Which sounded pretty ominous to Malcolm.
But then Donovan relaxed a bit, and glanced with a softer look toward Tiernan. “And you, connected to true fey power at last, what does it feel like?”
Tiernan scratched at his chest. “It kinda itches.”
The slight tug at Donovan’s lips formed a tired smile. Then he turned away from them, and began to walk away very slowly.
Malcolm was the only one who followed along, staying with him. “Where are we going?”
“Where I go, you can not follow.” The words came from him like he was somewhere far away. Distant. Remote. Not right there, next to Malcolm.
“Why?” Malcolm wasn’t going to leave him. No way.
Donovan glanced at Malcolm, and instead of the dark irises he usually had, there was a purple swirl there instead. And since Malcolm couldn’t see any magic until it was manifesting, just like everyone else, it meant that this magic was intense. “I feel it all. All the magic of the realm.” He turned then, fully facing Malcolm. “I am the realm.”
And with that, Donovan just… melted away. He didn’t turn liquid. The ground didn’t open beneath him. He just faded away like a ghost.
And then he was gone.
Malcolm stared at the space where Donovan had been, and now wasn’t. Something awful happened to Donovan when everything exploded. Awful and weird and magical. Malcolm didn’t need to see it, to know it. But Donovan had survived. He might have poofed for the moment, but he just needed to rest or something. Just needed to get his bearings maybe.
He wasn’t gone.
He couldn’t be gone.
Malcolm scratched at the silver ring annoying his finger. If only he could go without it, then he would know what was really going on with Donovan. Help him maybe.
“I won’t leave you,” Malcolm said to the place where Donovan had been. He sat right down next to it, his hands folding into his lap. He would wait, right there, until Donovan came back.
And he stayed, right there, watching as the others began to mill about and explore. He stayed, right there, as the first of the fey began to come through the portal, bringing goods and supplies with them, ready to move into their new home in droves, just as they had the Isle.
After a bit, Kieran swaggered over and plopped his bum on the ground next to Malcolm. For a long time, they just sat there in companionable silence. Finally Kieran said, “Wow.”
“Yeah.” Malcolm agreed, kind of numb from the shock and pain of it all.
“Your mom’s hot.”
The back of Malcolm’s hand smacked Kieran in the gut faster than the flick of a cat’s tail. “She’s my mum, Perv. Don’t get any ideas.”
Kie laughed and rubbed his tummy. “You really need to get laid.”
Malcolm rolled his eyes. “That’s your answer for everything.”
“Yep.”
They sat there a bit longer, just watching the fey go by. Then Malcolm mumbled, “I’m not a virgin, you know.”
Kieran just laughed again, not believing him.
Chapter Sixty-Five
London stared at the sight before her. As the magic collapsed inward, all the fey on the hillside gave a great, simultaneous exhale. Like their collective power fed into the magic all at once. That’s when the golden orb had folded into itself and left a void.
Now a swirl of black and purple flexed over the void. From where she sat, London was offset to the thing by about thirty degrees. At this angle, she could tell it was like a great doorway. It was flat, standing up on one edge. To her best guess, the thing was maybe two stories high, and twenty meters wide.
The awed silence of the fey slowly broke into cheering. London got to her feet as the others did. Kev kept a grip on her hand as he rose. Smiling down to her, he pulled her along. “Come on.”
Only a few others risked coming down right next to the swirling purple doorway. As they circled around it she discovered that it was only visible on the side that faced the village. When
they walked around the other side, it was just a shimmer like heat that blurred the landscape behind it. So there appeared to be a front side.
“It’s a portal.” Kev told her, confirming what she suspected. “Just like the ones leading from the groves to the Mounds. But much, much bigger.”
Drawing her forward, he said, “Come on. Let’s go through.”
“Are you sure?” She hesitated.
Just as Kev reached out his hand to the surface, it roiled. Kev jerked back just as a man burst through from the other side.
“Lugh!” London gaped up at him.
Kev spoke at the same time, “Did it work? Have you stopped the Fade?”
His answer was cold. To the point. “It worked. The threat of the Fade is past.” Lugh stormed off, not slowing his pace even when the lesser fey had to dodge out of his path to avoid collision.
London dropped Kev’s hand and raced after Lugh, having to run to keep up with him. “Then where are we going?”
“Back to the Isle of Man. The Seelie won’t stand for Unseelie rule.” Lugh didn’t slow down. His strides long and purposeful. The tone of his voice hard. “The realm is created. Now the war begins.”
###
Thank you for reading
Into Magic!
The story continues in Bastion of Magic.
(Read on for a sample chapter)
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