by Dee, Bonnie
“We’ll split our forces at first. Brigid, Ethan and I will enter from the rear of the Stone Circle. Once there, we’ll try to abort the ritual before it can be completed.”
Torc snorted. “Hmmph, sounds easy. I could piss on the sacrificial fire and douse it.”
“Quiet!” Cull jabbed Torc in the ribs. “Listen, there must be more to this than merely putting out a flame.”
Ethan nodded. “Do you know any magic, Torc? Can your arrows always find their mark? Can your weapon always return to you?”
“And can your music shatter stone brought magically to life?” Brigid added.
Ethan interrupted her. “I can’t guarantee that.”
“You have to.” Gabe clenched his fingers. “Think, man. Try to remember.”
Ethan began to pace. “Music is made up of vibrations. The faster the vibration, the more effect it has on an object.” He grabbed Ceol Mhor and plucked the highest note on the instrument. His left hand flew upon the other treble strings, the sounds piercing. With his right hand, he added lower notes until the very air around him seemed to shimmer and the ground pulsated beneath all those in the campsite.
As though the harp was a weapon, he dipped it toward the boulder upon which he had sat earlier. The group watched in awe as fine, silvery dust covered the surface and cracks appeared.
Suddenly Brigid realized the danger they might be in if Ethan succeeded in shattering the stone. “Get behind the ash tree. The rock may explode!”
“Stay! I know the magic’s power and how to contain it. Watch.” As the rock broke apart, the air around it vibrated and shielded them from the force of the explosion. A fine sheen of sweat covered Ethan’s forehead. His fingers fell from the strings and trembled. “I can do that for each of the Stone Men if necessary.”
Gabe clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “If Brigid and I leave you any.”
Ma’an gazed at the Terrans in disbelief. “You think that Nimhnach is going to awaken the Stone Men and you’ll be able to destroy them?”
Brigid nodded.
Torc spat in the dust. “Then you’re right. Our skill is useless in this battle.”
Brigid seemed to note the self-disgust in Torc’s actions and tried to reassure him. “I’m sure you’ll have a fight on you hands, Torc.”
Gabe agreed. “Nolen’s gamekeeper, Gortham, doesn’t seem the type who’d participate in a sacrifice. If anything, I think he’d be guarding Nolen’s back and that means the manor house and that’s where you guys come in. While we’re coming at Nolen in a frontal assault, you three are going to be covering any avenue of retreat. In fact, we’re depending on you to keep him out of the picture. Can we depend on you?”
Torc puffed out his chest. “Aye, milord.”
Cull nodded. “It would be our pleasure.”
Ma’an smiled grimly. “We will not fail … this time.”
Gabe looked at Brigid and Ethan and nodded. “And now is the time to move. Night will fall soon and we must be in place to play our parts in the battle.”
“Will Dagda join us at the Circle?” Ma’an’s voice was eager and full of anticipation.
“No,” Brigid said. “He can’t leave the cave.”
Torc sneered. “Aye, you mean the safety of his hidey-hole.”
“Fool!” Cull’s fist lashed out and Torc reeled from the unexpected blow. He surged to his feet ready to bludgeon Cull with his hammer.
Ethan jumped between the two, holding them off. “Enough! If Dagda steps one foot outside in the open air, he’ll die.” He shoved them away from each other. “Get your weapons and let’s leave.”
Cull sighed. “Will we ever get to meet your father, my lady?”
Brigid smiled. “I promise you, after all this is ended, you’ll meet him.”
* * * *
30th April—Late afternoon
“Damn, why is it taking so long to load?”
Nolen cursed. He usually had Gortham use the Internet to do his research, but this was something he needed to do on his own.
A backup plan. Well, perhaps not a backup plan. More precisely, a safe haven from which to organize his next move should tonight’s events not go exactly as expected.
He cursed softly.
All right, it was a backup plan, but one that most likely would not include Gortham.
With the advent of the World Wide Web, Nolen’s universe widened and his impatience with his confinement grew. Now at last he was close to escaping his island imprisonment.
But where to go?
Gortham thought they were heading to Europe after the sacrifice.
Perhaps.
But the Old World was still too close to ancient legends and myths. Too aware of nuances for which the average American had no context. Too aware of the aura of power he exuded.
And that was why America called to him. It was vast and rich and still so young it was unaware or disbelieving of the real existence of demons and magic. He knew this because he read with condescension the fantasy novels and stories he downloaded or had shipped to his library. He viewed the horror and witchcraft films and laughed at the extent to which they, as it were, “got it wrong.”
The Americans were concerned with human terrorists, not imaginary foes. And New York City was the place to go. People looked for the right profile and he certainly did not fit it. And the place teemed with weak, gullible humans. This would all be to his benefit.
And it looked more and more likely that he’d find it expedient to ditch Gortham. He had become less tolerant of his little indiscretions. He took too many chances and liked pain even more than he had known when he took him into his employ and it made him … sloppy. He’d have to see.
And so, the safe haven. False passports for his own use from a variety of different countries. With his Speaker ability he could easily convince the authorities that he was from any number of different places. Gortham’s thuggish features and hard Irish accent might be difficult to change. It took energy to maintain a concealing spell, energy he might need elsewhere.
Gortham was unaware of his preparations.
A realtor in the States had purchased a home for him in Boynton, a suburb close by New York City. The small town would offer him security.
He searched now for more information about the town to which he was heading. Get the mayor and the police under his control. Look for another Mrs. Scathan, perhaps?
He saved the information, shut down the PC and turned his mind to other matters.
Tonight’s rite, the culmination of years of planning. At last Ba’al would be satisfied with his sacrifice. Tonight he would unleash the Stone Men on an unsuspecting country. Nothing manmade could destroy them. Only centuries old magic had any effect on them and no one practiced such arts.
Except the Irish Terrans and they had long since disappeared from the face of the land.
Added to his arsenal was Ba’al’s fire—lightning striking wherever he chose. And the little town of Carrigclarseach would be his first target.
His devoted Mrs. Scathan was the real star of the event. What a shame there would be no repeat performances for her.
Should the rite fail, should any part of the rite be inadequate or interrupted, he could only throw himself on Ba’al’s mercy.
Of which there was none.
Yet he did have one more weapon up his sleeve and one he actually preferred.
It was less messy, less dangerous to him. More … subtle. He had not spoken of it to Ba’al, but it was his ace in the hole.
It incorporated both magic and technology. Right now, he could prepare the magical aspect. The technological portion would have to wait for the right time and place.
That was another reason he planned on America for his destination after tonight’s ritual.
America was the best place no matter what occurred.
Where else to rule the world? And if something went wrong? Where else to prepare his next move?
Still, Ba’al preferred grandiose gesture
s and bloody ones at that. The grinding of flesh and bone, the burning of men, women and children and, hopefully, the willing sacrifice of darling Mrs. Scathan.
He entered the kitchen and turned on the faucet, allowing the water to gush forth. Taking a glass decanter etched with demonic symbols, he filled it with the cool liquid.
He re-entered the library and went over to the table and retrieved the ceremonial dagger and cup from within the secret compartment, then closed it and set down his tools. Opening one of the display cases, he withdrew a large translucent globe with a flattened bottom that prevented it from rolling. He placed it on the table, removed the lid and, taking the dagger, pricked his palm, allowing one tiny pearl of blood to fall to the bottom of the bowl. He decanted the water and swirled the liquids together. Finally, he filled the cup with his special vintage of wine, downed it and began the beckoning and binding spell he knew by heart from his trove of demonic lore.
“Fluichlari, I, Ba’al’s emissary to the human realm, call you forth from your watery home. Accept this offering of my life’s blood. Come to me now through the portal I open.”
The air in the room dampened and moisture beaded the windows and mirrors. The water bubbled as if it were boiling. Nolen watched the pink tinctured liquid return to crystalline clarity. The water demons had acknowledged his gift. He recapped the bowl, placed it within the display case and locked it. The liquid roiled as the infinitesimal demons moved in their watery cell. He had tricked them and they were none too happy about it.
“Soon, I’ll let you free.”
But only if the ritual goes wrong, my little bargaining chips.
Now to prepare for the main event.
Chapter Eight
30th April—Dusk
Brigid jogged in silence with the men to Nolen’s property. Her thoughts whirled as her legs moved automatically.
Barely three days in Ireland and her life had been turned upside down. Every hour she seemed to find new abilities.
And every hour she became more confused.
The dream she’d had at the campsite about Ethan had been so vivid it had to have been a memory and not some figment of her imagination. Her hot, needy imagination.
And then there was Gabe. She hadn’t even come to grips with the fact that the man she’d lived with for fifteen years had kept major secrets from her. And the sex they’d had at the campsite… He’d tried at first to apologize for his dominating behavior, but truth to tell, it had affected her more than any other time he’d been with her. If she were to face her fantasies, what she really wanted was both Gabe and Ethan.
At the same time.
The thought was a huge turn on.
She’d never participated in a ménage. Hell, she’d hardly experienced sex before she’d married Gabe. One or two inept fumbles from shallow college guys had left her ripe for Gabe’s experienced love making.
She pictured him behind her, pumping her and Ethan kneeling at her feet, licking her—
And she tripped and went flying to her knees as she stumbled over a hidden tree root.
“My lady, are you injured?”
Cull lifted her to her feet as Gabe and Ethan stopped and turned to see Cull brushing the leaves from her arms and legs.
“You okay, Bridge?” Gabe spoke quietly. “Nothing broken?”
“Do you want to rest for a minute?” Ethan asked.
“I’m fine. I just wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m not even bleeding. Come on, let’s keep moving.”
She returned the hard look from both of her dream men with her best leave me alone; I’m a big girl look.
After that, she paid more attention to her feet and less to her pussy.
* * * *
Nolen shrugged into the vermilion-colored, linen ritual robe left neatly folded by Mrs. Scathan on the bench outside the kitchen door. He sheathed his dagger, tightened his belt, walked through the kitchen garden and entered the Sacred Grove. He picked up a carved, oak bowl from the rough-hewn table near the grinder and scooped up a hefty portion of the dead guard’s remnants. He smiled. There were some aspects of preparing for a ritual in which he took a perverse pleasure. Polluting and distorting druidic magic was one of them. Sullying the noble sacred trees for demonic rites filled him with utter delight.
He walked widdershins around the Grove and scattered the bits of bone and flesh along the perimeter and the entrance to the Stone Circle.
If all went as planned, by the dawning of the first of May, he’d be free at last of this tiny country and ready to be Ba’al’s commander on Earth.
He ached to taste that power.
He placed some of the wood stacked near Ba’al’s cock upon the stone testicles that served as the altar and, using two pieces of rough stone chipped from the cock, struck a spark that swiftly took hold of the wood. The fire blazed merrily, the odor of the smoke more fragrant than one might expect.
He went back to the bin containing Tom Brennan’s remains, piled the pieces high in the bowl and brought it over to the fire. The flames soared and consumed the offering, leaving not a trace.
One more thing to do and he would be ready for the main ritual.
He took the dagger, slashed his forearms and held them straight out in front of him as the ground drank the thick, crimson liquid.
* * * *
“’Twas too easy,” Cull stated. “He leaves his dwelling so lightly guarded?”
Ma’an stared at the massive building before them. Their trek through the forest had led them to the outskirts of the immense Stone Circle. They had peered over the wall that shielded it, glimpsing tall standing stones encircling an open field. Here Nimhnach must conduct his spells and mystical ceremonies. None of them wished to linger. They left Brigid, Ethan and Gabe and traveled along the edge as closely as they dared, before coming upon the Sacred Grove near where both circles touched. They grew even more apprehensive, but gritted their teeth, determined to see their goal to the end.
Now they’d reached their goal and none of them could take the next step and enter Nimhnach’s home.
“This gets us nowhere.” Torc hefted his hammer. “Let me knock down his wooden barrier. At least we end this uncertainty.”
Shamed by his words, Ma’an turned to Cull. “Do you want to spend the next twenty years listening to Torc brag of his courage?”
“Nay, but let us not smash into his home. We were warned to take care. Why announce ourselves?”
Ma’an nodded. “Then we agree. Listen, Torc, low to the ground, softly and slowly.”
They crept to the forbidding panel, maintaining their silence as Torc stretched out his hammer and tentatively struck the portal. It swung open on well-oiled hinges, and they entered, weapons drawn.
Curved steps led upward to a second level. Light had come on as they passed into the house, but as at Dagda’s Cave, none had harmed them. The large chamber’s highly polished wood panels and stone floors gleamed. Translucent forms in a multitude of shapes and sizes dangled from the ceiling, sat on pedestals, stood on shelves and decorated the room.
The display of light dazzled them. They craned their necks, gawking at wondrous and mysterious objects. Cull reached out to examine a glossy container, but Ma’an stopped him. “We have no time to waste looking at pretty gee-gaws. We came here to protect the rear and prevent anyone from fleeing their just punishment.”
Torc grinned. “We kill them, right?”
Ma’an sighed. “Only if they attempt to run.”
Cull started up the stairs. “Nimhnach may be hiding above…”
“Or one of his henchmen,” Ma’an added.
Torc took one step, then paused, his booted foot in mid-air. “Or a demon.”
Cull took a deep breath. “Wait here. I’ll check. Ma’an, count to twenty, five times. If I don’t come down…”
“We go on without you.”
Cull crept up the steps and Ma’an and Torc tried not to look at each other. Of the three, Cull seldom volunteered. He did what
he was ordered to do. Now he seemed to have found a backbone.
Ma’an muttered under his breath, counting off the time. Torc paced, pausing every so often to look upward.
“All clear.” Cull’s announcement broke the mounting tension.
“Nimhnach must be outside. The moon is rising,” Torc said.
“Which way shall we go?” Cull asked.
“Through that portal next.” Ma’an pointed to the open entryway before them. “’Tis as good a direction as any.”
Cull agreed. “Aye. If it doesn’t lead outside we can always backtrack and try going through another chamber.”
They entered the room and lights flickered on. Large, bulky objects lined the room. Smooth and shiny and decorated with round protrusions and indecipherable runes, their purposes were unknown. A wide opening set over a counter with two basins sunk in the top, looked out into the dying light. Another open portal at the end of the counter led outside. Did some demonic rite occur in this chamber? They had no desire to find out.
The men looked at each other with grim determination and nodded. They offered a plea to the gods to give them strength and stepped through the portal. Their fate awaited them and it was time to meet it.
* * * *
“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Brigid spoke in a whisper as she watched Torc, Cull and Ma’an creep around the edge of the Circle and head off to the manor house. “I mean, they’re only human.”
“And soldiers, Bridge. They’ve dealt with enemies before and gone on scouting missions, I’m sure.” Gabe caressed her shoulder, comforting her.
“Aye. They know we have to prevent Nolen from retreating if he manages to escape us.” Ethan paused. “And I think they’d rather go down fighting than stand by helplessly.”
“You’re right, I guess.” She took a deep breath. “I think we’d better head toward Ba’al’s cock and see if anything is happening.”
“Let’s hope we got here in time, Bridge.”
