Undone Deeds

by Del Franco, Mark

  Briallen rubbed his arm. “No need. He’s in pain, Leonard.”

  “Yeah, well, it has nothing to do with you,” he said.

  And everything to do with me. “I shouldn’t have come,” I said.

  Exasperated, Leo glanced up at the house. “I didn’t think Faith would rat me out. She usually is the one calming things down.”

  “I smelled essence on both of your brothers,” I said.

  Briallen nodded. “I did, too. If I’m not mistaken, it was essence-fire residue.”

  “Gerry’s right about one thing: We’re not the only ones who know how to teach about abilities. Have they been training with someone?” I asked.

  Leo looked down, then away. “I’m not sure. Kev and Gerry have always been pretty tight. They’ve been going out a lot together lately.”

  The look said it all. He was sure but didn’t want to think about it. “Maybe you should follow them. If the Guild isn’t involved, it could be anyone,” I said.

  He frowned. “I’m not going to put my own family under surveillance, Connor.”

  The black car’s driver opened the door for Briallen. She paused with one foot inside the car. “You’re looking at this as a personal matter. It’s not, Leonard. Your abilities are under control, but you have no idea what can happen. I think Kevin, at least, has more abilities. If they’re both using essence-fire, they can be putting themselves in danger, if not everyone else. I don’t want you feeling guilty if something happens.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  The expression on Murdock’s face stayed with me the rest of the day, so sad, yet so angry. I knew what it was like to get blindsided by life. It sucked. My problems hadn’t destroyed my entire family, but somehow they had destroyed Murdock’s. I didn’t know what I could do about it, but I hoped I didn’t make it any worse.

  7

  The driver drove us back to Beacon Hill, where Briallen lived in a town house on Louisburg Square. The address was tony, the neighbors aloof, and Briallen was indifferent to both. Back at the house, she made coffee because she knew I needed a constant stream of caffeine before noon.

  We wandered up to the top floor of her house so she could show me the results of some spells she had been working on. Rather, some spells that she hadn’t had any success with. Briallen faced a sealed stone door on the top landing. Arms crossed, she leaned against the banister. “If I weren’t so angry, I’d compliment her on her skills.”

  “She,” of course, was Meryl. I stared at the door, trying to find a break in the stone. Meryl had been in a trance state a few weeks back. Nigel Martin, another old mentor, had devised a spell session to bring her out of it with Briallen’s help. I had been dubious. Nigel and I were on less-than-cordial terms these days, and I suspected his motives, with good reason as it turned out. He had attempted to kill Meryl inside Briallen’s sanctum sanctorum. Meryl had had other ideas. She turned the tables on him, came out of her trance, and sealed Nigel inside the room. He was still in there.

  “Is he alive?” I asked.

  “I think so. I’m attuned to some of the crystals inside. They continue to indicate a body signature,” she said.

  “He probably put himself in a deep-trance mode,” I said. Druids can shut their bodies down to a near-death state. From my own training, I knew how to survive several days with minimal sustenance. Several weeks were another matter. On the other hand, Nigel was an archdruid, the highest attainable level of our kind. He had skills only the High Queen’s closest advisors could match.

  “He can’t stay in there forever,” she said.

  I ran my hand over the surface of the round door. Deep lines were incised in the stone, classic Celtic swirls that represented water and the sun. Here and there, tiny flashes of essence sparkled in the ridges, which meant the tuning spells were still active. Tuning spells helped make the sanctum more conducive to spell work. The stone door met the stone frame in one fused transition. “If anyone can, I’d bet on Nigel.”

  “That’s not helping,” she said.

  The surface of the door had been bleached white except for the center, which had a dark scorch mark where the focus of Meryl’s essence blast had struck. “The tuning spell is not working in the center.”

  “I tried recalibrating,” Briallen said. “The underlying pathways are either damaged, or she left something that is blocking me.”

  “Under the circumstances, I doubt she had time to set a block,” I said.

  “You’re making excuses because you’re biased,” she said.

  I frowned. “So are you. Just because you’re mad at her doesn’t make her the bad guy.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Half the Guild is looking for Nigel, and I’ve got him illegally imprisoned in my attic.”

  I scanned the surface one more time, then held my hands up in apology. “I got nothing.”

  Briallen let out an angry sigh and walked away. I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. She poured herself a mug of coffee, then gestured with the pot to see if I wanted any. I always wanted coffee. “You must have some kind of fail-safe to open the sanctum.”

  “Of course. It was predicated on, you know, having a door that opens,” she said. I chuckled. I couldn’t help myself. Briallen glared at me. “I fail to see the humor in this.”

  “It’s nice not to be the subject of your frustration for a change,” I said.

  She took firm swipes with a dishcloth at the counter. I watched her without speaking. Briallen cleaned when she was angry. Back when I was her student, I was usually the one forced to clean. When the counter was shining, her face softened, and she sat at the island counter with me. “Do you really think that?”

  “Well….”

  “You don’t frustrate me, Connor. The world does.”

  I snorted. “Tell me about it.”

  She touched my hand. “Through all these years, I’ve always wanted the best for you. If I could have saved you pain, I would have.”

  “I know. Half the problem is that neither of us can mind our business,” I said.

  She laughed. “True. I wish I could give you better answers, but I haven’t been able to scry.”

  Briallen had a talent for perceiving the future. Through chants and spells, she used the surface of calm water to catch glimpses of what might be. Her preferred instrument was the fountain pool in her back garden. The process wasn’t exact because so many variables changed from moment to moment. Sometimes, though, outcomes became inevitable, the various potential strands of events converging into a few and sometimes one. Those times were rarely positive and never good.

  “Still?” I asked. When major events became so uncertain, no amount of fey ability was able to penetrate the veil of the future. It had happened a few weeks ago when the Elven King attacked the Guildhouse. Once past the crisis point, the ability returned.

  “Not since before the Guildhouse. What about Meryl?” she asked.

  Meryl’s talent was druidic dreaming. Her ability came on its own, in her sleep. Hers was a True Dreaming. The things she envisioned came to pass. She didn’t always understand the details because the images often came in metaphors that she had to interpret. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she failed.

  “I haven’t thought to ask,” I said. Any type of scrying hurt my head enough to cause me to pass out. The reaction came from the dark mass in my mind. It hurt like hell, and I avoided coming in contact with scrying whenever possible. Now that the faith stone was embedded in my skull, I had my full body shield. It kept out the pain as long as I didn’t try scrying myself.

  “Could you? I’ve found no one who can scry,” she said.

  “Sure.” She didn’t move from the window. “Briallen?” She faced me. “It isn’t good, is it? I mean, really not good.”

  She shook her head. “Something as huge as the death of Donor Elfenkonig should have set everything in motion again. It didn’t. Whatever is happening is still happening, Connor. It’s not over, and if Donor’s death was on
ly the beginning, I’m afraid of what comes next. Truly afraid.”

  The hair on the back of my neck went up, and I shuddered. Briallen ab Gwyll was not afraid of anything.

  “If it’s any consolation, I want that door open more than you do. I need answers that I think Nigel has.”

  “So now you’re willing to talk to him?” she asked.

  Once I lost my abilities, Nigel abandoned me as a friend. I took it personally. We were no longer on speaking terms. “Question him. He was researching something about me. I want to know what it was.”

  She tapped her coffee mug. “Maybe you need to talk to someone about opening that door.”

  “I have. She won’t. If I can move past that, I think you can,” I said.

  “What do you think he was researching?”

  I tapped my forehead. “I know he was interested in the darkness in my head, but I think he knew something about the faith stone.”

  “As far as I know, he shared everything he knew about the darkness with me and Gillen Yor. He didn’t have any more answers than we did,” she said.

  “After everything that’s happened, you believe that?” I asked.

  She sipped her coffee. “I understand your doubts, Connor, but you have to remember that for a long time, we thought we could cure you. I still believe that. Nigel was fully involved with researching your problem. He might not like my methods, but I don’t think either Gillen or I would have missed his hiding something from us. The faith stone is another matter.”

  “Brokke told me it had the power to instill faith in people,” I said.

  “Brokke was a master of the obvious,” she said.

  I shook my head. “Briallen, I’m not interested in competing politics anymore. I just want the truth, whether it comes from the Celts or the Teuts.”

  She chuckled. “Don’t confuse people and principles, Connor. Brokke was an arrogant, irritating ass. He knew things that were better shared and let people die when they could have been saved.”

  “That’s fair—and beside the point. This thing in my head is powerful. The Elven King died over it. What does it mean?” I asked.

  She gazed into her coffee mug. I thought she might be trying to scry off the surface of the liquid. I didn’t feel any of the usual pressure in my head that happened when someone scryed. The dark mass didn’t like my being around the future.

  Briallen was considering her response. Based on my experience, she knew something and was trying to decide how little she could get away with sharing—ironic, considering what she had said about Brokke.

  She shifted herself on the stool. “Here’s what I think: Donor always struggled with persuading allies that the elves were the victims in the war that led to Convergence. No matter his grievances, he ruled in the authoritarian manner of Alfheim, and the modern world never understood or agreed with that method. He wanted something to help him make his case, and he thought the stone would do it.

  “Here’s what I believe: The stone is exactly what he thought it was. It’s the remnant of an older reality, when the righteousness of one’s cause could be demonstrated by having the approval of the Wheel of the World. The stone gave credibility to the one who held it.”

  I smirked. “Well, that part’s not working anymore.”

  “Isn’t it? You’ve been accused of terrorism by both the Guild and the Consortium, yet neither of them has arrested you. How much is that due to politics and how much to the power in your head?”

  “You know I don’t believe the Wheel of the World cares that much about me, or anyone else, for that matter,” I said.

  She eyed me with the stern manner of a teacher. “That’s a mistake I’ve tried to correct in you for as long as we’ve known each other, Connor. You’re right. The Wheel of the World doesn’t care about individuals, but it does work through individuals to accomplish Its purposes.”

  “So what do you think Its purpose is with me?” I asked.

  She lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug. “Maybe exactly what’s happening—the Guild and the Consortium are on the brink of war. If the faith stone is with you instead of someone like Donor and Maeve, maybe that keeps war from breaking out. It creates doubt on both sides about the success of their respective causes.”

  “Is that why you gave me the dagger?” I asked.

  She seemed startled by the question though why I wasn’t sure. “I gave you the dagger to protect yourself.”

  “Really? You didn’t give it to me to get it out of the way?” I asked.

  She didn’t meet my gaze but got up and poured herself more coffee. “You were powerless in a dangerous situation. I didn’t want to see you die, Connor. Why are you making it seem like I did a bad thing?”

  I removed the dagger from my boot and placed it between us on the counter. As usual, a few runes reacted to the essence around it—the ambient stuff in the air, a powerful being like Briallen, and, no doubt, the resonant energy given off by the stone in my head. “Because you refuse to talk about it. What is this dagger—this sword. Where did it come from?”

  “It’s an enchanted blade from Faerie. It has powerful protection wards on in it,” she said.

  “Stopping dancing around my question,” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she said.

  “Brokke said he recognized the sword when he saw. He said it was one of the signs in his vision that everything might be destroyed. I don’t believe for one friggin’ minute that you don’t know more than you’re saying.”

  Briallen’s eyes went cold, and I remembered why people feared her. I had never spoken to her like that, other than juvenile outbursts when I was a teenager. When I was a kid, I did it to test the bounds of authority. As an adult, I realized I was pushing the bounds of rivalry. “I did it to keep it out of Maeve’s hands. She already had the spear. I was afraid if she acquired the sword, it would tip the balance of power between the Seelie Court and the Consortium.”

  Her words settled on me like an understanding wrapped in an insult. “I didn’t matter, so I was perfect.”

  She scowled. “Don’t put words in my mouth. The fact that the sword responded to you means you were meant to have it. That’s how the Wheel of the World works. Just because it suited my purpose doesn’t mean it’s not what the Wheel of the World wants from you.”

  I pushed the blade toward her. “I don’t want it then.”

  Briallen stared down at the dagger. “You can’t give it back. You still need it.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Yes, you do. You know it. You said you would only give it back when you didn’t need it anymore. You bound yourself with that condition. Want and need are two different things, Connor. Put the dagger away.”

  She was calling my bluff and knew it. I didn’t want her to take it back. I wanted answers. “What did you think would happen when you gave it to me, Briallen? Did you think something like this would have no consequences?”

  Her eyes became moist. “I didn’t think it would harm you. I thought the Wheel of the World would turn without you, and the sword would find its place with someone else. You want me to say you were nobody? Fine, you were nobody. Maeve had never heard of you. I thought the sword was safe. I thought you were safe.

  “Yeah, well, that brilliant plan didn’t work out so well,” I said.

  Briallen went to the kitchen sink and rinsed her mug. She stared out the window above the sink. “I never intended anything bad to happen.”

  “How do I use this sword?” I asked.

  She kept her back to me. “You’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

  I picked up the blade and shoved it back in my boot. “You know what? I was angry at that old man upstairs for ignoring me after my accident. Now, I’m kinda glad he did. Thanks for nothing, Briallen.”

  8

  I left the house pretty steamed. Briallen had dumped the sword on me. I didn’t ask for it, and now that I had an ominous warning from a dead
dwarf who saw the future, she wanted to let the Wheel of the World decide what I should know.

  Despite Meryl’s advice to take a break, I couldn’t. It was literally impossible when I was carrying around a dark mass and a faith stone in my head. It wasn’t like I could turn them off and think about them some other time. They were always there—unavoidable, unignorable, and uninvited.

  Brokke said that the appearance of the stone, the spear, and the sword were signs of a coming cataclysm. He hinted that one more element needed to appear but hadn’t. It had, but he didn’t know about it. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that another stone ward I had hidden—a stone bowl that produced more essence than it absorbed—was part of the package. Somehow, these things had gravitated to me. I needed to understand them.

  Back in the Weird, I picked my way over fallen debris on Calvin Place like a cat walking on a wet floor. Public works trucks couldn’t make it through the narrow lane without scraping the walls of the adjacent buildings, and the people who owned the buildings cared little whether the hazardous stretch inconvenienced anyone. It was an old road, one block long, from a time when horse-pulled carts serviced Boston businesses. Only one occupied storefront had held on through years of change. The dilapidated sign across the length of the building was missing letters, and soot obscured the remaining ones. It didn’t matter in terms of finding the place. Everyone in the Weird knew BELGOR’S NOTIONS, POTIONS AND THEURGIC DEVICES.

  The bell over the door rang with one dull clank. Heat wrapped itself around me, too much heat, the kind an ancient boiler the size of a trailer truck pumped into old building radiators. Why it was still on so late into spring, only the gods and absentee landlords knew. The dampness accentuated the smell of the store: moist dust, old incense, and the burnt-cinnamon tang of Belgor’s body odor. A murmur of voices drifted from the rear, where the counter and cash register were.

  I lingered in an aisle, listening. Sensing pings touched me as the people in back checked to see who had entered. My essence didn’t intimidate or concern them, and they continued their conversational chatter, locals bumping into each other and shooting the shit to delay venturing back to work or whatever passed for work. At the end of the aisle, two brownies and a tall forest elf lounged near the soda case. Belgor sat next to the counter, his bulk threatening to make his stool disappear. He spared me a cursory glance, affecting disinterest, while he listened to the conversation.