In this case, he wasn’t. He had to hammer the pattern into the metal—first the socket, then the spearhead itself. And he needed to do it with a precise striking pressure: hard enough to shape the metal, soft enough to not shatter the stone of the shard.
He placed the prepared spearhead casing on the anvil and went to the bellows, pumping them until he had the necessary blast going. Like the force of his strikes, the heat needed to be exact. Enough to heat the iron, but not so much it would cause the shard to expand too quickly and crack.
Concentrating, he didn’t see Mell cross through the forge on his way to gather more hawthorn, nor did he notice when Finn returned with Oisin.
He kept the bellows going and he coaxed the metal. He lost himself in this world of fire and heat that Goibniu had given him the keys to.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SHAR
He’d been correct. The ash was perfect. It had a strong grain, and wouldn’t need too much shaping.
He didn’t have his usual tools, but he’d found a knife in the forge that would do, one that Dub had intended for Dano.
Work like this was better done with minimal blade work anyway. The best woodwork was not done with carving, but with coaxing. A true carpenter shaped, he did not force.
Looking up from where he sat in a shaded spot under one of the old oaks at the edge of the property, he cocked his head.
Hurry, protector. They come. The trees had continued to whisper to him. They could not tell him the exact numbers of the enemy, but he’d begun to get an idea of where they were. The majority were to the north. Gathering and coming from the north. There were others to the east, closer, but they were not headed in this direction.
He bent back over the ash wood, funneling power into his fingers as he smoothed out the knots and bends. He’d gathered it living from the tree, and with the tree’s permission. Living wood was best, and would only enhance whatever other enchantments Dub had prepared for the spearhead.
Three more hours, maybe two if he pushed himself. They needed to be gone by morning.
A warm breeze stirred the branches over him.
When this fuss was over, he was going to come back to this spot, and bring Bat with him. He’d lay beside his goddess on a soft blanket and ply her with strawberries. They’d laugh, and he’d tell the old tales as the trees knew them.
His fingers worked. They would fight this battle, and they would return home.
He would not fail this time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
FAOLAN
He stood amongst his fellows, on the edge of the bog, hidden in the shade of an old ash tree. “I’m telling ya, the goddess thanked me.”
Carrig fluttered his wings and bared his fangs in a dry laugh. “Well then, that just means she owes ya. Not that ya owe her.”
Faolan shook his head. They didn’t understand, because they hadn’t been to the pub with him. “She's different, I’m telling ya. She…”
“Don’t you dare say a goddess cares, Fao.” Dalaigh crossed his arms as he sent shadows to snapping at Carrig’s feet. “Ya know better’n tha’.”
Faolan pulled himself up to his full height. “Ya still don’t understand.” He gestured for them to come closer. “There was this one time with the Morrigan…”
The gathered sluagh leaned in, always willing to hear a good tale, even if it was of a strange Egyptian goddess.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MEERA
Three banshees gathered in front of the boarded-up windows of the Dubros, streetlights glinting off shards of broken glass and slick cobblestones.
“Are we really going to do this?” Teagan asked. “When we accompanied the Fomoiri on their departure from Egypt, I never did intend to return. I won’t use my voice for people who never deserved it, in mourning or otherwise.”
Meera bent her head. She’d once thought just as Teagan still did. Then Bat had walked into the pub one night, and played a song that spoke of home. And the home Meera envisioned had not been the green fields and stone walls of Ireland, but the sands of Egypt. Not the pale skin she now wore, but burnished gold flesh.
What was it like now, her once home? And had her life changed all that much once she’d come to Ireland? Gods and goddesses who were too preoccupied with their own business to bother with a mere banshee. She still wailed for the dead, in warning and in mourning.
The only difference? She chose who she would wail for.
And she had never once had to use her voice as a weapon since leaving that land of reeds and lotus and sand. Never once had to watch as ears bled and eyes burst with the power of the sounds she made. She’d been created as a weapon, then condemned to cry for all eternity in penance for those she’d killed.
“What if they do deserve our help?” she asked. An image came to her, of Bat, her dark hair down around her shoulders and blue-embroidered boots on her feet, calling out a teasing remark to a frowning Dub as she set a plate of food in front of Old Mike. A goddess, teasing a Fomoiri and serving a wisp.
And it wasn’t just Bat. The O’Loinsigh brothers had run that pub in one fashion or another for nearly eight hundred years. Rumors had it that they’d located the Crane Clan brooch, and had been planning to bargain for their freedom.
They were good men, as men went.
Neasa caught her gaze. “I could do with a good fight. See if I’ve still got the old magic.”
Teagan’s brows rose. “Your aim was always shit. You’ll probably start taking out the friendlies.”
“Does that mean you’re coming along as well?” Meera asked, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her limbs.
Teagan hung her head then tipped it back and shrugged. “Someone has to make sure the two of you don’t end up slaughtering entire populations by accident.”
With a last glance at the temporarily abandoned pub, and her home away from home, Meera turned on her heel and headed out.
The word had been spread. Meet at the O’Loinsigh brothers’ cottage at dawn.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
SAOIRSE
The selkie rose from the waters and used her flippers to propel herself across a slick stretch of rock. With a roll of her body, she shed her skin and rose onto two legs, wrapping the fur around her hips.
A goblin stood at the edge of the preserve, beside the rail that separated the tourists and the road from the rocks below. She was familiar. Saoirse cocked her head. This one visited sometimes, and lived in the area.
The sea whispered to her, of small ships carrying even smaller men. One of those ships carried a precious cargo, and the sea wanted it for itself. But that would violate the Treaty, so the sea held herself under control.
“Dechtire,” Saoirse greeted the stooped woman.
“Ailis sent me,” the goblin said.
Ailis. The name, too, was familiar…
“She’s the shopkeeper who sent over that sauce from the states you guys like too much. The B-B-Q stuff.”
Ah! That was right. Drizzled over a fresh-caught cod, it was quite delicious. Saoirse nodded. “I remember now.”
“Ye’ve probably heard about the Egyptian goddess who came to Sligo a couple months back.” The goblin looked down and bit her lip, her pointed teeth making small indents in the flesh.
Saoirse blinked her eyes. She had heard, but she had disregarded the news. It would have been the height of foolishness for one from that land to travel here. All kinds of trouble would be stirred…
“It was true?” she asked.
Dechtire nodded hard enough to send tendrils of gray hair flying. “It was. I saw her once. Popped into the Dubros for a quick pint, and she was playing the Uaithne.”
Saoirse’s head went back. Again, she had heard the rumors, but could not believe them. This was news indeed. “What is it that Ailis needs?” For no one would send a goblin to talk to a selkie if they did not want something.
The goblin’s brows drew together. “Well now, she didn’t say exactly, but appa
rently this goddess is after wanting to talk to mac Lir, and they’re wondering if any of you can help with that.”
A sly grin spread over the selkie’s face. Oh, pa was going to love this. “It seems you’re talking to the right selkie. Tell me where to go to find this goddess.”
She sent out a call, to the ancient entity that tended to lurk in the deepest trenches these days, playing with his monstrous creations.
Da?
?
Ye’re going to need to be coming to the surface, just for a bit. There’s a goddess wants to talk to ya.
No.
She’s Egyptian.
There was a sigh, accompanied by vague exasperation, and the waves crashed just a bit harder against the rocks. Is this about those Fomoiri? They haven’t violated the Treaty, and that’s been in place for near six thousand years. There’s no reason for me to concern myself.
This was true. Her da did not concern himself with much these days. Well, then, do ya mind if I play with them for a bit?
The waters smoothed. Just don’t go getting yer skin stolen. That’s a mess I don’t want to have to clean up again. A pause as the sea surged back and then forward once more, sending up a warning spray. And no violating the Treaty. I don’t want to have ta be dealing with Apep again. Best to let that sleeping god lie. Ya can help, but ya can’t kill, that was the deal.
Saoirse pouted. Like with the fishermen?
Like with the fishermen. Only so many tributes can be taken in a year, you hear me?
How many for the Fomoiri?
They offer tribute of a different kind, and it has already been paid, child.
Fine. She paused. What if they break it first?
The only way they would break it is if they killed one of my children. Are you going to be sacrificing yerself?
No. No, she would not be doing that. But she would go and play for a bit.
Saoirse returned her attention to the goblin. “You may tell Ailis that a conversation with mac Lir is unnecessary. Now, tell me how to find this goddess, I have messages to relay.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
OLD MIKE
Old Mike paused, then ducked behind a twisted oak, pulling the panting tourist behind him.
They’d been on the run for two days now.
It had started the very same evening Old Mike had met the man at the pub. A tourist, out to hear the old stories. It was the perfect bit of mischief. Mike was just going to show him a bit of the bogs, then flit away.
The man ’d find his way back by morning latest.
But there had been shadows prowling in the crannies of peat, and hiding amongst the dwarf shrubs and birch. Shadows that didn’t belong sneaking in his bog, or going after a wisp and human who were minding their own business. Old Mike may have had no problem leaving a human to get lost here and there, but to leave them at the mercy of the shadows?
He shuddered. It didn’t matter how many times the sluagh were called “neutral,” their nature was to hunt, and to torment what they hunted.
He’d taken the tourist back to town, but the shadows followed. He’d gone to the pub, but it was boarded up. They’d gone to the man’s hotel, but the shadows had been there as well.
“Mike,” the small voice caught his attention. “Old Mike, look up.”
It was a pixie, no more than an inch high, and cast all in shades of deep purple, helping it blend with the Ling heather.
“Get to the brother’s cabin. Get there, the wards are strong. The goddess is there.”
The human shuddered, his skin both graying and sporting a feverish red across his cheeks. He’d been unwell since he came into the pub, but the two days with minimal food and rest had nearly taken him down. For the last half-day he’d been following Old Mike in a daze, no longer questioning what they were running from, what the shapes that chased them were, or talking about the voices that haunted him.
There was a welt across one cheek from when the shadows had closed in the night before. They’d only escaped because Old Mike liked to keep a bit of salt and iron in his pockets. It confused the tracking magic, and helped with the wandering.
In this case, it had saved their lives.
Why were the shadows after a wisp who’d done naught but follow his nature? And why were they after a tourist from the Americas? It made no sense.
“What’s going on?” He scanned the rolling hills of the bog. The light was fading, but there were no shadows where there should not be. The sluagh that chased them had been lost for now.
“Get to the cottage, they’ll explain. But guard yer dreams, old man. Balor’s begun to whisper his poison.”
The wisp’s eyes slid closed as the weight of the name settled over him. Balor. He shuddered. Those were times he did not want to live through again.
The tourist groaned and shuddered. “Cold. So cold. And the voices.” He reached for Mike’s shoulder. “Please make them stop. Stop them. Please.”
Mike took his hand. “Ye’re gonna be okay. We’ll get ya ta the goddess. She’ll know what ta do. She’ll help ya, okay?” He looked back to the pixie. “Can ya show me the way? Never been to the brothers’ cottage.”
The pixie nodded. “We have to hurry. Unless ya know the runes for blinking us there?”
Old Mike shook his head. He was a wisp, he’d never needed to learn the ways of the Druids and sidhe.
The pixie bobbed. “All right then. Ya hold that one tight, and don’t lose me or yer way.”
Pulling himself and the tourist up, Old Mike’s lips pulled up into a thin smile. The irony of the pixie’s words was not lost on the will-o-the-wisp.
Chapter Thirty
Bastie,
Oh, I have so much more to tell you.
Have you ever made love to a one-eyed pirate?
Wait, who am I asking. You must have.
We should compare notes.
- Bat, the goddess who is going to tease you with hints of exploits until you respond
BAT
It was the end of the day, and everyone had gathered once more in the kitchen, including Oisin, who had arrived in the early afternoon to help with the dream-guardian amulets. Bat, Ailis, Mell, and Oisin sat at the table, while the others had ranged themselves through the small room.
It was a bit crowded.
“I’m near done,” Dub said from where he stood beside the rear door. As soon as the meeting was done he was headed back to the forge. “I’ll want a pixie, just the one, to be on standby to run possible messages.”
The three resident Littles—as she’d learned they preferred to be called—popped up from behind the potted plant they’d claimed as their own. “I’ll do it!” Maire zipped over to Dub’s shoulder and stuck her tongue out at the other two. Bat suspected the pink pixie had a bit of a crush on her grumpy not-man.
It was cute.
“No noise,” Dub warned.
The pixie nodded hard enough to send herself bobbing in the air.
“Right then.” Finn, who stood near the head of the table, gestured to Cuchi.
“My team is still compiling the data coming in on the Fomoiri’s movements. Two days aren’t truly long enough for a comprehensive analysis, but I’ll tell you what we have so far.” He paced in the small space between the kitchen counters. “Of the four clans, only one has been travelling outside their usual routes—the Hounds. There were some rumors of new contracts a few months ago, and the change in pattern was put down to that.”
“New contracts,” Mell said, his voice flat. “Taken in a different light—”
“It could mean an alliance with Balor,” Finn finished. “Or, it could simply be new contracts. That’s the trouble with half-researched information.”
Cuchi nodded, taking no offense at his fellow guardi’s words. “Exactly. It is still only a supposition, but a fairly safe one to make. As for the other clans, there have been rumors of a few desertions, but again they are not confirmed.”
Dub shook his head. “If you are hearing r
umors of that, then they are most likely true. A Fomoiri does not leave the clan lightly.” His lips lifted in a wry smile.
“Most center around the Lion clan, but there were a few of the Crane clan.”
Mell snorted. “Da’s got ta be boiling.”
Dub shrugged.
All of this was not really new news. “Anything else?” she asked.
“We know who set the scrying spell on the invitation.” Oisin pulled the cream-colored cardstock from a pouch at his belt and set it on the table. “The spell is neutralized for now, so we need not fear anyone listening in. There were actually two spells, one attached to the first, set to bypass the original.” He met Dub’s gaze. “The first was laid by your father, the second by Scath. You can track both now, you just need the invitation.”
Mell reached for the card. “This is good news. If nothing else we can keep tabs on Scath. And won’t that curl his toes?” Mell’s grin was more than a little wicked. He held the card up and cocked his head at Dub, who nodded. Mell tucked it away in a fold of space.
“Next,” Finn said, pointing at Ailis.
The fae gave him a mocking salute and shook back her green hair. “The word’s being spread. I told them dawn. In fact, there’s a few out there now need ta be checked and crossed over the wards. They’re okay for now, but I’d no be wanting them twiddling their thumbs the night through, not if there’re enemies headed for us even now.”
“I’ll check them, goddess,” Ari offered from his position against the wall behind the breakfast table.
Finn nodded then looked to her.
“Right. My turn.” She straightened in her chair. This was very much like the war councils she had been an observer of, where Seth, Horus, and Narmer strategized the consolidation of Egypt. “The men of ba were able to establish a connection to the main body of the vessel. The shard, unfortunately, cannot be used as a guide, but as long as we have Ari or one of his men with us, they will be able to give us direction, and not just in a general sense. We will be able to find it amidst a labyrinth of caves if need be.”
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