Into the Fire (The Thin Veil)

by Jodi McIsaac

  Finn shot him a silencing look, then continued. “So the people persuaded another chieftain to come and kill him, because they were too afraid to do so themselves. The chieftain slew Abhartach and buried him upright in the ground, as was the custom for Gaelic nobility.”

  “How’s he going to help us if he’s dead?” Jane asked.

  “He’s not dead,” Felix answered. “Or at least, not completely.”

  “The story goes that the next day the people saw Abhartach walking around, alive again, and, well…” Finn trailed off.

  “Demanding sacrifices of blood to keep himself alive,” Liam supplied. “The people were terrified, naturally, and let him drink their blood lest he kill them with dark magic. The neighboring chieftain slew him again, with the same result. Finally, the chieftain had the sense to consult with a druid about what could be done. The druid, by his craft, determined that Abhartach could not be truly killed because he was one of the undead, a neamh-mairbh. But he could be defeated by running him through with a sword made of yew, burying him upside down, raising a dolmen over his grave, and then sprinkling thorns in a circle around the area.”

  “Did it have to be done at midnight on a full moon with the toenails of a black cat too?” Jane muttered under her breath.

  “This is no laughing matter,” Felix snapped. “What the druid says is the truth. Or do I need to post it online before you’ll believe it?”

  Jane flinched. “Forgive me if I find it hard to accept the idea of an Irish vampire-zombie coming out of retirement to help us find… well, it’s all sounding a little crazy.”

  “As crazy as a child who can open doors to other worlds?” Felix asked.

  “Knock it off, you two,” Cedar said sharply before turning back to Liam. “What happened? Did the druid’s plan work?”

  “We believe so,” he answered. “Abhartach has been neither seen nor heard from since.”

  “Well, it’s all nonsense, if you ask me,” Brighid said. “Abhartach demanding blood sacrifices and all that. The one thing I know for sure about him is that he’s drawn to magic like rain is drawn to the earth.”

  “He’s… what?” Cedar asked. The men still looked mutinous, but Cedar was open to anything at this point.

  “He has—or had—an uncanny ability to find magic. People, artifacts, whatever. He was famous for it, back in the day. Personally, I think what really happened to Abhartach is that certain druids didn’t like having someone more powerful than them around,” she said with a sly look at Liam.

  “That’s insane,” Liam protested hotly, straightening up and looking Brighid in the eye. “There is a code of honesty and integrity among druids. We would never stoop so low as to destroy a rival magician. Our work and abilities stand for themselves.”

  “Whatever you say,” she said dismissively. “Cedar, darling, you asked for my help, but the choice is yours. Abhartach is one of the most powerful wielders of magic that ever existed. He alone will be able to lead you to the exact location of the stone. The fact that he strikes terror into the heart of the druids can only work to your advantage. If you want to wake him, all you need to do is remove the stones over his grave. They call it Slaghtaverty Dolmen, or, more colloquially, the Giant’s Grave, which, as you’ll see, is rather ironic. Tell him I sent you. I’m sure he’ll remember me.”

  Cedar turned to Finn and Felix. “What do you think?”

  They both looked hesitant. “It’s a bit of a wild card,” Finn said. “I don’t know, Cedar. I think we should take our chances without him. Let’s at least go to Tara and check it out.”

  “We don’t have that luxury,” she said. “What if the druids attack us while we’re wandering around, touching every stone in the place? What if Eden gets locked in her own mind again? It’s too much of a risk. They knew where to find us in Scone and Edinburgh, and they’ll almost certainly be waiting for us at Tara. I say we go get Abhartach first and then go find the Lia Fáil. We’ll be quicker and stronger with him.”

  “No,” Liam said quietly. He was standing slightly behind them, still near the railing of the balcony.

  “Sorry?” Cedar asked.

  “I won’t do it,” he said. “If you insist on this foolhardy plan, you’ll have to do it without me. I won’t be part of it.”

  “Liam, this isn’t about some old grudge between Abhartach and the druids—it’s about stopping Nuala from destroying the world. Look at the bigger picture! If Brighid is right, he can help us.”

  “No. You don’t understand, Cedar—you think that all the magical creatures in the world are as noble as Finn and Felix here. But there are demons like Abhartach who exist only to cause suffering and pain. I know you well enough by now to know I can’t stop you from doing what you want. You’re too much like Maeve that way. But I won’t help you do this, no matter what the reason.”

  “Mummy?”

  Eden was standing by the sliding door, her hair mussed from sleep and her mouth open in a wide yawn. Finn walked over and picked her up, spinning her around. She squealed and clung to him. Cedar turned back to Liam. “Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “Where will you go?”

  “If Eden could return me to Logheryman’s house from here, I’ll pick up my car and drive back to the university.”

  “Of course,” Cedar said. She walked over to Eden, who was still in Finn’s arms, and said, “I’ll explain where we’re going next in a minute, but first, can you open a sidh back to Mr. Logheryman’s house? Liam is going to go back there instead of coming with us.”

  “How come?” Eden asked as Finn set her back on the balcony.

  Cedar looked at Liam, who was pacing back and forth near the railing. “He has other things he needs to do,” she said.

  “Okay,” Eden said with a shrug, and then she grabbed the sliding door and pulled it open. Through the shimmering air they could see the front of Logheryman’s house, and Liam’s brown car parked in the driveway. After shaking hands with Felix and Finn, Liam exchanged a long glance with Cedar.

  “Will you not rethink this madness?” he asked, his eyes pleading. She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry you won’t come with us,” she said. “But I hope we’ll see each other again soon.”

  “I hope so too,” he said with a lingering gaze, before turning and walking through the door. They watched as he got into his car, and then drove out of their line of vision. Eden pulled the door closed.

  “Well now!” Brighid exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I think you made a good decision, Cedar. Druids can be such naysayers at times. They take their jobs far too seriously, if you ask me. Toirdhealbhach and I were just reminiscing about—”

  “I think I should go, too,” Jane interrupted.

  “What? Why?” Cedar asked, surprised.

  “I want to help, I really do,” Jane said. “But honestly, I’m more of a hindrance than anything. I’m just someone else you have to worry about. Look what happened back at the apartment. There’s nothing I can do that the rest of you can’t. I think it would be better if I just stayed out of the way.”

  Cedar knelt down beside Jane, who was sitting on one of the lounge chairs with an empty plate in her lap. “You’re not in the way, Jane,” Cedar said. “If you don’t want to come along, I totally understand. It’s dangerous, and I should probably be forcing you to stay somewhere safe. But please don’t think that you’re useless, just because you’re not Tuatha Dé Danann. If you look at it that way, I’m useless too. You’re smart and encouraging and brave, and if you want to come with us the rest of the way, I’d love that. But it’s your call—I’m not going to force you into it.”

  Jane looked at the ground, silent for a moment. It was Felix who spoke next. “I won’t let anything else happen to you, Jane,” he said softly. “If you come with us, you will be safe. I promise.”

  Jane was still looking at the floor, but Cedar could see that her cheeks were beginning to redden. Cedar tried to hide a smile. “Well… okay,” Jane said. “If you’
re sure.”

  Cedar stood. “We’re sure.” Turning his back to Brighid, Felix reached out his hand to help Jane up. She took it, and didn’t let go.

  “I suppose you need to know where you’re going,” Brighid said. She pressed a button on the wall, and a panel slid back to reveal a wide computer screen. “Show us the Slaghtaverty Dolmen.”

  Nuala was feeling very pleased with herself. She sat in the drawing room of Councilwoman Sorcha’s home, an emerald haven deep in the forest. The walls glittered with lush green leaves studded with jewels, and they drank wine out of delicate crystal goblets. It was an illusion, of course, as were all the places of beauty on Tír na nÓg these days. Outside the glittering walls of her host, Tír na nÓg was as bleak and barren as when Nuala had first arrived with Eden. Nothing had changed since Lorcan’s death. Not a single flower had bloomed, nor had the water resumed its path down the mountains. The sky was the same dull, choking gray, and Nuala found herself coughing, something that had previously only happened to her on Ériu. Earlier this evening she had coughed into a white handkerchief that Sorcha had handed her and had been dismayed to see black specks on the previously pristine cloth. It was the same everywhere, Sorcha told her, tossing her thin blonde hair behind her shoulder.

  “In some places the trees have turned black, as though they are covered with soot,” she told Nuala, leaning forward conspiratorially even though they were the only two in the room. “And mothers will not let their children go outside for more than a few minutes, if at all. We are becoming prisoners in our own homes.”

  “Then the sooner we can go back to Ériu, the better,” Nuala said. “Our people will not survive if we stay here, unless the druids come at once and are able to heal the land.”

  Sorcha nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve said it before, but in my opinion your return is the best thing that could have happened to us.”

  Nuala smiled and tried to look modest, but inside she crowed triumphantly. Finn and Cedar had done her an enormous favor by killing Lorcan, and she had wasted no time in taking advantage of it. She had started planning as soon as they’d disappeared back to Ériu. She had spent many years observing the politics and power struggles of her people, and she knew how to play the game. She began revealing herself one by one to the major players—those from the oldest families, those with the most influence, and—most important—those who craved power almost as much as she did. She had told them all the same story, letting them believe that she was confiding in them and them alone.

  She told them that Rohan had played a part in King Brogan’s death and had lied to cover it up before fleeing to Ériu to escape justice. She fabricated tales of secret meetings with human government officials and how he had allowed his small crew of rebels to reveal themselves to humans and to fraternize freely with them. She told them of the vast numbers of human soldiers and the weapons of mass destruction that even they, the Tuatha Dé Danann, would not be able to fight against. With her every word she had created confusion, suspicion, and fear, while with the same breath fervently declaring that she was—and had always been—thinking only of her people and their land.

  Of course, Lorcan had laid much of the groundwork for her with his years of antihuman propaganda. Most of the Danann agreed that Lorcan had been too harsh, but they still regarded humans with resentment and were more than happy to hear of Nuala’s experiences among them. Many of them had never met a human, or if they had it had been centuries ago. So they believed her when she described their pettiness, their greed, their corruption. She told them how bloodthirsty humans were and described in detail their willingness to slaughter each other for no reason other than the joy of killing. The humans were weak-minded, she said, but they possessed powerful weapons. Lorcan was wrong to think of engaging them in war. But it was only a matter of time before the humans engaged with the Danann—especially if Rohan and his fellow rebels had their way.

  Secretly, Nuala was glad the land had not renewed itself after Lorcan’s death, as they’d believed it would. No one was happy living in this desolate wasteland anymore, and they all wanted a reason to leave, to find a land of beauty and warmth to call their own again. Perhaps the druids would be able to help… perhaps not. The Tuatha Dé Danann needed Ériu, which meant they needed her. And, remarkably, they trusted her. The long years she had resisted using her ability in Tír na nÓg were paying off. Now, her ability was seen as the very thing that might save their race. Her words and her ideas made sense, so of course they did not suspect her of bewitching them, of reinforcing their fears and hopes and prejudices with subtle suggestions and stories that sounded very much like the truth.

  Now that the Council had decided to give Cedar the opportunity to prove herself, Nuala had been forced to turn her ability up a notch. She was certain Cedar would not succeed… but she couldn’t afford to take any chances. She had started exerting her power more strongly over the members of the Council so that no matter the outcome of Cedar’s quest, she would be the one in control.

  She did her best to appear humble, to flatter those with influence, to listen to their ideas and their complaints, and to make sure they knew that she only wanted to use her ability for the good of her beloved people. She was no threat to anyone; she was just a beautiful woman who offered wisdom, hope, and a peaceful return to the land they had once claimed as their own.

  Her promises about the druids were not false. While Rohan and Riona and their friends had tried to blend in with human society, Nuala had used her time on Ériu to find as many of the expelled druids as she could. Rohan had been unaware, and for good reason—he would have expressly forbidden it, out of fear that one of them would report back to Lorcan. But Nuala knew better. The druids hated Lorcan, who viewed all creatures who were not Tuatha Dé Danann as inferior. But she was different. As soon as she realized that humans were not as wonderful as she’d been led to expect, she had started finding and befriending the druids—except for Maeve, the mother of the whelp who had stolen Finn from her. She had long respected—even envied—the power of the druids, and she knew they’d be invaluable allies somedays.

  She smiled again at Sorcha and accepted another glass of wine. “I am so glad that you are on the Council,” Nuala told her. “I just hate to think of what would happen to our people if sentiment won out over reason.”

  Sorcha nodded. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “Brogan was loved by many, and in some ways he was a great king. But in my opinion he was too soft. He cared nothing for the advancement of our people. If he were still king I’m sure he would do nothing to ease our suffering, not if it meant taking up arms against his precious humans.”

  If he were still king, the land probably wouldn’t be suffering, Nuala mused, but she kept that thought to herself. Some blamed Tír na nÓg’s decline on Brogan, saying that he was responsible for the land’s decay because he’d started the war with Lorcan. Nuala encouraged this belief as much as she could, but it was because it suited her, not because she believed it.

  Sorcha leaned forward again. “I heard that Brogan took a human as his lover,” she whispered. “And that Cedar is the result of their union, and that she’s not Kier’s daughter after all. They say that Cedar’s real mother killed Kier and her baby so she could pass off her own child as one of us. Of course, others say that she must be one of us since she returned to life after Lorcan’s death, but I wonder if she was truly dead. Maybe she killed Lorcan by some dark druidic curse she learned from her mother.”

  Nuala made a noncommittal sound and tried to look concerned. She knew very well that Cedar was indeed the child of Brogan and Kier, but the more confusion and doubt there was about Cedar’s parentage, the better. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but with both Brogan and Kier dead, it is impossible to know for sure,” Nuala said. Cedar’s return to life—and to Tír na nÓg—had been unexpected. Cedar had more fire in her than Nuala had realized.

  Sorcha was prattling on about how wonderful it would be to have the druids with th
em once again. Nuala kept silent, resisting the urge to tell Sorcha that she had promised the druids full equality. They would no longer be the servants that Sorcha remembered. But she would deal with that when she was queen. In the meantime, her faithful druids were doing everything they could to make that happen.

  CHAPTER 13

  Are you sure this is the right place?” Jane asked. They were standing in the middle of a lush green field. The sun was shining brightly even though it was late afternoon, and the sky was a vast expanse of blue. It was a rare cloudless day in Northern Ireland, and for once the sidh that shimmered in the air behind them didn’t seem out of place. Cedar stepped away from it and soaked in the surroundings. A green-gabled farmhouse stood sentry in the distance, and a scattered herd of bulls wandered aimlessly through the surrounding fields. There was no breeze. The world around them was still and quiet, as though they had entered the inner sanctuary of a cathedral.

  “I suppose that’s it,” Cedar said, pointing. In the middle of the field was a solitary hawthorn tree, raising its leafy arms toward the late summer sun. It grew out of a circle of red mud that was exactly the same diameter as the tree above it. No grass grew beneath the tree. In the mud lay the three stones that were called Slaghtaverty Dolmen—or, as Brighid had said, the Giant’s Grave. The dolmen was made up of a large stone and two smaller stones. They weren’t in any particular order now, but it seemed as though the larger stone had once rested on top of the smaller ones, a mini-Stonehenge in the middle of nowhere. Cedar took a step toward it.

  “Be careful, okay?” Jane said, consulting the tablet that Brighid had given her. Her delight at being reunited with technology was palpable. They each carried a small backpack of food and supplies that Brighid had insisted on giving them, and Cedar and Jane had changed out of their sundresses into what Jane called “normal clothes,” aka jeans and T-shirts. “It says here that they tried to chop the tree down a few years ago, and all three of the chainsaws broke even though they were brand-new. Oh, gross, one of the saws actually chopped off someone’s hand. And later, a researcher came here and almost broke his neck.”