The Arrow (Children of Brigid Trilogy Book 1)

by Maureen O'Leary

  “How long have we been here?” she asked.

  “I have been here as long as there have been people on earth. You have been here as long as there has been earth.”

  They watched as blossoms shook free from the cherry trees in early spring bloom and drifted over their faces.

  ***

  Fynn danced while Komo played guitar and sang. The drummer from Ritual Madness sat by the fire with a bongo drum between his legs. He shut his eyes in trance, a smoldering cigarette balanced on his lower lip. She and the other girls followed Komo around the room in time with the music, driven by the beat pounding out of the drummer’s hands. Komo was the guitar player, but he was the drummer, too; he was the dancers. He was inside the drummer and inside himself. Fynn led the line of dancers winding through the house like a snake.

  ***

  Fynn was a snake, nosing through grasses growing out of rich peat soil. Dancers circled a bonfire so high, it licked the lower branches of the trees as grand as cathedral walls. She slithered through the dancers’ feet without fear and when they saw her, they were not afraid. A priestess lifted the snake above her crown of fiery braids.

  She was there as a symbol of all good things, of the power of creation. She was there to bring them prosperity, fertility, and love. They passed her around in their gentle hands and danced with her. She loved them and she loved all creation. The people worshipped her. They conjured her. She was their reason for dancing. Her scales flashed as she moved in their hands, her tongue flickering, tasting the smoke.

  ***

  “Fynn. My daughter. Where are you?” Her mother’s voice shattered the illusions of the Nine tablet dissolving in her bloodstream. Fynn pushed the voice away. Her mother had put her in danger. A pebble of anger grew to a stone lodged in her throat. She tried to cough it up, but the more she fought against it, the larger it grew.

  ***

  Fynn was back at the Keep, awake in an old photo of herself as a baby resting on her father’s shoulders. People from the commune tugged at the hem of her dress and she smiled down at them. She wore a wreath of purple windflowers around her head, like a crown. Her mother walked beside them. Her sister on the other side. They were friends with everybody. Her father held her ankles fast. She was safe and secure. She could never imagine falling.

  Then she blinked and she was fifteen. She rested her hands on a filthy woman’s back. The woman was homeless and stank of urine, but Fynn loved her because she loved everyone. She was filled with the love of the Triple Goddess toward all creation, but it didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t protected from the demon virus that crawled up her forearms in hungry vines that yanked her away from everything she loved. She screamed in darkness, hung upside down at the maw of hell.

  ***

  Fynn woke in real time, stretched out on a bed of clean white sheets. Komo crooned above her, his breath in her face. When he kissed her, his lips were as salty as the ocean.

  “I loved you,” she said. She ached behind her ribs. “I needed you to love me too.”

  He kissed her again and parted her lips with his tongue. His kisses were making her even drunker. She imagined she was a soft-bodied animal under the sea. He wove his fingers through her hair and pulled her head back so he could kiss her neck.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “We were supposed to stay together. You are a goddess and I am the son of a side-note buffoon.” He shook his head. “I need you, Fynn. I need you so much.”

  She wanted him to crush her. She wanted him to split her in two. She lifted his shirt over his head. He reared up on his forearms as she ran her fingers down his chest over the ridges of his abdomen to his navel. He sighed as she hid her face in the silky ends of his long hair.

  “But do you love me?” she asked. It wasn’t enough to be needed. It wasn’t even enough to be wanted. She was a goddess. She needed from him total abandon and absolutely desperate, worshipping love.

  The mocking smile was gone. He straightened to his full height. He stood shirtless in his worn blue jeans, his body long and lean and rippled with hard muscle. He wore a crude silver four-point compass star on a leather string around his neck. He placed his big hands under her back and pulled her to the edge of the bed. He got in his knees on the floor. He unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down.

  “I am praying to you,” he said, kissing her on the inside of her thighs.

  “That’s not enough.” Fynn pulled his head up to hers.

  “I worship you,” he said. His fingertips traced a pattern on her belly. He tried to kiss her, but she turned away.

  “Not enough,” Fynn said, her breath jagged.

  He brushed his fingertips between her legs. “I love you,” he said. He knelt before her again, bowing down.

  She let him kiss her then.

  11. The Morning After

  “Fynn.” Komo’s deep voice pulled her out of an even deeper sleep. He kissed her eyes awake. He lay back on the pillows, one hand toying with her hair. His skin was like smooth browned butter against the white sheets. She wrapped herself around him, breathed in the scent of the space under his jaw. His lips were puffy from sleep and kissing. He was a fallen god now. Whenever he performed onstage for adoring fans, she’d be the only one who knew this side of the great Komo, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles like a child.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said. “I can’t believe you came back for me.”

  Fynn sat up and looked around the bedroom for her purse. She couldn’t remember where she left it, or even when she last had it. She needed to call in sick to the lab. Dr. Colm Sullivan wasn’t just her boss. He was an old friend of her mother’s. He would notice when she didn’t show up.

  Komo rested his forehead against the small of her back, his arms encircling her middle. Lit candles burned the last of their wicks on a low table against the wall and on the nightstands. Outside the sky had lightened to the steel color of a late overcast morning by the sea. The room was shaped in an octagon, with windows on all sides, in a little tower at the top of the house overlooking the ocean.

  His finger traced her back in the shape of a cross, pressing a groove down her spine. “Don’t worry about work,” he said. “Just for once.”

  “I should have believed you about the demons,” Fynn said. “I thought I saw one looking out from this room last night. I never should have left you.”

  “We have the bad habit of leaving each other,” he said. “Let’s kick it together.” He kissed the raised goose bumps on her neck.

  “You are so strong,” he said, tracing her shoulder muscles with his fingers. “How did you get to be so strong?”

  “I’ve always been in training to be the Arrow,” she said, thinking of the archery, the weight lifting, the swimming, and surfing. She assured herself she would train anyway, even if Mother Brigid didn’t want her to keep it up. Even the martial arts work was something she enjoyed. “That’s never changed.”

  “Protect and defend,” he said. He ran his hands down her arms and held her wrists between his thumbs and forefingers like oversized bracelets. “Are you still high?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He leaned in for a long kiss, his full lips insistent. He was hungry and searching and pressing down on her. She folded her arms around his neck for more. She would never get enough.

  “I’ve waited so long for this,” she thought.

  “So have I,” he answered out loud. This time she did not kick him for reading her mind.

  ***

  When the late morning sun burned through the fog layer and woke her from dozing, Fynn left Komo in the tower, still sleeping. The kitchen was full of talking and music and the smell of bacon and maple syrup.

  “Well, hello, sleepyhead!” Cate stood at the counter pouring waffle batter. She wore dark jeans and a long white tank top with metal cuff bracelets sleeving her sinewy arms. Fynn wondered how old Cate was. The night before, she looked to be old enough to be Fynn’s mother, but now she looked much y
ounger.

  “How do you feel?” Cate asked.

  “I’m cool,” Fynn said. Cate winked, as though she knew everything that happened in the octagon room. Embarrassment crept up Fynn’s neck.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Cate said, her bracelets tinkling as she rubbed Fynn’s shoulder. “Seriously. You are so good for him.”

  Fynn warmed again, but not with shame. Cate was the big sister and mother she wished she’d had, all rolled into one. She talked in common sense and kindness, not in threats and warped confessions.

  “We’ll talk later,” Cate said. She nodded to Cara, who huddled in a corner at the end of the long table, resting her cheek on the surface. Fynn sat beside her.

  “You don’t even look hung over,” Cara said, her eyes glassy.

  Bald patches stretched over her gold dress where the sequins had fallen off. She looked like a broken doll that had once been the favorite toy of a very bad kid.

  The surfers were gone. A couple of the guys from Ritual Madness sat together eating waffles and talking. One of them tapped out a beat on the edge of the table with drumsticks. Cara stuck her fingers in her ears.

  Cate passed Fynn a cup of coffee that was as black as oil. It was the best coffee she ever tasted. One of the party girls handed her a plate of waffles soaked in melted butter and syrup. Fynn’s favorite breakfast for a second morning in a row.

  “Sit with us,” the party girl said, motioning to a corner by the window. Her bracelets, rings, and anklets rang with the sound of tiny bells. A group of them sat at the end of the long table with the sun glowing on their long hair, making them look like rock-and-roll angels.

  Fynn tried to play cool, but she was pleased to be included, even by these girls who would want to take Komo away from her. The warm kitchen was as far from the lab as she could get and very far from the earnest work of the Keep. One of the girls stood behind her. She worked Fynn’s tangled hair through her hands, sending chills down the back of Fynn’s neck.

  “You’re so perfect,” she said, twisting Fynn’s hair into braids. “No wonder he chose you.” The others murmured agreements. Cate poured more coffee with a knowing smile on her elfin face.

  Fynn was overcome with an unfamiliar feeling. It was a strange and untethered feeling, as though nothing could go wrong. In the golden haze of the morning, she realized that for the first time in years, she felt relaxed.

  Suddenly, the barometer in the room dropped. The band members’ chairs scraped across the floor. They bowed deeply to Komo standing in the doorway. Cate shot Fynn an eye roll, which made her want to laugh. Silly boys. But the Ritual Madness guys weren’t smiling. The one Fynn recognized as the lead guitar player was even choking up.

  Komo paused for a long minute. “My loyal followers,” he said. “I owe you for last night, my brothers. It was a great set.”

  “We worship you,” the drummer said. Laughter bubbled in Fynn’s throat, but she pushed it down because the man’s serious expression told her that he meant it in a very literal sense.

  “Cool,” Komo said. “I need you guys to be in my band, okay?” He sat down so they would too, lit a cigarette, and relaxed, so they would, too. The air filled with the scent of the spicy cigarettes.

  Cate pulled Fynn aside, while Komo and the ecstatic Ritual Madness guys made their plans.

  “Did I hear what I think I heard?” Cate asked. “Komo wants to perform again?”

  “Sounds like it,” Fynn said. Komo blew her a kiss from across the room. Her stomach flipped. She pushed away her plate and wondered idly if anyone had any Nine around.

  “Really?” Cate said, her bracelets clinking as she smoothed back her hair. Fynn eyed her with a different kind of jealousy than she had the party girls. She wanted Cate’s glamour and wisdom and cool elegance. She was everything Fynn felt that she was not.

  “Really. And thanks for getting me to stay. I really appreciate it.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Cate said. Fynn’s face flamed hot again. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry.” She poured Fynn a glass of grape juice. “You just have no idea how good you are for him. When you’re around, he’s like a different person. Without you, he’s nothing.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Fynn said.

  “You two are soul mates. I believe it.” Cate went to run soap over the plates in the sink. “In fact, I know it.” She hummed a tune off of Komo’s first album while she began to wash the dishes. One of the girls jumped to take over. Fynn watched as Cate touched the girl’s shoulder, her hand lingering on the back of her neck. She wondered how long the girls had been around, how long Cate had known them. It seemed like a group that had formed long ago, like a strange kind of family.

  Komo came over to nestle his face in Fynn’s neck. I’ve got to go home, she thought. I’ve got to go to work. He kissed her throat, melting away whatever was left of her defenses.

  He ran his finger absently over the inside of her arm. I’m always safe when I’m with you. Make me your work.

  She would never forget the way his hands had touched her in his tower room. The way he opened her body beneath him. She kissed his fingertips as he walked away to return to the guys. They had plans to make. Cara lurched out of the room looking sick.

  Fynn sipped coffee and half listened to the Ritual Madness girls talk about going to the beach. She combed her head for signs of a hangover or other ill effect from the Nine. There were none. She didn’t even feel cotton-headed from the glass (or glasses; she couldn’t remember) of wine she’d drunk. She just felt easy and good. She remembered being tense and angry, but it felt like a story from the distant past.

  “Sister fire, burning strong. . . .” Komo sang a new song that Fynn had never heard before. He was making it up as he went along, the music pulling the lyrics from his mouth like a magician’s silk scarves.

  “You’ll rise up now, against them all. Save us Goddess, after the Fall.”

  The Ritual Madness guitarists scrambled to plug their instruments into amps. Cate joined her at the nook table, draping an arm around the back of her chair. She lit a cigarette and offered it to Fynn, who found its spicy smoke the perfect thing after a full breakfast.

  Cate smiled and rocked her head while the guys played around with the music. She sent a few texts, her own cigarette trailing smoke until a haze hung over the whole kitchen. The house filled with the noise of guitars and drums going their own ways and now and then finding each other’s rhythms. Melodies were formed, lost, and then reformed in even more beautiful shapes than before.

  “You should come on tour with us,” Cate said after a while. “It’s like this all the time. You’ll love it. And he’ll love having you.”

  “There’s going to be a tour?” Fynn asked.

  “Hey, Komo!” Cate yelled over the noise. “There going to be a tour?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, his hair flopping in his eyes. He looked like a kid again. Happy and free of all worries.

  “Come on tour,” Cate said, making a world between just Fynn and her. None of the party girls knew how to take care of Komo like they did. Fynn saw how different she and Cate were from the others. They were a team. They were the real women. “You’re a part of the family now. We need you.”

  Komo bent over his guitar while his fingers flew over the strings. He moved his great head from side to side with the music. And the music he was making was good. It was really, really good. Fynn saw into a future of another world tour, stadiums filled with worshipping fans, and mythological amounts of money.

  “Move in with us, Fynn,” Cate said. She gestured to the house crowd with her cigarette. “These are good people. You don’t have to be lonesome all the time.”

  “Yes,” Fynn said. It was the right thing to do. She was needed here. Her life from just the day before seemed like a world of gray colors and cold nights and long workdays. Meanwhile Komo wove straw into gold, pulling songs out of the ether and writing down lyrics on a piece of scrap paper. The melodies tumbled out from under his fi
ngers in long, glorious streams.

  She’d grown up on a commune surrounded by people who said they loved her and treated her like royalty, but, in the end, asked too much of her. At Athenian, she was too skittish and unhappy to have any friends, but Komo. And at St. Cocha University, Cara was the only friend she had time for. Her work at the lab and her classes consumed her life. From the vantage point of the morning after a night with Komo, Fynn saw what a mistake that was. Cara had been right when she said Fynn gave everything to others, keeping nothing for herself.

  Fynn moved to stand at Komo’s shoulder. To remind him that she was there. To claim him. To let him know what she was thinking. My home is where you are. My home is with you.

  “My home is with you,” he sang. Cate raised her arms and swayed to the song. The other guys grinned at Fynn with appreciation in their eyes. The party girls whooped and got up to dance. Even they were her true friends now. This was an arrival after a long time on a hard road. This was what Fynn had earned after all of her years alone, her illness and her recovery, her five lonely years only knowing Komo through playlists and the radio. For all that time, she had shared him with millions, working long days in the cold sterile lab on cures for people she would never meet.

  One of the girlfriends lit incense in the corner and reclined on a giant sofa near the hearth. She beckoned to Fynn with her long arms. Fynn’s breakfast was heavy in her stomach and she felt sleepy again. The party girl brushed Fynn’s hair to the side and kneaded her shoulder with her small, hard knuckles. All that existed was the rolling conversation between the guitars and drums, the pressure of the girl’s hands. All that existed was the smoke in the air, Komo’s voice in her ears, and the tablet of Nine another girl held in her fingers, and lifted to Fynn’s mouth like a kiss.

  12. The Three Brothers