Spear Song

by Tricia O'Malley

  “A body needs to eat,” Seamus said cheerfully, taking a bite of his fish. “I suggest you do so as well. You never know where we’ll be taken next. And things can change in an instant. One thing we’ve learned already is to take the small moments of joy and comfort when they come. Fate’s wind is a fickle one.”

  Loch studied them for a moment before sighing and pulling up a chair, signaling to the waitress.

  “Fair enough. You might as well fill me in on the events that have transpired so far. I want the full details – leave nothing out.”

  “Oh, yes sir. Please, sir, can we do this for you, sir?” Bianca said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. This man definitely rubbed her the wrong way.

  Loch scrubbed a hand over his face and blew out a frustrated sigh.

  “I’m used to giving orders. I’ll try to phrase things more appropriately,” Loch said.

  Bianca waited a beat, then, realizing that was a close to an apology as she would get, she shrugged. “Settle in, my friend. It’s story time.”

  They kept their heads low, talking quietly as Loch learned of the two prior quests before his.

  And in doing so, they missed the rain that began to fall… the Domnua curled in the drops… silver balls of fate bursting on the streets.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gwen all but skipped down the darkened street, paying no mind when a gentle rain began to fall. Pulling the hood of her cardigan over her head, she hummed Queen’s

  “Bohemian Rhapsody” as she bounced along, lost in thoughts of fairytale worlds and magickal powers.

  She’d left Gran with the promise she’d call her tomorrow – and an extra long hug to reassure Gran that she was her family, and nothing and no one would ever change that. As she’d told her repeatedly, Gran had given her the best life, and love was love. Blood or not, the bond that bound Gran and Gwen was ironclad as far as Gwen was concerned.

  Gwen glanced down at the bracelets on her wrists, the ruby red of the fire stone gleaming in the pale light of the streetlamp. She couldn’t wait to test the bracelets out – to see if they actually held the power that she swore she could feel humming through them. Perhaps they were just a way of keeping her connected to her birth family, she mused, as the rain began to intensify.

  Perhaps if she had let the earlier run-in with the silvery bad fae rattle her more, Gwen would have been more alert. It was only luck that made her pause in mid-stride to consider something, and thus narrowly miss the arc of a blade that should have been a killing blow. Acting purely on instinct, Gwen whirled, her arms up, and ice flew in shards from her hands, miniature ice daggers finding their marks in the three fae who all looked down in disbelief at the shards buried deep in their chests, silver liquid pouring rapidly from them.

  “Back off!” Gwen shouted, stepping slowly back, her arms crossed in front of her. But she was speaking to air, for the three had dissolved quickly to puddles on the street, the rain claiming their blood.

  “There. Took care of that all on my own, didn’t I? I won’t be needing the likes of Loch, that’s for damn sure,” Gwen said, ignoring the pounding in her chest. So what if she had some adrenaline coursing through her? It wasn’t every day she had numerous attacks on her life. Pausing to look at where her arm throbbed, Gwen cursed when she saw a rip in her cardigan. This was one of her favorite sweaters and now Gran would have to patch it for her. Annoyed all around, Gwen turned to go.

  And squeaked when she was met with a wall of silver men, materializing seemingly from each raindrop that fell, hundreds upon hundreds of them, all staring at her with menace.

  “Guys, I’m certain we can work something out here,” Gwen stammered, her pulse kicking into high gear, a bead of sweat trickling through her hairline. “Just tell me what you want from me and I’ll give it to you.” As she spoke, Gwen gestured with her hands and as one the men gasped, all eyes on the bracelets on her wrists. In seconds they were whispering to each other.

  “These? Is that what you want? I’d, uh, give them to you, but I’m certain they are meant to stay with me. So, something else then?” Gwen stammered, trying to back up, but realizing too late that she was surrounded.

  And still the rain fell.

  “Gwenith who dances with fairies,” Gwen whispered to herself, circling, circling, trying to force herself to think past the panic that wanted to rise and overtake her thoughts. “You’re of magickal blood. What would a warrior princess do?”

  One fae stepped forward and flashed her a cocky grin, inadvertently giving Gwen something to home her rage on.

  “Got it. Be a badass and die fighting.” Gwen steeled her nerves and smiled back at the fae, giving it a come-hither look. Or, at least, it was what she thought a come-hither look would be, but it was probably more of a grimace coming from her. The fae paused, which was just enough time for Gwen to launch her attack.

  “I love you, Gran!” Gwen shrieked, inexplicably, and raising her arms, she blasted as many ice shards as she could, swinging in a circle, like some sort of sub-automatic machine gun of ice, taking more joy than she would have thought possible in the number of fae that dropped in front of her.

  Still, the rain persisted.

  Knowing she was but one, that they were too many, Gwen kept icing, praying her nearly untested magick would hold. When the circle drew tight, the fae too numerous for her, Gwen closed her eyes.

  “Eyes open, missy. You can’t fight a battle like that,” Loch drawled from beside her, carelessly and far too easily dropping fae left and right with whatever magick he was wringing from those incredible hands of his.

  Incredible hands of his? Gwen shook her head. She must still be alive if she was admiring Loch’s muscular forearms.

  “Nice of you to show up,” she muttered.

  Loch cast a glare at her.

  “It seems you take great joy in turning down my help. Tell me again why I should be assisting you?” Loch asked, his eyes on hers while he easily deflected the advance of the fae, his magick seemingly keeping them away from her while also dropping them in their tracks. She wondered briefly if he’d concocted some sort of force-field around her.

  “Sorry about that.” Gwen cleared her throat. “I don’t take well to strangers being rude to me.”

  “If you think that was rude, we’re going to have one hell of a time ahead of us.”

  Gwen’s thoughts tripped over the idea of them being an “us,” but she couldn’t think too much about it as the rain continued to fall, each drop exploding into a silvery fae who bounded to his feet, ready to attack.

  “Can’t you stop the rain or something?” a voice asked in irritation. Gwen swung around, shocked to see a round blonde cheerfully stabbing silver fae as easily as if she were picking flowers for a bouquet.

  “She’s got a point,” another voice said and Gwen whirled the other way to see a lanky red-headed man calmly delivering killing blows with a bow and arrow. The four of them stood, backs to each other, and patiently picked off the inner circle of fae that never seemed to end.

  “Um, who are these people?” Gwen asked Loch over her shoulder – a shoulder which, she noticed, was growing increasingly cold.

  “Bianca’s my name,” the blonde called cheerfully, “and that handsome ginger right there is all mine, so don’t think about it, mmmkay? We’re your team, so to speak. Your squad, your army, your back-up. Whatever you want to call us. We’re sent by the goddess to help you on your quest.”

  “My… my quest,” Gwen stammered. She dropped her arm, which now screamed in pain, but kept the other one up, still feebly trying to shoot ice at the fae.

  “Aye, to find the Spear of Lugh. Or the Spear of Truth. The Spear of Light. It’s got all sorts of names. Either way, it’s yours to be finding, and we are but your minions,” Bianca said, delightfully stabbing another fae right in the heart.

  “The spear?” In that moment, a lightheadedness swept over her and Gwen realized she was about to faint. “My… my arm.”

  That was the l
ast thing she knew before she crumpled face-down in a puddle of silver blood and rivulets of rain.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gwen blinked awake, like a TV turning on, going so suddenly from unconscious to conscious that she barely dared to breathe. Had she been taken captive? Was this what death felt like?

  If so, it was a surprisingly comfortable death, Gwen thought, feeling snuggly warm on a bed, her only pressing need that of using the toilet.

  “Hey, sleepy-head.” The blonde woman – Bianca, Gwen reminded herself – leaned over the bed and smiled at her.

  “Hi. Um, did we get captured? What happened?” Gwen asked, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. She wondered if she’d been snoring while she was passed out, then mentally groaned at the thought of snoring around the handsome Lochlain. Maybe he’d disappeared with the fae? Perhaps this was all some weird dream.

  “Finally, you’re awake,” Loch said, stepping to the bed and running a cursory glance over Gwen. She sighed. No such luck on the whole this-is-just-a-dream thing, Gwen thought, and then almost blushed when she realized she must look a fright.

  And why did she care how she looked? Gwen reminded herself again that men like Loch never looked at women like her.

  “Nice bedside manner, Doc.” Bianca shot Loch a glare and put her hand to Gwen’s forehead to check for fever.

  “What happened?” Gwen asked, gratefully accepting the glass of water that Bianca handed her.

  “You were wounded. A slice in your arm. Fae blades are cursed with dark magick, so you must be careful not to get hit,” Bianca gently admonished Gwen. “It takes strong magick to heal you as quickly as we were able to. You’ve Loch to thank for that one.”

  Gwen’s eyes met his tawny ones, and she wished she could read what lay in the depths of them.

  “Aye, then it’s beholden to you I am,” Gwen said, smiling at Loch.

  “No matter,” Loch said, brushing the healing off as if it were as minor as picking up a napkin she’d dropped. “I’m just grateful I was able to heal you on my own merits this time.”

  “What do you mean, ‘this time’? Was there someone you weren’t able to heal?” Gwen asked, and was shocked to see a bolt of rage flicker over Loch’s face before he schooled his expression.

  “Let’s just say that I’m grateful I didn’t have to go to the same extremes as I once did in the past,” Loch bit out, and Gwen wondered what it was that made him so furious. Shouldn’t he be happy that healing her from what could have been a mortal fae wound had come so easily to him? Men and their egos, Gwen thought, shaking her head before turning back to Bianca.

  “Where are we?”

  “We’ve left the village. Too many Domnua knew where we were. It’s really best to keep moving,” Bianca said, her voice trailing after her as she moved across the room to a small kitchenette in the corner, where a pot bubbled on the stove. Gwen propped herself up more to take in her surroundings. Her bed was tucked under an alcove in what seemed to be a single-room cottage.

  Seamus stoked a small potbellied stove, the flames offering warmth in the small room, and Loch sat down in an armchair, his face stormy. At the stove, Bianca poured what looked to be soup into a bowl and brought it over to Gwen’s bedside. “Here. Eat this and let’s have ourselves a bit of a chat,” she said.

  As if on cue, Seamus drew Loch into a conversation, giving the women a little bit of privacy.

  “Thank you. I’m famished,” Gwen admitted, spooning up the vegetable stew and trying not to glance across the room at Loch, who was still glowering.

  “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Bianca asked, catching Gwen’s stolen glance.

  “Um, yeah, are you kidding me? He looks like one of the superheros in my comic books. I bet every woman within meters of him stops to come talk to him. He’s every man’s worst nightmare and every woman’s secret dream. Handsome doesn’t even do him justice,” Gwen gushed.

  Bianca drew back in surprise before laughing at Gwen. “So you fancy him already, then?”

  “What?” Gwen almost dropped the bowl of soup, then laughed. “Me? No. Men like him don’t go for women like me. They go for, like… the showstoppers. All glitz and glamor. Women who glide places and wear towering icepick stiletto heels. I’m more of a run-into-the-wall and wear t-shirts type of girl. It would be a match made in hell, that it would be. I’m cool with that. Much easier to conduct a quest without romance getting in the way,” Gwen said, scooping up more soup before pointing the spoon at Bianca. “Speaking of quests, care to fill a girl in?”

  “Aye, I have so much to tell you – but first, I just have to say this,” Bianca said, reaching out to pat Gwen’s arm. “I think you’re stunning. You just aren’t seeing yourself as others do.”

  Heat crept up Gwen’s cheeks and she cursed her fair skin once again for giving away her emotions. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m comfortable with knowing that I’m passably attractive at best. Otherwise more men would’ve taken notice of me in the village or made more of an attempt to date me,” Gwen shrugged, uncomfortable with talking about her looks when they had so many more interesting things to speak of, like magick and murdering fae.

  “I’m thinking it’s because they were too intimidated by you,” Bianca said softly, and Gwen let out a peal of laughter that had both men glancing their way.

  “That’s a thought, isn’t it? Not likely, but you sure are a doll,” Gwen chuckled again, delighted to have Bianca along on whatever quest this was.

  “I think you underestimate yourself. But that’s all I’ll say about that. As for the quest, have you heard of the four treasures – the great treasures of the god cities?”

  “Aye, I have, at that. Legends and myths abound around them. Great fun to read about,” Gwen said, then paused, realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. “Wait – you’re saying the treasures are real? The spear? That’s mine to find? Why are they lost? Wait… they’re real?”

  “They are as real as that spoon you’re holding,” Bianca smiled, leaning back to cross her arms over her chest. “And they’re missing because centuries ago, a curse was laid upon Ireland by the bad fae.”

  “The Domnua,” Gwen said, testing out the word on her tongue and finding she didn’t like it.

  “Correct. Goddess Danu’s bitchy sister is their queen mum, if you will,” Bianca said. “If the Danula – the good guys” – Bianca pointed to Seamus and Loch – “haven’t found the four treasures before the time is up, the Domnua will rise up and inherit the world.”

  “Oh, so no big deal,” Gwen said faintly.

  “Have faith. We’re doing good so far, with two of the treasures found and kicking right along. Plus, you’ve already found your magick and you’ve got a high and mighty sorcerer as your Protector, so you’re good to go,” Bianca said, excitement flashing across her pretty face.

  Gwen tried to reconcile the pretty blonde in the sweater set sitting across from her with the woman who had cheerfully murdered fae. She found herself struggling to make the connection. Though she supposed most wouldn’t think of her as a murderer, either, and hadn’t she killed her own fair share of fae as well?

  “My… my Protector?” Gwen asked, casting a look over at Loch again.

  “That’s right. It’s quite an honor, too. In each generation there are Seekers – Na Sirtheior and Protectors. The fae know who the Protectors are, and families are quite proud if one of theirs is chosen to protect. But this round of Seekers seems to have no prior knowledge of the quests. I’m going to guess you were probably an orphan of sorts, or adopted? That seems to be a theme here.”

  “Gran,” Gwen breathed, fear racing up her so quickly that she almost dropped the bowl of soup she held. “I have to get to Gran. Make sure she’s safe.” Gwen sat up and tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, desperate now to find a phone or go back to the village to find Gran.

  “Loch took care of her. You have to listen to me,” Bianca said sharply, putting her hands on Gwen’s shoulde
rs to hold her down. “She is safe.”

  Gwen read the truth in Bianca’s eyes, but still needed to hear it from Loch.

  “Is that true? Gran is safe?” Gwen asked, interrupting the conversation across the room.

  Loch ran his eyes over Gwen. She nearly blushed when she realized she was wearing only a tank top, but the sheet was covering the rest of her body. Then he nodded at her.

  “She’s at my village. A magickal one that nobody knows of. The fae reside there and it is guarded by the Goddess Danu herself. There is no safer place for her in this world. Plus, she seemed delighted by all the fae who swooped in to fawn over her and ask questions. It seems they are just as curious as she is.”

  “That sounds like Gran. She loves telling me the story of how I once danced with fae,” Gwen mused.

  Loch came to a stand so fast she almost gasped. “What is this story exactly?”

  “Oh… it’s just a… well, I guess it’s not,” Gwen said, stuttering a bit as she realized it wasn’t just a fairytale. Quickly relaying the story, she watched Loch’s expression for any clues as to what it might mean.

  “The bracelets – may I hold them?” Loch asked, though she could read the struggle on his face when he asked instead of commanding her to hand them over.

  “No. They are mine. I’m not certain I can even take them off. When I put them on, they morphed and locked up. I think they’re on there for good now,” Gwen said, jumping a little when Loch took her wrist in his hand, turning it so he could read the writing on the bracelet. Gwen tried to ignore the caress of his fingers on her skin, his touch sending heat trailing lazily up her arm.

  “You can read them,” Bianca said, tilting her head to study Loch as he examined Gwen’s bracelets.

  “Aye.”

  “What do they say?” Gwen asked.

  Loch dropped her hand as quickly as he’d taken it and stormed from the room, the door banging behind him.

  “The man has a flair for the dramatic,” Seamus said from where he sat on the couch, tuning his fiddle. “I kind of like it. It keeps things interesting.”