by David Wood
He stumbled backward, barely keeping his feet. Beneath them, the Celtic pattern once again burned with a powerful intensity.
Brilliant light danced within the depths of the golden gem inside the cauldron. The cauldron itself began to glow, and then, the water inside began to boil. Steam spiraled upward, spinning in strange tendrils like gossamer threads.
Despite its grisly contents, the aroma was like no scent Maddock had ever smelled. It reminded him at once of venison, good bourbon, and fresh cucumbers.
“Am I crazy, or does that smell like chocolate chip cookies?” Grizzly asked.
“Smells like the chicken wings at my strip club,” Bones said.
The beast seemed to notice, too. She cocked her head and stared at the cauldron, the fight forgotten. Slowly, she lowered her head toward the bubbling liquid.
“When she starts to eat,” Maddock whispered, “run!”
The beastie of the lake plunged her head into the cauldron, dipped up the steaming brew, birdlike, raised her head, and let it run down her gullet.
Maddock didn’t have to tell the others what to do. Equal parts adrenaline and desperation overcame their injuries, and they ran, leaping from stepping stone to stepping stone, and back onto the ledge. As they vanished into the dark tunnel, Maddock stole a glance back to see the creature still devouring the contents of the cauldron.
“The cauldron of the Dagda, from which none came away unsatisfied,” Grizzly panted as they ran. “That was brilliant!”
“Maddock gets one good idea a year,” Bones said. “I just try to be somewhere close by when he does.”
They emerged from the Well of the Seven Heads two hours later, much to the surprise of a confused-looking pair of nuns. One let out a shriek and the pair turned and fled.
Maddock looked down at his torn, dirty, blood-stained clothes, and thought he understood. Then he remembered he still carried the sword of the Tuatha.
“Just like Maddock to scare off the hot chicks.” Bones, still holding the spear, peered over the edge of the well.
“Don’t worry. I won’t make a habit of it.”
Bones narrowed his eyes. “Leave the puns to me, Maddock.”
Chapter 35
Loch Ness
Maddock sat at a rickety picnic table outside the Boathouse Lochside Restaurant. It was a small, quaint-looking establishment, its green walls blending in with the trees that shaded its white roof. A purple sign that read The Boathouse hung from the wall just to the left of two tall picture windows.
Grizzly, his arm in a sling, stood nearby, chatting with an elderly couple who had recognized him from his investigative work. The cryptid hunter’s words drifted over to where Maddock sat.
“I can’t say for certain that I’ll be studying the Loch,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t believe in Nessie. It’s just that it’s been done so many times. Maybe the old girl could use a break.”
Smiling wistfully, Maddock looked out across the dark waters of Loch Ness. In the distance, a boat loaded with tourists sliced through the water. Its occupants leaned on the rails, clutching cameras and smartphones, all eager for a glimpse of the legendary beast of the lake. He smiled. If they only knew the truth.
“You coming?” Bones said. “Food. Ale. Babes.” He frowned. “Well, babes for me; maybe one for Grizzly if we can find a chick with low expectations.”
“As opposed to the low self-esteem girls for you?” Maddock asked. He shifted around in his seat, his wounded leg throbbing.
“Don’t get snippy with me, Maddock. It’s not my fault your side ho joined up with some Celtic terrorists.”
“I was just kidding.” Maddock took out his phone. “I’ll be along in a minute. I need to call your sister. She ought to be awake by now.”
Bones nodded slowly. “Depending on how that conversation goes, there might be some babes inside for you, too.” He reached out and put a hand on Maddock’s shoulder. “I know this is weird because it’s my sister, but no matter what happens, you and I will always be brothers.” He snatched his hand back as if he’d touched a hot stove. “And that’s the only wussy thing I’m going to say to you for the rest of the week, unless I get stupid and get into the tequila tonight.”
“You realize you exist in a perpetual state of halfway to stupid, don’t you?”
“Screw you, Maddock.” Bones turned on his heel and headed back toward the restaurant.
Maddock hesitated, then punched up Angel’s number. Her drowsy voice answered after the first ring.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself.”
Another of the long, uncomfortable pauses.
“You’ve been out of touch for a couple of days,” she said. “That usually means you’ve been doing something interesting.”
“Well, if you call almost getting eaten by the Loch Ness monster interesting, then yes.”
The couple who’d been chatting with Grizzly looked sharply at him as they passed by, but kept moving.
“Don’t lie to me, you assclown.”
“I’m serious. We found the treasure of the Tuatha de Dannan, got attacked by their modern descendants, I got shot, and then…”
“Whoa!” Angel interrupted. “Back up! You don’t just drop a bomb like that on me and keep going.”
“It’s not that bad,” he assured her. “Besides, the monster was a lot worse than the bullets. She almost took us out.”
“You didn’t hurt Nessie, did you?” she asked.
“Angel, she tore a guy’s throat out, turned another man to jelly, and ripped one of their partners into bite-sized snacks.”
“But she didn’t eat you, did she?”
Maddock let out a long sigh of exaggerated patience. “I managed to distract her so we could get away. She’s only a little worse for the wear.”
“Good. I love Nessie.”
Maddock grinned. “Only because you’ve never met her.”
Angel laughed. “What happened after all the carnage?”
“The treasures weren’t the sort you can sell. Two of them we brought out and arranged for them to be delivered to the National Museum of Scotland, along with directions to the shrine where we left the other treasures. We told our contact about the monster, too, but I doubt anyone will believe him.” Alban Calderwood, the professor who’d helped them in their search for the Stone of Destiny, was well-connected, and had proved useful for passing along information without naming too many names. Maddock trusted he’d do the right thing in regard to information concerning the monster.
“You didn’t bring the other treasures with you?” Angel asked.
“The monster was sort of in the way. Anyway, once we crossed the Is and dotted the Ts, we had to get cleaned up and stitched up. Now we’re going to drink the pain away.”
Angel didn’t miss the word “we,” so Maddock described the injuries they had suffered and assured here they would all be fine.
She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You and I had better never have sons. I’ve got enough to worry about with you and Bones.”
“Are we having kids? Are we even getting married?” He probably should have handled that more smoothly but he was tired and in pain. Anyway, it was out there now, for better or worse.
Angel fell quiet.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you about this. My life is changing fast.”
A cold feeling hung heavy in Maddock’s gut. This was the talk he’d been dreading.
“I think I’ve been in love with you since the first time my idiot brother brought you home for a visit. I was just a teenager and I worshiped you. And then when you said you had feelings for me, well, things went awfully fast. I went awfully fast, pushing you to set a date.”
“What are you saying?” Maddock’s voice sounded strange, distant.
“I want to figure out our new normal before we get married, and definitely before we talk about kids. Maybe take a break. Is that okay with you?”
Maddock frowned. “
Are we breaking up?”
“No, you freaking asshat. I mean, that’s not what I want.Let’s just give each other a break.” She paused. “Look, I know I’ve been distant, and maybe I’ve screwed things up between us. If it’s over, you can tell me.”
Maddock reached into his pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. He’d found it stuck beneath the windshield wiper of their vehicle when they’d left the Well of the Seven Heads. He unfolded it and read, for what must have been the twentieth time, the message contained within.
Please give me a chance to explain.
Isla.
A telephone number and email address were scribbled at the bottom.
“I hear you. You’re right. Let’s cool things down for a bit.”
Strangely, although this hadn’t been what he thought he wanted, he felt relief. They talked a little while longer, more relaxed and upbeat than they had in weeks, maybe months. After they’d hung up, he made his slow, aching way into the restaurant.
Bones and Grizzly had ordered up a pitcher of ale. Grizzly pushed a mug into Maddock’s hands and urged him to “catch up.” Maddock grinned. The cryptid hunter would never be a friend, at least, not a close one, but he had guts and hadn’t flinched in the face of danger. That had to count for something.
“To a mystery solved,” Grizzly said, raising his mug. “Even if no one else ever learns the truth.”
“Cheers.” As he raised his mug, Maddock locked eyes with Bones, saw his friends questioning gaze. He shrugged and forced a half-smile.
Bones seemed to understand. He took a long swig of ale, belched loudly, and set his mug back down.
“Got a question for you, Maddock.”
“We’re not breaking up, exactly. Just taking a break. Neither of us is in any hurry to get married.”
Bones waved the reply away. “Save that for my mom and your sister. They’re the ones who care about that crap. I’ve got a much more important question.”
“And that would be?”
“What treasure are we going to hunt for next?”
Maddock grinned.
“Oh, I’ve got a couple of ideas.”
Epilogue
Cornwall
Isla looked out the car window at the vast emptiness of the Cornish countryside. Rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Bodmin Moor was a lonely place—a fitting match for the way she felt. She would have welcomed any distraction from the internal struggle that tore at her heart. Had she done the right thing? Could her mother be trusted? And what was this Sisterhood of which Brigid spoke?
She had so many questions, and so far, her mother had answered precious few, always saying that the explanation was complex and would take more time than they had at the moment. Furthermore, Brigid claimed there were things she had to show Isla, people Isla needed to meet, before they began to untangle the knot. They were on their way to meet one such person.
Once again, her thoughts drifted to Dane Maddock. She could still see his eyes, blue like the sea on a stormy day, feel his embrace. She remembered their one kiss, all too brief. He had turned her away, but she had seen his reluctance, felt his desire. It was not over between them. If he was still alive.
Tears welled in her eyes. He had to have survived. He was strong and resourceful. Surely he had escaped the beast that guarded the treasure. She still couldn’t quite believe the legends were true. All of it—the beast, the treasure, and its mysterious power.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Genuine concern filled Brigid’s voice. In so many ways, her mother was just as Isla remembered her. But the deception of the past several years, coupled with the woman’s remarkable rise in station, had built a wall between them that Isla was not yet ready to break down.
“Just thinking about Dad,” she lied.
“I have people working on that right now. When I learn the name of the MI5 agent who was responsible, we will have our vengeance.”
“But it won’t bring Dad back,” Isla said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
“Sometimes revenge is all we have to give. That and seeing his dream come to fruition. We will honor his memory by completing the task.”
Isla remembered all the times her father had regaled her with visions of a proud nation united by the bonds of their Celtic heritage and the worship of the Tuatha de Dannan. A society healed of the sharp divisions brought about by the Roman church and the influx of adherents to other false faiths. A nation which respected the earth, as their ancestors once did. She almost smiled at the memory of his passion and devotion to his cause.
Brigid thumbed through her phone and breathed air through her teeth. “Another attack today. Five dead.” She shook her head. “The children and grandchildren of Abraham. Strange that the Jews, Christians, and Muslims are cousins in faith, yet they treat one another like the bitterest of enemies.”
“Strife within families surprises you?” She made no effort to soften her acerbic tone. “Have you already forgotten the Well of the Seven Heads?”
“Of course I haven’t. It’s simply another reminder of the death toll that can be placed at the feet of these so-called religions of love and peace. You’d see no such internal strife in a pagan nation.”
Isla wasn’t so sure, but she couldn’t deny the carnage wrought by religious division, especially in the new century. Which side was to blame, she couldn’t say. Nor could she say definitively that the pagan faith was superior. But given the track records of Christian and Muslim nations, could a nation devoted to the Tuatha de Dannan possibly be any worse?
The rolling hills gave way to a dense forest. A few minutes later, the driver slowed and turned off the main road, stopping at a security gate. They only sat there for a couple of seconds before the gate swung back and they headed up a long drive. Obviously, they were expected.
Up ahead, a medieval castle stood atop a lonely tor. The tall turrets stood stark against the gray sky. Atop the keep, a banner flapped in the wind. She didn’t recognize it, but thought she could make out the shape of a dragon.
A pair of suited security men escorted them inside. After the events of recent days, Isla was keenly aware of the presence of armed men who might do her harm. Then she reminded herself that she was now on the side of those who had been chasing her. How strange life could be.
The men escorted them to a well-appointed office lined with lush carpet and decorated with antique furniture.
“She’ll be with you in a moment,” one of the guards said. “Please make yourselves at home.”
Brigid took a seat on a chair in front of a large desk. Isla wandered the room, examining the artwork. At first glance, one painting looked like a family portrait, but the three women in the picture looked nothing alike. One was a blue-eyed blonde, the second raven-haired, while the third had green eyes and coppery tresses.
A second painting caught her eye. It was a version of “Le Morte D’Arthur” by James Archer, but with some differences. The artist had added to the top and bottom so that it filled a door-sized frame. Odd, but interesting.
Finally, she wandered over to the picture window behind the desk and looked out onto the grounds below. A small formal garden lay just beneath them. At its edge lay the forest that surrounded them. As she gazed out, she caught sight of something colorful soar through the treetops and disappear from sight. She frowned. It had only been the briefest of glimpses, not even a second, but what she had seen was no bird.
Behind her, she heard a click like a latch being opened. She turned to see the “Le Morte D’Arthur” painting slide to the side. A tall, blonde woman, striking in her beauty, stepped through.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she said.
“We only just arrived,” Brigid replied smoothly.
“Please have a seat,” the woman said to Isla, motioning to the chair next to Brigid.
Isla sat down, and the blonde woman took a seat on the other side of the desk. There was something about this woman, this place… She felt like she ought to know bot
h.
“Welcome to Modron,” the woman said. “Your mother has told me a great deal about you, and I’ve read some of your pieces. You are not only a talented writer, but you clearly have a sharp mind, keen analytical skills, and a strong sense of determination. I respect that.”
“Thank you,” Isla said, still struggling to grasp at the threads she was certain she could weave together. It was like the feeling of having a song title on the tip of her tongue, but just out of reach.
“Are you well?” the woman asked.
“Forgive me, but I’m certain I ought to know you.” And then it all came together. Cornwall, Bodmin Moor, Modron, and a woman named Morgan.
“I thought you were dead,” she blurted.
The woman held up a hand and smiled patiently. “You are thinking of my sister. She was called Morgan, and she is indeed dead.”
“What are you called?”
The woman smiled. “You may call me Nineve. It is not my birth name, but I have claimed it as my own.”
Isla frowned. According to legend, Nineve was a pagan enchantress and one of the Ladies of the Lake.
“I thought your family lost control of this estate when your, I mean, her plot to assassinate the royal family was foiled.”
“We did, temporarily. But our roots are deep, and we have branched out more widely than any ever suspected. With the aid of some new allies, I have reclaimed our family estate, taken my sister’s title for my own, and exacted revenge against her so-called sisters.” Her eyes flitted to the portrait on the wall. “And now it is time to form a new sisterhood.”
“Forgive me, but I was under the impression that your sister sought to bring all of Britain beneath her heel. That includes Scotland.”
“I told you she was a sharp one,” Brigid said.
“That was her plan…our family’s plan,” Nineve said, “but I would be content with England and Wales. Overall, our aims are not so different.”
“And those are?” Isla asked.
“Unity through acceptance of the old ways, and peace through strength.”
