by Alex Temples
I tried to put myself in Columba’s shoes for a moment.
Okay, I was a monk, but also a fae, my life dedicated to maintaining peace between mortals and my people. Hmm, that wasn’t far off. I thought, bemused.
I wonder if Columba felt burdened by the responsibility?
I shook my head. Of course, he didn’t. He was fae. He might have lived in the mortal realm and been more acquainted with mortal life than other fae, but he was not himself mortal.
If I were in his shoes…where would I have kept the fae pages?
I walked slowly around the courtyard, running my fingers over a carving of a heron etched into the stone pillar. It was beautiful here, a perfect place for reflection. The sound of the ocean, the grassy patch, the seagulls calling in the distance. The air smelled of salt and sea, of the wilds outside the walls.
The longer I contemplated the pillars, the more I began to feel like the structure itself would have been the first place any treasure hunter, fae or human, would have looked. I glanced around the cloisters.
Columba would have known the monastery was far from secure. He’d have known it would be a target for Viking raids, if not fae attacks as well. He would have hidden the pages somewhere less conspicuous…but where?
I tried to remember what I’d heard in the audio tour about Columba himself. He’d lived a pious life, one dedicated to spiritual discovery. The audio guide told a story of a young priest who’d copied a religious text of one of the powerful religious leaders of his time, thus devaluing the original book’s value. The older priest had been furious with Columba, demanding he destroy the copy. When Columba refused, the man had taken the case to a local magistrate who sided with him, demanding Columba destroy the copy.
The young priest had again refused, stating that the knowledge belonged to the people and to god alone, and should not be used by anyone to further their own place in the world. I felt a grudging respect for the man. The fae, I corrected myself. It was an uncommon thing at the time, the belief that knowledge should belong to all for the betterment of society, and not be hoarded by the wealthy and powerful.
It came to me suddenly, in a rush of realization. Fae he might have been, but the man seemed to have genuinely believed in the work he was doing. He had felt a deep spiritual obligation to serve his god, or gods, to dedicate himself to a pious life of prayer and reflection, and lead others to it. Steering the mortals away from conflict had been a happy coincidence.
I glanced around the abbey again, taking in all the trappings of religious practice. This was wrong. The abbey, the church, they were just vessels. They weren’t the point. The spiritual reflection was the point.
My mind flashed back to our conversation with the cab driver. He’d mentioned somewhere Columba had gone to pray. That was it. Suddenly, I knew exactly where we’d find the papers. He would have kept them in the most sacred of places, a place that wouldn’t have occurred to those seeking the four treasures.
The four treasures were just that – power incarnate, too great to be possessed by any one man. Anyone who got his hands on that type of power would have done as the old priest had done with the book. They would keep the treasures to themselves to increase their own power, rather than using them to better the lives of others. Realizing that, Columba would have known this knowledge was different, that it had to be preserved where the power hungry could not find it, but where the righteous man would be able to find it. It all made sense, and if I was right, the riddle in the Book would tell us how to find the right spot.
I was buzzing with excitement, eager to get back to Tristan with the news, to ask him to recite the riddle I was struggling to remember. As I was thinking, I’d wandered back into the small chapel. I turned toward the door I’d come through and was heading back towards the cloisters when the chapel’s exterior doors slammed closed behind me. A blast of power smashed into my back, dropping me to my knees.
I grunted with pain as I hit the stone floor. The dark fae had found us.
Chapter Seventeen
I sucked in a steadying breath, pushing myself up off the cold floor with my palms.
“Slowly.” A woman’s voice ordered from behind me. It had a bit of a lilt to it, but it didn’t sound like a Scottish accent. Her voice shook slightly.
I frowned. She sounded nervous, not an emotion I associated with the dark fae. I moved slowly, as instructed, standing and turning slowly to face my attacker.
It was the red head who’d been praying in the chapel earlier. My frown deepened.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, eying her carefully. She looked mortal, but the buzz of energy I felt vibrating around her told me otherwise, not quite as powerful as the magic I felt coming from Tristan. Maybe she was only part fae?
She stared daggers at me. Her eyes were green, a deep jade that flickered ever so slightly in the candlelit chapel. She was a tall for a woman, and rather thin, but I suspected there was strength there. She still wore the crimson windbreaker, with jeans and knee-high boots. Her hair, a darker shade of red than mine, was waist length and escaping her braid. She had a long, straight nose and well-defined cheekbones that did a good job of drawing attention to the long lashes framing her slanted green eyes. I was surprised to see she was younger than I’d thought, reminding me of a filly, long legged and slightly unsteady as she tried to stare me down.
“I should ask you the same thing.” She shot back, her chin raised. She eyed me warily. “I heard you, talking about the pages. Well, you can’t have them and if you refuse to leave, I’ll be forced to kill you.”
My eyes widened and I frowned at her. She was protecting the pages? How did she even know about the pages? I glanced around the room helplessly, wondering how long it would take Tristan to finish his call and come looking for me. This one was powerful, whatever she was.
I was confident I could take her, but having decided there was no way she was working with the dark fae, and considering her young age, I was hesitant to use my magic. I didn’t want to hurt her. Judging by her false bravado and the slight quivering of her lower lip as she tried to look imposing, she wasn’t accustomed to fighting, with magic or with her fists. I decided to see what she knew.
“What pages?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
She looked at me suspiciously, sucking air in through her nose. “You know what pages.” She said, her voice confident.
Alright, so she’d heard enough that she wasn’t going to be convinced she’d misunderstood us.
I sighed. “Look, I don’t want trouble. I’m here with my friend to do a job, a very important one. I’m not sure why you’re here or what your intentions are, but I can assure you we aren’t leaving until we get the pages.”
Her eyes darkened and she frowned unhappily.
“Then you leave me no choice.” She said, lifting her wrist. I watched as power gathered in her hand. She pulled her arm back, chanting an incantation, and was about to fling it at me when Tristan burst through the doors and caught her around the waist, tackling her to the ground.
The magic already called, it flew from her hand, hitting a large stone cross on the far wall and exploding. Chunks of rock and sand burst outward with a loud bang. I ducked just in time to avoid getting hit in the head by a flying stone. I hit the floor, rolling, as gravel and debris rained down on my back.
Waiting a moment for the dust to settle, I finally lifted my head.
Tristan was wrestling with the woman, trying not to hurt her from what I could see, but she was flailing like an angry cat, hissing and clawing at him. Finally, he got her under control, straddling her torso and pinning her arms to the ground. Her chest heaved under her thin jacket and if looks could kill, Tristan would have been dead.
“Claire! Stop it. Look at me! It’s Tristan. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stilled, her eyes narrowing as she examined his face. They knew each other? The plot thickens. I moved forward, sensing we were finally getting somewhere.
“Tristan
?” The woman asked uncertainly.
Tristan said something in Irish, his words calm and soothing. I saw her relax. Hmm. She was Irish. That explained the strange accent.
“It is you.” She said with disbelief, her eyes widening.
Tristan nodded, letting go of her wrists and moving to allow her to get up. She glanced warily in my direction as she stood.
“Who’s she?” The woman named Claire asked, gesturing towards me.
“A friend.” Tristan assured, still using a soothing tone, as if afraid the woman might decide to try and attack me again.
I pressed my lips together, hiding my amusement.
“I’m Brin.” I said, stepping forward and holding my hand out.
She took it and her grip was firm. “It’s good to meet you, Brin. I am Claire.”
I smiled and shook her hand.
Tristan watched the exchange, and then, seemingly satisfied we weren’t going to kill each other in the next few minutes, he asked the question I knew was burning in everyone’s mind.
“What are you doing here, Claire?”
Claire winced, looking up at him through her long lashes. “I know I should have contacted you first, but I haven’t heard from my mother in months. I didn’t know what was going on and you’re not even supposed to know about me, so I didn’t want to get you in trouble or anything…” She rambled on.
I looked between Tristan and Claire, waiting for someone to explain. Tristan caught my eye and nodded.
“Claire is the daughter of one of your mother’s keepers.”
Claire’s eyes widened into saucers. “Rosaina’s daughter?” She asked, understanding sliding over her features as she studied me.
Tristan nodded.
“Is someone going to fill me in?” Okay, she was a descendant of a keeper, like I was. Probably the one Tristan and I had planned to locate after we’d secured the pages. That didn’t explain what she was doing here.
Tristan turned to me. “Only a handful of fae are supposed to know the details of the keeper’s whereabouts, their families and the like. It was a security measure implemented by my mother.” He clarified. “Generally, Aiden, Aelwen, and the council have been the only ones with this knowledge, but Claire and I met by chance, a long time ago.”
I suspected there was more to the story, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Okay.” I said, nodding at him. That would suffice for now. I turned to Claire. “That doesn’t explain why she’s here.”
Tristan frowned and we both turned to the woman between us.
“I suppose I owe you an explanation.” She said, with a sad sigh. “My mother is second in command of the Keepers.”
Her eyes met mine. “After yours, Brin.”
I nodded.
“She was entrusted with many secrets, in the event Rosaina was ever killed.” She glanced at me apologetically.
I nodded my understanding. You couldn’t have all that knowledge die with one person.
Claire continued. “After my mother disappeared, I went to Stonehenge, where I knew she’d last been. I found a message she left me – a bracelet, with red and black beads. She’d explained if something ever happened to her, I should look to the bracelet for answers.”
Tristan and I both stared at her, our confusion evident.
She saw this and pulled a think cord out of her pocket. It was a leather bracelet with red and black beads. A small gold clip divided the red beads from the black.
“See, she would leave the bracelet as a way of sending me a message. If the gold clip was on the far side of the black beads, I was supposed to go into hiding, if it was on the far side of the red, I was to seek out Aelwen, but if it was in the middle, it was a sign our mission was threatened, that in her absence it was up to me to secure and destroy the information entrusted to her.”
“She shared this information with you?” I asked curiously.
Claire shook her head. “Not exactly, she just left some crumbs for me to follow. They led me here, but I don’t know where the pages are. She told me there was more than one way to find them, but that the pages offered the clearest trail. It’s imperative we keep them out of the wrong hands, lest the dark fae go seeking the four treasures.”
“There are other ways to find the treasures.” Tristan confirmed, turning to me. “Brin and I knew the good book held some clues, but we never thought it would be enough to allow the dark ones to find one of the artifacts.”
“Find one of the artifacts?” I asked, turning to Tristan in question.
His face was grim.
“Brin, I didn’t get a chance to tell you…that phone call-”
“What?” I asked with alarm. My eyebrows knitted together and I waited for him to continue.
“They’ve found one of the treasures, Brin.”
Claire and I gasped, mouths dropping open in horror at his revelation. A chill ran up my spine. The temperature around us seemed to have dropped dramatically in the last ten minutes, with the approach of sunset. Tristan stood silently. We all just stared at one another. Finally, I spoke.
“Which object did they find?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t the sword or the spear, which in my mind somehow seemed deadlier than a cup or a stone, but then, fae objects were rarely what they seemed.
“I don’t know.” Tristan replied, pacing a few steps.
“What are we going to do?” Claire asked, her voice bleak.
“We must find the pages and get the other objects before they can.” Tristan said, his voice gruff. “It’s our only chance.
“Yes, the pages. Right.” I suddenly remembered the question I needed to ask him. “I think I know where there are.”
Claire jerked her head, looking at me with surprise.
“Tristan, do you remember the riddle?” I asked.
Tristan recognized the urgency in my voice, and nodded silently before reciting the words.
“From the mighty hill sprung forth the army of light who defeated the demons. Never could they fell Colm Cille, he who protected us all, and from her womb Leabhar Cheanannais was born. Evermore the guards await their enemy, bowing only to the worthy.”
“Sithean Mor.” Tristan and I said at the same time.
Claire frowned, and mulled it over for a second. Her eyes lit up.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” She said. “We can walk from here. It’s on farmland nearby.”
She zipped her jacket and turned towards the door, gesturing for us to follow her.
The three of us charged out of the abbey and set out for Sithean Mor. The sun hung low in the sky. A blustery wind blew across the rugged hills as we walked. Ten minutes later, we found ourselves in a beautiful countryside, rugged and wild, untamed by man.
As we climbed higher into the hills, the grass grew patchy. We came to the crest of the great hill. Jagged rocks protruded from the hard ground. Tristan and I stopped beside Claire. We stood silently for a moment, listening to the nearby sound of the ocean in the distance. Claire examined the stones in front of us, pausing near one of the larger grey rocks.
“I think this is it. I can feel magic in the air.” She said.
I stepped forward, eyes widening when I heard the low buzz of power.
Claire dropped into a kneel and glanced back at me with an eyebrow raised.
“We must humble ourselves before the hidden is revealed. It will only show itself- “
I cut her off “To the worthy.” I finished.
She nodded.
“How do we summon it? I thought it was hidden by powerful magic. Don’t we need something special to find it?”
She smiled. “We are something special, Brin. Keeper magic shields it. It reveals itself to a worthy keeper of the gates, she who would not seek to use what is uncovered for her own gain.” She said. Her eyes were kind, almost sympathetic, as she took in my confusion.
I frowned deeper. I had so many questions. I knew so little about my own power,
about how all of this worked. We didn’t have time for a history lesson though, so I nodded and dropped to my knees beside her. I looked up a Tristan, who had taken a few steps away from us.
Claire saw my confusion.
“He cannot help us here.”
I nodded again and focused on the stone in front of us.
“What should I do?” I asked
“Put your hand in mine.”
I took her hand, mimicking the way her other palm was raised toward the sky. She began chanting in Edenese.
The wind whipped up into a fury, swirling around us and beating at our backs. The smell of the sea washed over us. I felt the hum of magic building in the air, roaring and gathering around us until it blocked out all other sound. Suddenly, the magic reached a peak.
One of the jagged grey rocks protruding from the ground began to move. We watched in fascination as the rock emerged further from the hill, jutting out of the grassy hillside like a needle poked through a bolt of cotton. When it stopped moving, the three of us looked at each other.
Claire climbed to her feet and began walking to the stone. I leapt to my feet. Tristan and I hurried to join her.
The rock protruded a solid ten feet above the ground now, where it had been perhaps two feet before. The dark grey monolith was covered in ripples and ridges, not at all smooth. It was weathered with age and humming with magic. Suddenly, I recognized it for what it was.
“It’s a standing stone, a portal.” I exclaimed.
“Yes.” Tristan confirmed.
“What do we do now?” Claire asked.
Tristan looked between the two of us. “Someone needs to touch it. Depending on how the magic was woven, it will either reveal what is hidden, or transport them to the realm in which the object is hidden.
“Humph. That sounds like fun.” I said, sarcastically.
Tristan gave me a dry look and glanced between us.
