“They would gut you as soon as look upon you.” An elf at the far side of the table pointed with his steak knife at Lugh. “The Unseelie are outspoken about the Collapse of the Mounds, and who was at fault. You’re safe enough among the fey who reverence all Sidhe, but among the Unseelie, who owe you no fealty, you should scant find that the case.”
“Gareth.” Kev reached out a hand. “Surely the Seelie never meant for the Collapse and Fade to happen.”
“Blinded by ambition and greed, I doubt it not that they expected nothing save to triumph over the Unseelie and over all magic, but it was folly! And we all knew it! The Unseelie have been fleeing the Mounds for a hundred years, knowing that the Collapse would come. Blimey, we all knew it. The prophecy was clear enough. The Seelie would crush the Dark Court and consume it into themselves. But Light and Dark can never unite. The magic is too unstable. But the Seelie denied what we all knew!” The elf stabbed his knife into the table. “And so you had your way, year by year, weakening the Unseelie for your own hunger for power. So when you at last crushed the Unseelie Court beneath your boot, so too did you destroy the Mounds, and cast forth this plague of the Fade that will consume us all!”
Lugh recalled that final day when Jhear himself spoke nearly the same words. It was as if the ghost of the Unseelie Elite himself railed through this elf, possessing him with the very fury he spat at Lugh that day.
Gareth snarled, “There are those who believed that no Seelie survived the Collapse, and got no less than they deserved because of it!” The elf shoved himself away from the table, flipping his plate of food in an angry gesture that sent it flying, scattering the remaining food in the process, in effect and symbolism casting aside this communion with Lugh and those at the table.
King Mckenna quickly laid a hand upon Lugh’s arm. “Forgive him, Lord Lugh. His wife and children were in the Mounds the day of the Collapse. Grief has stricken his mind.”
“I know his grief, for I lost many whom I loved as well.” Lugh’s voice strained with emotion, and this time he allowed it to show. He wasn’t the cold, calculating wretch the Unseelie would have them to believe. “And it was not unification of the courts that caused the Collapse, I assure you, but an act of treachery and rebellion. In the very moments as the Collapse cascaded though the Mounds, I found the true cause of it. The All-Mother, Danu, was slain. A silver dagger stabbed into her heart.”
Murmurs of disbelief circled the room. Even Gareth spun about to stare at him with shock. Lugh pledged, “Once I have secured the magicraft to reverse the Fade, I shall seek the traitor that slew her. I harbor no doubts that the villain must have prepared an escape, for all fey knew the Mounds and the All-Mother were as one, and to murder her was to destroy our world.”
“See, Gareth?” argued the king. “It was not the Seelie, but this assassin who was responsible.” Turning to Lugh, he said, “If there is any way we might assist, Champion.”
“Just that which we have spoken of. Search among your possessions for the relics. Your spellweavers and I shall see to the Great Veil.”
Although Gareth held his peace as the feast broke up, his sidelong glare lost none of its accusation.
Chapter Six
Lugh had the excuse of unfamiliarity with the Fortress Braeden to avoid suffering the embarrassment of explaining why he was loathe to teleport himself. The wood elves’ lead enchanter did the honors of bringing Lugh with him to the tower room of the fortress. Since the moment King Mckenna summoned him, Cai spoke almost continuously to Lugh in his low, intense way, recounting what measures they’d taken to attempt to mend the rift, what assessments they had done and their conclusions, his personal concerns about the fragility of this section of the overall enchantment, and the possibility of a cascading effect that might bring the whole of the enchantment crashing down.
“The cross linkages should hold, even if this enchantment is compromised.” Lugh recalled the arduous designing of the magicraft. Hardly a Sidhe hadn’t had some hand in the fabrication. From childhood, Lugh had been groomed for his role as Champion, and instruction in magicraft had been as emphasized as warcraft. Danu, Nuada, and even Cerridwen had mentored him in his centuries of apprenticeship and journeyman training. His nimble fingers could weave even the most intricate knotwork enchantments, bending the raw magic that emanated from his very being, as it did for all fey, to fashion a magic that took the shape and function of his will.
Glamour was the most instinctual form of magicraft. The pliant magic acquired the camouflaging appearance that shielded the fey from unfriendly eyes. This most basic enchantment could be woven with mere elementary training into curtains that might hang over doors, whole buildings, or in the case of the Grove, over an entire forest, to encase them in the protection of illusion.
For the enchantment of the Great Veil only the most secure and complex weaving had been crafted. The Veil allowed fey magic to pass through as long as it was intact. When a wizard ripped the magic from a fey it snapped the normal threading of the magic they produced. The more they ‘refined’ the bits of a fey corpse, grinding the bones or boiling the meat, the more fractures they caused in the magic. Those ragged edges wouldn’t pass through the Great Veil. The stronger the wizard, and the more enchantments they cast upon themselves, their clothing, and weapons, the more powerfully the Veil would snag them. Even if the wizards were to discover this secret to the Veil’s functioning, they could scarcely abstain from using fey magic long enough to fully shed all traces of the shards of magic. While the Veil would repel most attempts by a wizard to transverse its protection, if a wizard managed through some external effort, such as transported by ship, to force his way through the Veil, the magic would snag on all those broken bits of fey magic and shred the wizard as if his body had been forced through a sieve. To date, a very effective deterrent.
The fey, and even druids and other captivated humans who carried the magic of the Sidhe Touch within their bodies, passed with no discomfort through the Veil, as the threads and natural flow of the magic within them were fully intact. Non-magical beings, and those of a magic foreign to that of the fey, such as that of the Dragons, also passed without complication through the barrier of the Veil.
If Lugh had not already suffered so drastically from the Fade, he would have summoned from within himself the raw magic which moved through him. Rather than allowing it to take the shape of his aspect of magic, he’d maintain the magic in its raw form. As it was his own magic, he could then catch and weave the threads he created, much like a spider weaves her silks into what pattern she desires. He had not the faculties to summon, nor weave the magic of another. Only the perceivers, inelegantly known as bloodhounds among the Unseelie, had the ability to catch and manipulate the threads another fey produced. A frightening notion to most fey, that anyone should possess such a dangerous power. It was why Manannan had been feared and denied the Seelie crown for so many centuries, though all knew of his ambitions to one day rule the Seelie Court.
So without the faculties to weave his own magicraft, and unable to weave the threads of the wood elves in his stead, Lugh had only one option to accomplish his task. “How many spellweavers have we?” he asked, stripping off his shirt and laying it aside.
“Four, including myself.” Cai indicated the three other elves. “King Mckenna and my protégés, Lee and Tadhg.”
Another dozen elves loitered around the chamber, observing from the periphery. The magicraft would no doubt be an impressive sight, even to the talented elves. For the lead enchanter’s ears only, Lugh murmured, “I wished not to begrudge anyone the opportunity to witness the work we’re to perform, but I am concerned about the possibility of distraction. Perhaps you can encourage the onlookers to wait downstairs?”
Cai needed no more encouragement than this to herd the other elves from the enchantment room. The room was itself round, as was the tower, constructed with the permanence of stone and masonry. The strong fragrance of the ocean washed with the sounds of the waves thro
ugh the open balcony doors. Besides a fountain offset from the center of the room, statuary was the only decoration, ringing the perimeter. These commemorated those Sidhe that fashioned this section of the Veil hundreds of years prior. The aged marble figures seemed to watch him with the cold indifference of shades. Aine, one of the Leannan Sidhe, had been here. As had her closest friend Bridhid, one of Dagda’s daughters. Taranis, another storm Sidhe as the lost Rico had been. Druantia, the Sidhe after whom the term ‘druid’ had been coined for her love of captivating humans. And even Tailtiu, Lugh’s own foster mother, had been here that day. He’d not known that. And seeing their faces threatened to bring on a melancholy of memories, so he resolutely cast his gaze away from them so that he might fully focus on the task before him.
Addressing the four enchantment weavers, Lugh asked, “Have you experience with complex interlacing connections?”
“We use the Dara Knot in the Grove’s Glamour with a Clove Hitch for the interlacing.” Lee met Lugh’s gaze with nervous bravery that didn’t quite forestall his need to fidget. “In the Veil, you used a Dragonscale Seizing Knot?”
“It is not so simple as that. There is an extra quaternary of Open Inward-Twisting Clover Knots for interlacing. The threads can foul into tangles if not cradled through the inner twisting. You can’t lay the twists of the clover one at a time. They must be laid simultaneously, engaging all the fingers on both hands while controlling the outer knotwork.”
“You’re yanking me!” Tadhg, the youngest of the lads popped off, earning a cuffing swat on the back of the head from Cai.
“Watch your tongue before the Sidhe, cub.”
Lugh waved off the concern for the sensitivity of his ears. “Are any of you familiar with the Blind Journeyman Technique?”
“I am,” the king answered. Knowing what was required, Mckenna drew off his robe and tunic, folded them, and set them to the side. Beneath the elegant clothing, he wore only a simple cotton undershirt and breeches that laced up the front in the old fashion. The undershirt he also cast aside, so like Lugh, he was bared to the waist.
“I’ve heard of it.” Cai followed the lead of his king, removing his garments until he wore nothing but his pants and soft leather boots. Both Lee and Tadhg followed suit at Cai’s nod.
More so for the lads, Lugh prepared them for what he meant to do. “You four shall work in a tight circle, knee to knee. I will Touch you all at once. Thoughts and images move only in the direction of the Touch, so from me to you. I will not see your thoughts in return, so speak if you have something to share. Using the Touch, I will guide you all to work in unison and show you each move in turn. Go slow and follow my instructions precisely.”
Lugh arranged the four so that Mckenna and Cai, the more experienced of the weavers, sat opposite each other. On the stone floor, each man sat cross-legged with their knees touching. The space between them was sufficient for the repair work. Lugh knelt just behind Mckenna and Tadhg. Leaning forward, Lugh wrapped his arms across their shoulders and reached a hand to both Cai’s and Lee’s shoulders. The Touch required only a thin stream of magic, and Lugh gave each of the elves just the lightest Touch so that he might reach directly into their minds.
The work began achingly slow. Each elf was adept at drawing out the raw magic they needed to spin into threads for weaving, but bringing them through the individual twists and loops while controlling all parts of the knotwork pattern required some practice. Only after the fourth attempt had all the wood elves managed to create a simultaneous knot, and they’d not even been challenged to create linkages with each other or the Veil. On the second knot, when the first interlacing was to be forged, the whole of the enchantment fouled, and Cai spent fifteen minutes helping Lee to disentangle his fingers from his own magic.
Then it was decided that Cai should instruct the lads on the techniques of the Clover Knot before they continued. Mckenna and Lugh waited patiently, discussing nothing among themselves, only watching gravely as the youths struggled with the concepts of the advanced weaving. There was nothing for it though, but patience. Four non-Sidhe weavers were the minimum to create the pattern required and the maximum Lugh could reach with the Touch while they sat in a circle. No one questioned or accused Lugh for not volunteering to weave the enchantment for the repair of this size alone. Like as not, no one but perhaps Mckenna knew that Lugh should have been able to do such.
The labor would take as long as it would take, and none here would cease in their efforts until they either succeeded or collapsed, and that brought a patience that seemed out of any measurement of time. Whether it required hours or weeks, they would each see this work to completion.
“We’re ready to begin again,” Cai told them. When they each returned to their positions, the lead weaver reminded the lads, “Don’t anticipate. Don’t spin out more threads than you need at the moment. Spin and weave at the same time. Give yourselves to the weaving and to the Touch. It should be almost as if it isn’t your mind controlling your fingers, but Lugh’s. Let his experience channel through you.”
This time, Lugh began visualizing the weaving as if it were within his own hands, each movement of his fingers acting with precision. He limited his thoughts to the speed which the slowest weaver required to maintain control. With each breath, he only twisted a single loop in his thoughts. Watching the space between the elves, the enchantment began to take shape like feathers of frost. The thickened twists and knotwork appeared before the elves like mist from a lake. Their articulate fingers caught the magic, rolled it into threads, and then began the next knot within a knot that formed the overall design. As like attracts like, the identical patterns each weaver created forged links with the others, strengthening the overall design and forming a globe of frost-like enchantment floating between the elves.
Now and again Cai or Mckenna would murmur a word or two, keeping the lads from fouling the design. In the circle of enchantment, all guided by Lugh’s thoughts, the elves became as one mind. The weaving grew faster as the twists became familiar and muscle memory came into play.
And again, as like attracts like, this ball of enchantment that thickened with each new layer, began to catch loops of the enchantment of the Great Veil. The green and brown of the wood elf enchantment acquired the hints of pastel hues from the magic of the Sidhe who first wove the enchantment.
This was the most delicate time in the weaving. Only Mckenna and Cai now, Lugh thought, each hearing him through the Touch. Take the clover knots on the unbound edges of the Veil and make them the inner knots for your weaving. Understand?
The more experienced weavers created the effect of button loops to surround the Clover Knots of the Veil enchantment. Looping and looping, they sewed their patch into the fabric of the Veil.
Only now that their enchantment fully joined with the Veil, and while the weavers’ bodies were still connected to the loops of their own magic, could they finally see the fullness of the complexity and beauty of the Great Veil enchantment.
Just as there was a knot within a knot, there was an enchantment within an enchantment, and a knowing within a knowing. With his eyes, Lugh could see the ball of enchantment that the weavers had forged. This ball was but a single one like hundreds of similar ones all along the entire coast of Ireland. Just as they created a button loop for each inner loop of the Veil’s magic, each of these great balls of enchantment was as a button in the netting of the whole of the Veil, linking them to each other as a whole. Were he to see the fullness of the enchantment, Lugh would see thousands of threads rising from this ball into the sky like the great trunk of a tree, where it would spread into a canopy of branches. And those branches twisted and embraced the branches of the other tree-like enchantments a few miles off in either direction along the coast. Much like the way the trees of the Grove were woven into a single great canopy. His thoughts of the enchantment reached the elves and one of the lads gasped, “It is beautiful. Like the Grove. You are right.”
Although he could not see
it himself outside his memory, Lugh allowed the elves the gift of witnessing the inner workings of the enchantment for several minutes while they could still experience it. Each elf stared upward with amazement. After a period of reflection, Lugh guided them through the unsophisticated technique to dislodge themselves from their creation. It was as with any enchantment once completed. One never broke the threads of one’s weaving. Only drew out the final complete loop and released it. The shape of fey magic never resulted in a loose end. All was circular. All was as complete and never-ending as a circle or knotwork pattern.
Only now that his focus returned to himself did Lugh feel the horrid pain that stabbed though his body. Kneeling with no padding on the stones hurt his joints as viciously as the goblin arrow he’d recently taken. Stiff from having not moved in untold hours, Lugh attempted to unfold himself to his full height, but got no farther than planting one foot and failing to push himself up from his knee. Fighting to steady himself, Lugh gripped Mckenna’s shoulder. A wave of dizziness washed over him, against which he clenched his teeth to stifle a groan.
Mckenna placed a hand over Lugh’s and the pain of the pressure was horrendous. Lugh snatched back his hand, and only then did he see that the tips of his fingers were partially transparent. He balled his hands into fists, but not before Mckenna saw.
The others hadn’t noticed, as they moved with the stiffness of inactivity, but not of the weakness from the Fade that drained Lugh.
“Move the enchantment to the fountain pedestal,” Cai instructed. A bowl-shaped depression in the pedestal cradled the ball of enchantment. The fountain about it, though only a token foot deep, was wide enough that a visitor could not easily reach out and disturb the enchantment, accidentally toppling it. The two lads did as instructed.
Remnants of Magic (The Sidhe Collection (Urban Fantasy)) Page 14
