by Lisa Shearin
I held on for dear life.
Calik came out of nowhere—swooping close enough to part my hair—and set fire to the tentacle determined to turn me and Rake into fish food. Every time the kraken breached the surface with one of its many pieces and parts, a sky dragon would scorch it for him, her, whatever. The kraken would jerk the burned appendage below the river’s surface, and soon the surface of the Hudson was steaming.
The dragons kept the kraken at bay while the commandos ran for the castle walls.
The horns sounded over the water again, and seams of light appeared beneath the surface, opening and disgorging Fomorians, then closing as another opened nearby, resulting in a tide of monsters emerging from the river on every side of the island.
Portals in the water.
I swore. They hadn’t been on the island. No wonder we hadn’t been able to find them. Janus was a master of portals; he didn’t need a wall as an anchor. He could and was opening portals anywhere. He didn’t need to have troops here waiting for us. Once Janus had Ian, he knew we would come. All he had to do was wait until we were right where he wanted us, then open his portals all around us to release his army.
Like Ian in the bank vault, we had been set up.
The kraken was only a distraction.
We’d known there were Fomorians in the water, but assumed that because they were water monsters and the curse was still in place, that they had to stay there.
We were wrong.
Our commandos had the castle walls surrounded.
The Fomorian army emerging from the Hudson had them surrounded.
36
THESE weren’t the misshapen mutants from legend with one arm, one leg, or one eye.
These were warriors that were equally at home on land as in the water. They were the things from the yacht and the bank vault. On the yacht, I’d only seen them for a few moments up close, and there hadn’t been that many of them.
Now there were hundreds.
We were three dozen.
The Fomorians were armed with tridents and what looked like electrified nets. Bullets wouldn’t kill them; at least mine hadn’t.
They were here, they were swarming onto the island from the river and forcing our people toward the castle walls. That was where we needed to go, but we’d been planning to stage an attack inside the walls, not be ground to bits against them. The Fomorians were fearless, throwing themselves in front of our guns, a few drawing fire and absorbing bullets so that the many could get past them and, through breaches in the bricks, inside the castle walls.
Smaller creatures scuttled out of the water and over the rocks in waves. They looked like crabs, but they were the size of dogs. Two of our commandos who were closest opened fire, sending shells and crab legs flying, but more just came out of the water to take their place. Our people were being overrun.
The goblins sent their dragons into dives again and again, swooping from the skies, raining fiery death on the Fomorian warriors. One would ignite, be consumed in the dragons’ seemingly inextinguishable fire, and fall away, only to have more rise out of the river to take its places.
They were legion.
We were dozens.
A blast of Fomorian magic knocked a goblin from her low-flying dragon, but she hung on to the saddle horn with one hand, and used the long, curved sword she clenched in the other to cleanly slice the offending Fomorian’s head from its shoulders as she flew past. Payback thus delivered, she swung herself back into the saddle and banked her dragon around inside the castle walls for another approach.
Our people had fallen back inside the castle walls through an opening. Fomorians must bleed blue, because Alain Moreau was covered in it. Yasha and Vlad worked as a grisly team. Whatever appendage the Fomorians would use to strike at them, the Russian werewolf and Czech vampire would rip it off. Vlad was using one particularly sturdy severed arm to crack attackers’ skulls open. Vlad’s team mostly used their bare hands. The Czech vampire was right; his people did good work. However, none of it permanently stopped things that could apparently continue to function without brains.
Our teams were using the breach in the castle wall as a choke point.
There were hundreds of Fomorians on the island, but those hundreds had to come at our people a few at a time. The Fomorians could have collapsed the walls and crushed us, but they didn’t, and the reason why finally made his appearance.
Light from an unknown source flared to life, illuminating the area inside the castle walls as bright as day. At the center, on the altar we’d seen this morning, was a sight I’d expected and dreaded.
An unconscious Ian was being bound hand and foot to the altar by four Fomorians. The clothes he’d been wearing when he’d been kidnapped were gone, replaced by the same garb worn by the Tuatha Dé Danann I’d seen in Noel’s drawings from Ian’s dreams—except for his chest, which had been left bare. An elaborately armored Janus loomed over Ian with a dagger, using its sharp tip to trace symbols of fire in the air over him. With each completed symbol, points of multi-colored lights scattered on the altar around Ian glowed brighter.
The stolen cursed gems.
Placed among the glittering gems were the white, yellow, and brown bones of the vampire families’ First Relics—their ultimate and most powerful ancestors.
The Fomorians quickly stepped away from the altar. As soon as they were clear, a nearly transparent dome arched over Janus’s head, its glowing nimbus enclosing Ian, the altar, and the objects of power surrounding him.
We hadn’t seen Janus appear with Ian. The portal had to have opened right next to the altar. I hadn’t sensed it this morning; I couldn’t sense it now. The strength of the intersecting ley lines had completely hidden any sign of the portal. And now it was enclosed in the dome, and the dome’s base was sunk into the bedrock of the island, feeding off of the power of two of the most powerful ley lines on the planet—fueled by the power of the earth itself.
Janus had solved the problem of how to sacrifice Ian over the ley line nexus, yet keep everyone out and make us watch helplessly. And when he was done, Janus could simply open his portal and escape the way he came in.
Janus hadn’t tried to stop us from reaching the island. He wanted us here. He wanted an audience for his greatest triumph. Then he’d tell his Fomorians to obliterate us.
A gout of dragon fire grazed the top of the dome—and was reflected and shot back at the dragon who’d breathed it. The goblin pilot sent it into a dive, barely avoiding being immolated by its own fire. Janus was ignoring the chaos and destruction around him, the dragons’ flames unable to reach him.
We had to land. I didn’t know how we could get through that shield, but we couldn’t do it from where we were.
I drew breath to make myself heard. “Rake, we—”
“Hold on,” Rake shouted. “We’re going in.”
Going in meant dropping directly to the ground beneath us. All the Dramamine in the world couldn’t stop the disorienting wave of nausea as my stomach felt like it met my throat. It probably had. Rake reached back and with two snaps had disengaged my leg harnesses. My dismount turned into falling off.
Rake’s hands were glowing a red so dark they were almost black.
He’d seen the dragon’s fire ricochet right back at him, he knew the consequences, and he wasn’t suicidal.
I kept my mouth shut, got out of the way, and watched his back.
Rake released his spell and it engulfed the dome, the surface crackling and popping. At first it appeared to be eating its way through Janus’s dome. Then the dome’s glow flared, absorbed Rake’s red spell, and became even stronger.
“Admirable effort, Lord Danescu,” Janus said, his voice easily carrying over the sounds of battle. He glanced up at the reinforced dome above his head. “Please, feel free to continue. I welcome your assistance.”
Janus’s voi
ce rang inside the confines of the castle walls. If you’d raised a horde of minions from the depths to do your bidding, you could spare a little magic to make sure they could hear you.
“And I do appreciate it when guests arrive on time,” he continued. “I went to such trouble with the arrangements. A curse as ancient as this should not be broken without fanfare.” His eyes glittered with unnatural light. “Though I believe the guest list is even more important than the decorations.” Janus looked overhead at the sentry dragons. “I’m glad to see you gave careful consideration to your transportation here this evening. My control over my new subjects is tenuous so far as hunting is concerned. Keeping them from swarming your boat today was quite taxing.”
So much for my paranoia crossing the river today being misplaced.
Janus glanced down at Ian. “I can’t have the guest of honor sleeping through our celebration.” He quickly passed the palm of his hand over Ian’s face and my partner awoke with a start, struggling against his bonds.
I snarled. No way in hell was I just going to stand—
Rake grabbed my arm. “No.”
Janus wanted to repeat history and have Ian conscious and completely aware so he would see his friends surrounded, forced to watch helplessly as they were devoured.
My partner may have been tied to an altar, but he was in full command of his faculties—and his vocabulary. If swearing could qualify as a curse, Janus and his army would never see the light of day again.
Janus ignored his captive. “Where is the little dryad who was here with you this morning?” he asked me and Rake.
We chose not to answer.
One of the Fomorians spoke to Janus in a guttural language.
“On shore being watched over by five werewolves and a portal witch,” he cheerfully translated. “Take your brothers and the hydra to the shore and kill the werewolves,” he told the Fomorian. “Bring the dryad and witch here. It is not quite midnight; we have time for amusement.”
A rumbling shook the ground beneath my feet. Movement overhead caught my eye and I looked up. It wasn’t the ground that had rumbled; it was the sky. A thick band of clouds came from behind Storm King Mountain on either side, roiling toward Pollepel Island.
“That’s not natural,” I said. “Did you put in an order for this—”
Rake shook his head. “That level of craft is beyond anyone I know.”
For the first time, I saw an expression I’d never seen on Janus’s many faces.
The beginnings of fear.
I felt a little surge of satisfaction—and hope. “Looks like Janus didn’t invite them, either.”
Whoever or whatever was coming, I just prayed they had picked a side, and ours was it.
Janus shouted commands in a language I didn’t recognize, his magic magnifying his voice’s volume until I had no choice but to press my palms over my ears or risk being deafened. Overhead, the sentry dragons shrieked in what sounded like pain. The effect on the Fomorian army was instantaneous. They broke off their attack on our commandos and rushed to meet the new arrivals, weapons at the ready. Within seconds, the clouds had fully surrounded the island, from the surface of the Hudson to beyond the top of the castle walls, completely hiding the island from view.
Many of the Fomorians panicked, broke off fighting, and fled for the safety of the river. Those remaining began backing up in fear.
Janus roared an order that had halted the possible deserters in their tracks. Apparently they feared their boss more than what was coming from inside those clouds. For now.
The odds were getting more even.
Janus quickly turned his attention back to Ian and began chanting, his words quick and crisp. It wasn’t midnight, but whatever was coming had lit a fire under Janus, making him rush to get the ritual done now.
Nothing could reach him.
Our time had run out.
The combined powers of the ley lines, the cursed gems, and the vampire families’ First Relics were there to power more than the breaking of the Tuatha Dé Danann curse; they were there as fuel for a shield that even Rake’s most powerful magic couldn’t destroy.
Just as four thousand years ago, no one had been able to stop Balor from incinerating the Tuatha Dé Danann with his all-powerful, all-killing eye—until Lugh Lámhfhada had thrown his spear through it.
I didn’t think. I knew what I had to do. It was Ian’s last chance.
I snatched the spearhead from its scabbard and ran toward Janus’s shield and that altar—and Ian.
Janus’s chanting reached its peak as he raised his arms over his head, dagger held aloft, glowing red at his words. He must have heard or sensed movement from behind him. He turned, and when he saw that it was me, he smiled.
Ian’s face blanched of any remaining color as he struggled against his bonds. “Mac, no!”
I had grasped the spearhead at the base, keeping the point tucked up against my palm and underside of my forearm. Janus only saw me sprinting toward him, presumably unarmed, a human woman running toward certain death in a desperate attempt to save her partner. Only at the last instant did I flip the spearhead in my hand, slicing in an uppercut into the shield. It vanished as if it had never existed, sending me sprawling in the rocky dirt to land at Janus’s feet.
The Fomorian leader snatched me up by the back of the neck and I slashed out with the spearhead, slicing open his robe and cutting a thin line in his chest which smoked at the contact.
Janus dangled me at arm’s length, careful not to touch the spearhead—or to let the spearhead touch him. I continued to slash at him with it, but Janus held me by the scruff of the neck like a kitten whose claws couldn’t reach him.
Thunder and lightning boiled from the clouds. Seeing their leader occupied with me, the Fomorians around the altar and inside the castle walls fled in fear of what was coming. Calvin and Liz took advantage of Janus being turned away from Ian to quickly cut his bonds and drag him off the altar.
When Janus realized his prize had escaped, he pulled me against him, his forearm tight around my throat, cutting off my air. His other hand gripped my wrist, controlling it, turning the spearhead I clutched toward me. His power surged down through my hand, and I couldn’t have dropped the spearhead if my life depended on it—and now it did.
“Surrender, Scion of Lámhfhada, or watch me cut her to pieces with your ancestor’s own weapon.”
The cloud surrounding the island split from the direction of Storm King Mountain and a glowing host of warriors, men and women, galloped across the river toward us, riding blazing white horses. The golden glow from them was so bright it hurt my eyes to look directly at them, but I wasn’t about to look away. I knew what I was seeing—a supernatural race that the ancient Irish had worshiped as gods, a race that hadn’t been seen by mortal eyes in thousands of years.
They were Noel Tierney’s drawings brought to vibrantly colored life.
The Tuatha Dé Danann. I felt Janus call to the power of the ley lines to shield him.
Nothing.
He tried again, stepping back and dragging me with him so that his body touched the altar containing the gems and First Relics. There was a sputter of magic, but it fizzled when it tried to rise past the spearhead I clutched in my hand.
Janus snarled and flung me away from him.
I landed hard against jagged rock. I must have blacked out for a time. When I came to, Rake had covered me with his body, the Tuatha Dé Danann were inside the castle walls, and Janus was encased once again in a protective shield, which now was more like a prison.
“Those aren’t the Storm King’s minions,” I managed.
“No, they are not.” Rake wrapped his arms around me and stood.
“Where’s the spearhead?” I asked.
“I’ve got it.”
“Give it here and I’ll cut the bastard out of his bubble aga
in.”
“Not so fast. We’ve got another problem.”
Moreau quickly strode to where we were, half of his face blue with Fomorian blood. “The Fomorians are coming back.”
An explosion came from the east wall as it came crashing down. Our people ran away from the walls to take up defensive positions around us. The kraken grabbed the still-standing sections of wall with its tentacles and tossed them aside like toy building blocks.
Calvin and Liz solemnly stepped between the approaching Fomorians and a still-unsteady-on-his-feet Ian. A growling Yasha and silent Vlad and his vampire mercenaries stood between us and the advancing horde.
Coming back? Why? Weren’t they terrified of the Tuatha Dé Danann? Then I saw and understood. The Fomorians were terrified. They came back because they had no choice. The Tuatha Dé Danann’s forces stood between the Fomorians and the water, their only hope of escape, an escape that had now been cut off. They had no choice but to fight for their lives.
Though no one was fighting right now. The settling stone and dust was the only sound. It was a standoff. The Tuatha Dé Danann stood with their backs to the water, facing the Fomorian forces, holding their weapons at the ready. The Fomorians near us stood ready to protect Janus should we make a move against him.
No one moved. The silence was absolute, and the threat of deadly violence hung heavily in the air.
“You have no power here,” Janus was telling a tall, glowing figure standing just outside of his protective shield. The man’s face glowed nearly as bright as his golden armor. He wore no helmet, his pale hair loose and flowing, a gem-encrusted circlet resting on his brow.
Ian stood by his side. I was relieved to see that my partner was not glowing.
“The Dark One speaks the truth. I cannot curse his army back into exile,” the Tuatha Dé Danann’s leader told Ian. “We are no longer of this world. We cannot curse a race who is.”
