Unfallen Dead cg-3

by Mark Del Franco

  Ceridwen looked devastated. “It no longer responds to me.”

  “I noticed,” I said. The spear shone in my mind, a line of white essence, as if it were an extension of me, bonding to my essence beyond any words of command. I held my hand out. The spear lifted and returned.

  Ceridwen’s eyes flashed brighter. Fearfully, she looked to the dark portal with the bonfire. Figures moved in and out of the frame, soldiers in silhouette against the flames. “That’s Tara, isn’t?” I asked.

  Ceridwen nodded.

  “They don’t look unprepared,” I said.

  “They are not, but they are underdefended,” she said. “I was to bring the New York and Boston warriors here to act as a first line of defense. I needed the spear to activate the spell to bring them here.”

  “You got yourself in all right,” I said.

  She drew herself up, doing the imperial monarchy pose. “We are a queen of Faerie, druid. We need no talisman to walk the Ways. You command the spear. I will give you a spell for you to bring my warriors in.”

  “I know you read my file, Ceridwen. It’s no lie that my abilities are blocked,” I said.

  “The spear responds to your command. You must put aside your petty anger and do as I say.”

  I held the spear up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ceridwen. You think you commanded the spear? You’re wrong. The spear doesn’t do whatever I want. It reacts when what I want serves its purpose. I can feel when I’m doing something it wants me to do.”

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. We could hear riders approaching, the pounding hooves like rolling thunder, growing louder and louder. I looked around the stone circle. The Dead that remained moved toward the entrance portal, probably deciding Ceridwen was difficult enough alone and now that she had friends, they might have better luck with Vize’s people. At least they would slow Vize down. Once he reached the inside of the circle, either Tara or Boston would be easy pickings. Neither alone could hold his riders off. “Tell Maeve there’s been a change of plans. She’s the front line now. If she wants to survive, she needs to bring her own warriors in. I bet she knows how to do it without the spear.”

  Ceridwen’s wings rippled in agitation. “You do not tell the High Queen to do anything.”

  I shrugged. “Okay. I’m sure Vize will be happy to give her a heads-up.”

  Her nostrils flared. She spun on her heel and stalked toward the Tara portal. As she stood on the threshold, her golden essence interacted with the veil in a static prickling. On the other side, people shifted in a flurry of activity. The warrior ranks parted, and a tall, slim woman appeared.

  As she drew closer to the portal, firelight reflected off her armor, white leather with a crowned helm of silver. She kept her distance, but her pale features glowed, her cheeks long and chiseled and the line of her jaw firm. Blue highlights shone in long ebony hair that framed dark eyes. Even at this distance, the fathomless eyes of an Old One, a fey that had seen centuries of life, glittered with the deep experience of time. I had my first direct look at Maeve, High Queen of the Seelie Court at Tara.

  Neither queen spoke aloud as they faced each other across the veil. Intense sendings vibrated over the competing essence of the stone circle. Their speed increased, the flutterings getting stronger as the exchange became heated. Ceridwen bowed her head just a bit and stepped back, allowing the High Queen a view into the circle.

  Maeve’s eyes flared with an eerie pale light as they locked on me. A palpable presence reached out through the portal, a gripping pressure against my skin. Her face swam closer, filling my sight, her eyes boring into mine. It was an illusion — she hadn’t moved. I felt like I was being examined like a bug under a microscope. I couldn’t tear my gaze away, mesmerized by the way her own eyes glittered, her face shockingly beautiful, a cold, untouchable beauty that had as much to do with a woman who knew her own mind as it did a woman who knew her own attraction. I shivered under the scrutiny, oddly shy and, dammit, insignificant. The pressure released, and Maeve was where she had been all along on the opposite side of the portal.

  Another brief exchange occurred between the queens. Ceridwen’s body stiffened in response to something as their conversation broke off sharply. She stumbled from the portal. A blossom of light flared as essence flashed in a noiseless explosion. It filled the space between the standing stones framing Maeve until she could not be seen through boiling clouds of essence. It solidified into a solid wall of white, hiding the view of Tara. A moment later, it rippled and imploded. Nothing remained. The portal to Tara was gone, replaced by a view of the grassy embankment outside the standing stones.

  Ceridwen rejoined us, struggling to keep her shock under control. “Maeve does not have the power to enter. She destroyed the fairy ring to protect Tara. We’re on our own.”

  “Okay, that’s a problem,” I said.

  A thin haze sprang up in the portals to Stonehenge and Carnac. Samhain was ending with the rising sun a continent away. The veil was closing. With Tara gone, only the Boston portal remained open. At the far end of the entrance avenue, Vize and his riders were close enough to distinguish individuals. The lead company rode dream mares wrapped in a mist lit by an amber gleam from the horses’ eyes.

  Ceridwen moved up next to me. “Our sources told us Vize planned to enter Tara to attack Maeve. He was then going to return here and escape through a Teutonic portal hidden somewhere in TirNaNog. I was expecting him sooner, but something seems to have delayed him.”

  I watched them coming on. “Vize was working a deal with a woman named Rhonwen ap Hwyl. He must have been looking for her, but she had her own agenda and is a little dead at the moment.”

  Ceridwen looked back at the Boston portal. “Samhain is almost over. I don’t think Vize will be able to get back to his own portal before the veil descends for another year. That leaves Boston his only escape now. I will not let him through.”

  “Let’s get out of here and destroy the Boston fairy ring like Maeve did,” I said.

  Ceridwen shook her head. “After you entered TirNaNog, the Taint bound itself to the veil. We don’t know how to break it, thanks to you two.”

  Meryl whirled on her. “For the last time, Ceridwen, there is no damned druid conspiracy. We don’t know how to stop the Taint. You want to point fingers at traitors, take a look at Tara. Maeve destroyed her own portal and left us high and dry. Nobody made her do that.”

  Ceridwen drew herself up, towering over Meryl. “You may not address me in such a familiar tone.”

  “After being thrown in a cell because of your stupidity, I’ll address you any way I damned well please,” Meryl said. Ceridwen clawed her hand full of essence. Meryl triggered her body shield and pulled her sword.

  Joe swung himself upside down between them. “Uh, ladies? I’m pretty sure we should be pointing our stuff at the bad guys.”

  Meryl glowered and gave Ceridwen a cold shoulder. Ceridwen hesitated, and I thought she might shoot Meryl in the back. Joe gave her the big grin, and she tossed the charged essence at one of the nearby Dead. If she kept killing them off like that, we’d probably have enough to block the portal.

  She adjusted her helm as she faced the riders. “Aim for the dream mares. If the riders touch the ground, they will fade back into the world of the living. This far from their own portal, they may not get back at all.”

  “I’m not killing horses,” said Meryl.

  Ceridwen shrugged. “Then die.”

  Meryl threw her a look with all the warning signs of a small nuclear device.

  Vize’s riders bunched together within the entrance. The avenue could hold no more than two or three of them abreast. Screams carried on the wind. Some of the Dead attacked as the riders jockeyed for room in the narrow lane.

  “We need to delay them as long as we can.” I pulled Powell’s brooch from my pocket and tossed it to Joe. “Get Dylan, Joe. Tell him ASAP.” Joe plucked the silver branch from the air with a smooth catch and vanished.
He flashed into sight in front of the Boston portal and flew through.

  “What’s the plan?” Meryl said.

  “Ceridwen said defend. So, we defend as long as possible.”

  Dylan stepped through the door wearing the silver branch. He paused at the threshold, intense curiosity on his face as he took in the scene. He jogged the distance between us, but I pointed him to the entrance of the stone circle. “No time to explain, Dyl. We need an airbe druad right there as strong as you can make it.”

  He didn’t pause, but kept going to the entrance stones. The air trembled in his wake as he pulled essence from the ground. Before he reached the entrance, his barrier spell was executing, lines of essence curling around the standing stones, knotting and weaving to form a shield.

  Ceridwen surveyed the work, unimpressed. “Teutonic warriors know how to counter an airbe druad,” said Ceridwen.

  I nodded, assessing the approaching riders. They had killed the Dead from the circle, but more were catching up behind them. From the rear, essence-fire and swordplay echoed off the standing stones. “It’ll take them some time. Ceridwen, do a sending to Keeva and make sure she has the Guild agents ready for anything that comes through that portal.”

  “I do not take orders from you,” she said.

  I stared at her. “Look, I’m going to say this once: Either do what I say, or get the hell out of my way.”

  She made a pinched face, and the sending shot off her head like an arrow. Keeva was going to have a headache when she got it.

  “Now. You and Meryl back up Dylan as long as you can. Let Vize through. Take down anyone else who tries to follow. Watch your time. Dylan and Meryl can drop their silver branches, but you and I need to run for the portal before it closes.”

  The air crackled with streaks of golden light as Ceridwen followed Dylan across the field. “This is madness.”

  “Welcome to my world,” I said to her back.

  Meryl looked up at me. “I am not going to let you kill yourself.”

  “I don’t intend to,” I said.

  Her face became set. “Don’t think I’m stupid, Grey. Dylan and I only have to drop our silver branches to get out of here, but you can’t shake that silver off on your arm. Ceridwen can reach the door before those horses. You can’t outrun them. You are not dying here.”

  I shook my head. “I have no intention of dying here.”

  She poked me hard in the chest, but her eyes were glistening. “You owe me a lobster.”

  I reached for her. She backed away. “Uh-uh,” she said. “You don’t intend to die; I’m not giving any good-bye hugs.”

  “How about a good-luck one?”

  She pursed her lips, dropped her chin to her shoulder, and held her arms out. “Okay.”

  We hugged. I kissed the top of her head, then tilted her face up for another. She pulled away. “No. You get your good-luck hug, but I am not going to kiss you. Besides, you’re face is a sheet of blood, and it would be icky.”

  She danced away from me, then ran after Dylan and Ceridwen. Joe circled in front of me, facing toward the henge entrance. He held his sword ready for swinging.

  “Is my face that bad?” I asked.

  Joe considered me for a little too long. “Well, you have that little scar by your eye from when you fell in the bathtub when you were five.”

  I frowned at him. “I meant the blood.”

  He smiled as if it just occurred to him I didn’t normally walk around with blood on my face. “Oh! No, the blood’s cool. You should keep it.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at the little guy, hovering all tough and mean in his loincloth. “Joe, promise me you’ll bug out if this falls apart.”

  He didn’t look at me. “Nope.”

  “Joe…”

  He kept his eye on the entrance. “Connor, I’ve stood by your family for generations during some very dark times. Dark, dark times. Even Seamus Ogden macGrey, who was a huge prick. I think he was your great-great-great-great-grandfather. The only reason I stayed with him was his wife made a most excellent mead and was a long-suffering waif. And a looker. Boy, was she a looker. She’s where your brother Cal gets his red hair, if you ask me. I remember this one time…”

  “Joe…”

  He shook his head. “I ain’t leaving.”

  “Fine. No more cookies for you.”

  “I left a reminder for you to pick up more.”

  “You mean you left the empty bag on my pillow.”

  He laughed his maniacal laugh. “Yep.”

  “Here they come,” I said.

  CHAPTER 35

  Vize led the charge. Long black hair streamed from under his helm as he bore down on the entrance. He rose in his stirrups, holding the reins with one hand as he raised a spear with the other. My heart skipped a beat. I flashed open my sensing ability. Relieved, I read nothing more than oakwood charged with elf-shot. It wasn’t a match to my spear. I knew damned well I didn’t want a splinter of the Wheel in his hands.

  He launched the spear. He knew how to use one. It sailed straight and true, piercing Dylan’s airbe druad with a burst of emerald essence. That was all it was meant to do, punch a hole to test what they were up against. Dylan patched it without effort. The spear peaked and dropped toward the center of the circle. It had no more charged essence, so it was a simple wooden spear again. One aiming for my chest, but still pretty simple. I lifted my sword. A streak of pink whirred by, and Joe knocked the spear to the ground.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “De nada,” he said, returning to his aerial perch.

  A stunning assortment of fey rode behind Vize. I hadn’t realized that the animosity to the Seelie Court was so widespread. Things had become much worse since I had left the Guild. Elves in the same black leather tunic Vize wore, unemblemed. Dwarves rode with him, too, surprisingly. Their loyalty to the Elven King was moderate at best, but aligned with Donor Elfenkonig’s henchmen was the last place I’d expect them. If the Elven King wasn’t supporting Vize, they had much to lose. Plenty of solitaries joined him, all shapes and shades, malevolent and wild looks in their eyes. The scary part was the Celts. He had Celtic fey with him, mostly subclans of the major races, but more Danann than I would have guessed flew air cover. I had no idea what that was about.

  Vize rode far ahead of his comrades. He might be as damaged as I was, but he wasn’t going to let his followers see him cower in the rear guard. The Teutonic fey put a lot of stock in crazy bravery. Even so, Vize had to be nuts to put himself in that much danger. As he neared, a heavy-duty body shield on him confused me. He didn’t have one earlier. A blue-skinned solitary clung to his back like a climbing animal, all sharp teeth and claws and tangled white hair. A nixie. The shield was hers.

  Vize checked the dream mare at the barrier. He cocked his head up, staring transfixed at Ceridwen. He shouted something to his lead riders, but I couldn’t hear what he called.

  Dylan sliced a hand through the air, rending a space in the airbe druad between the entrance stones. He made it look like a tactical error and frantically threw useless bindings at the gap to repair it. Vize waited for his company to catch up, then spurred his horse forward. He lunged through the opening, the dream mare lifting in an impressive leap, smoke trailing after it like exhaust. Dylan yanked his fist down, and the barrier snapped closed. Meryl moved in and amplified the charge on the entrance before anyone else could get through. Vize’s immediate followers slammed into the barrier, and the ranks behind them crashed into them in a satisfying knot of confusion.

  Vize was nicely surprised when he realized he was alone. He pulled forcefully on the reins, his solitary friend dangling precariously from his back. He managed to bring the horse to a halt, and the great beast danced in a circle as Vize looked back. His followers had stopped tripping onto each other, spacing themselves as best they could to make room. As they reorganized, they threw lightning strikes of essence against the airbe druad.

  Ceridwen soared overhead in a pulsating gold
en aura. Single-handedly, she fended off dozens of the airborne fairies and winged solitaries who tried to fly over the barrier. Her power amazed me. UnderQueens packed more of a wallop than I would have ever guessed.

  The narrow space of the entrance avenue worked in Dylan’s favor. No more than three or four fey could attack the shield without hitting one another. Between the extra charge Meryl gave him and his own considerable skill, the barrier held the riders off. Bergin turned the dream mare toward the Boston portal

  “Vize needs some prodding in this direction, Joe,” I said.

  Joe grinned deep dimples into his cheeks. He flashed out and reappeared with burst of pink essence in Vize’s face. He slapped Vize on the nose and disappeared. The frustrating thing about fighting with a flit is that they’re too small to target a hit well, too fast to chase, and too unconventional to anticipate. A slap on the nose is the last thing you expect anyone to do. And it hurts, to say nothing of humiliating.

  Vize wheeled the horse. Joe appeared and hit him on the back of the head. The dream mare shied sideways, confused by Vize’s shifting and turning in the saddle. Joe flashed in and jabbed the beast in the haunch. The mare reared with an angry neigh and bolted across the stone ring.

  Joe popped in next to me. “Careful, he’s got a nixie with him.”

  Reining in the horse, Vize realized I was there and cantered toward me.

  “You’re too late. Maeve destroyed the Tara portal,” I said.

  His eyes shifted among the portals. “That’s better than I hoped.”

  Dylan’s calm voice filled my head. We can’t hold this much longer.

  The Boston portal started to mist like the other doors had when Samhain ended. I pointed at it with the spear. “You’re trapped, Vize. Order your people to stand down. Surrender to the Guild authorities, and no one gets hurt.”

  Vize leaned forward on his saddle, chuckling. “I appreciate your intent, but, unfortunately, that would be inconvenient.”