Got Hope

by Michael Darling

  Fatigue set in hard as I used the prussic loops to get back down. Hope’s body had been expertly cocooned in a shroud by Fáidh and Rós. A blond hint of her hair and the blue accents of her gown remained visible through the gauzy layers.

  I picked her up with all the gentleness she deserved and carried her to the plateau. Fáidh and Rós each found a handle on the stone’s crate and hauled it between them.

  The Asaliompair had had the good sense to go to sleep, and they didn’t move as we placed the remains of our friend and the crate with the Súilfirinne next to them.

  I had other promises to keep in the form of Sir Siorradh’s armor. Together the armor weighed as much as a person, but the pieces were light by themselves, except for the cuirass, which held something large and heavy.

  There were the expected openings in the cuirass for the neck and the arms and the waist. The openings weren’t large enough for whatever the cuirass held to fall out, but I could certainly see what it was, rocking back and forth inside its carapace.

  The cuirass sheltered a piece of oak. A section from the heart of the trunk. Thick, with many rings, four silver pieces had been attached to the wood, each with seven silver nails. A piece for the head at the center, pieces at the sides for the arms, and a piece on the underside for the waist. The silver had been inscribed with symbols of power and enchantment and they still glowed with magic.

  Siorradh’s here. Inside the oak.

  Time to take him home, too.

  I considered forgetting Oz, but couldn’t.

  “Fáidh, can you get everything through to the castle? If anyone else shows up, go through and I’ll use a pendant. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I got pendants out of the trunk. Fáidh put her hand on the side of the Asaliompair, touching the circle of the design we’d painted on its side with mud and salt. The creature opened an eye and murmured deeply, sounding like an elephant with a stomach ache. Fáidh made shushing sounds and then spoke the word that opened the portal.

  The portal shimmered. The side of the animal was large enough for us to create a living liagán stone. The animal felt no pain, although I wondered if it had disturbing thoughts about people and crates disappearing through its hide.

  The only way out is through.

  People looking worried under the torchlight waited on the other side. Fáidh and Rós started passing pieces of Sir Siorradh to them.

  I ran, though my legs and back complained, but I had to know if Oz was dead. My fire made a helpful torch to see by and I leaned over the pit where Ur had dropped Oz’s body. The corpse was still there. It laid spread out, the head turned sideways at an unnatural angle. I shifted around the edge of the pit, angling my fire so I could see the face.

  It wasn’t Oz.

  The face belonged to one of the waiters from the hotel. He’d witnessed Sarah’s shooting all right, but someone had given him Oz’s face.

  My tired brain offered up an explanation.

  Ur had another seachmall mage who’d made the poor boy in the pit look like Oz.

  It would be Oz lying dead down there if I hadn’t taken him with me. Oz should be safe then, which was good, but I mourned the loss of another life. Another martyr for Ur’s cause.

  I debated. The body in the pit wasn’t my responsibility, and neither was Dumber, lying in the weeds with a belly full of bugs.

  We’ll care for our own. Let the Dubhcridhe care for theirs.

  Back at the plateau, Fáidh and Rós waited beside the portal with Hope’s body and the Súilfirinne’s crate.

  “Did you find him?” Fáidh asked. She knew me well, guessing my errand.

  “It wasn’t Oz. He didn’t betray us after all. They made it look like Oz so the Máithrín would believe it was him telling her about Sarah’s death. But it wasn’t him.”

  Fáidh nodded.

  We looked at Hope’s body, our thoughts our own. She was smaller somehow. Fáidh said, “Rós and I thought you’d want to be the one to take her home.”

  “I would.”

  Rós chimed in. “Someone should come back and wash the evidence of the portal off the Asaliompair. It is a very clever stratagem. We should keep it secret.”

  “I agree.”

  “If thou wilt give me a pendant, I should like to perform that duty.”

  Normally, I’d want to take care of something like that myself, but I saw in Rós’s face a desire to be useful.

  She wouldn’t go even if I told her to.

  I fished a pendant out of my pocket and gave it to her. She accepted it with a small bow.

  “It’s a shame we have to leave these creatures behind,” I said. “They served us well. I hate to lose them.”

  “We lost a lot today,” Fáidh replied.

  We had.

  Fáidh and Rós picked up the crate. I took Hope into my arms.

  Time to transport our last two pieces of cargo home. Hope and the Súilfirinne. The one we couldn’t bear to leave behind, and the other we didn’t dare.

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Brother Mock

  My cavernous suite of rooms were made more empty because I was alone. And I’d failed. I lay in a cold bed and waited for exhaustion to claim me.

  Wince had been right there, Johnny-on-the-spot. Ready with words of solace and solemn expressions. I was numb. Someone took Hope’s body, promising to keep her safe. Someone took the Súilfirinne, promising to keep it safe. My responsibilities fell away from my shoulders then, replaced by burdens that were far heavier.

  I’d failed.

  The last image before sleep took me under was Hope sitting in my kitchen, asking me to be her bodyguard, agreeing to be the quarterback of Team Hope and Luck. The first image when I awoke was the same.

  The anger was not gone from my core. This anger wasn’t from Ur or some lackey who’d eaten a deamhan heart hors-d’oeuvre forcing anger upon me. The piece of Brón inside me was being fed by anger all my own. Part of me wanted to let it out. To open my fire and rage and burn down the sky. I could imagine myself doing it. It would be easy to cross that line.

  It would accomplish exactly nothing.

  A silvery morning light crept into the room, creating a cool, flat gray with no shadows.

  Someone had come in and started a fire, so the room was warm.

  Someone had cleaned my mortal-realm clothes, so I got dressed.

  Someone had brought breakfast, so I ate.

  Someone knocked at the door and stepped in uninvited.

  My father. The Alder King.

  He did own the place.

  “I’m glad you made it back.”

  I nodded. My father was not on the list of people I felt like talking to.

  “You brought her home.”

  “I couldn’t leave her. She was my friend.”

  “You brought your mother home.”

  We weren’t thinking about the same woman. Of course it meant a lot to me to have my mother returned, but my wounds for Hope were deeper.

  “The Máithrín said you’d know what it had taken to find her.” I rubbed the morning out of my face.

  My father nodded. “I will tell thee the tale of her loss one day.” He looked at me for a long moment. “Tell me about Sarah. Did you know she was the Máithrín’s daughter?”

  “No. I met her about ten seconds before they killed her. She didn’t even look like herself. She looked like Hope.”

  “And the person who shot her?”

  “One of the Dubhcridhe. He looked like me when he pulled the trigger. They did it so they could have witnesses tell the story in a certain way. To state they saw me kill Sarah and the Máithrín would sense them telling the truth. The first witness is dead, too. And the man who pulled the trigger is dead. They did it to turn the Máithrín against me.”

  “I understand the leader of the Dubhcridhe is high in the Máithrín’s court.”

  “His name is Urlabhraí. He’s served the Máithrín for a while.”

  “That makes him either clever an
d dangerous, or stupid and dangerous.”

  “Clever and dangerous. He gave me a whole new appreciation for Air magic.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Hard to say. Rós of Caerwood shot him through with an iron arrow.”

  “I was told you kept him distracted so she could.”

  Yippee. And also skippee. I shrugged.

  “These things happen. There may be gains. There may be losses. It’s important to—”

  “Why?”

  “Why is it important?”

  “Why did you test me?”

  “I told you I had a task for you.”

  “A task is not a test. People died.”

  “You’ve lost men before.”

  “I’ve always known my mission!” My voice filled the suite.

  The king put his hands on my shoulders, an effort to be fatherly. I didn’t want fatherly. “A king isn’t given an agenda with challenges mapped out and scheduled in advance. Five-hundred fifty-three years ago, I found out there was an army of eight-thousand berserkers pouring over our border. Three-hundred twelve years ago, our waters were cursed and our crops were failing. Two-hundred two years ago, the Dubhcridhe were plotting my assassination. Nobody sent a memo to warn me.”

  I didn’t meet his eyes. “You asked too much.”

  “Goethe, you haven’t met your half-brothers and sisters. My firstborn son went missing. Another son lives in an insane asylum. A daughter married a king on the other side of the Behindbeyond and knows not our people. You’re the first of my children to be tested because you’re the first who is worthy to test.”

  That stopped me. I heard what he was saying.

  He found me worthy.

  Was he wrong? It felt like it.

  “This won’t make things any better, but you couldn’t have done anything differently.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t make things any better.”

  “Give it time. Give yourself a chance to gain perspective.”

  “I don’t want perspective.” I wanted to hold on to the anger even though it made me feel worthless instead of worthy. I thought about Hope crumpled in a heap, like Sir Siorradh, only not in pieces. How could I not wish for things to have turned out differently?

  “Before you criticize yourself too heavily, you found out more in the past three days than I’ve been able to find out in years. That information will help save lives.”

  It doesn’t bring Hope back. Or Sir Siorradh.

  Dad sensed my coldness. “I’ll go. But there’s someone else who wants to see you.” He went to the door and opened it.

  An armored figure came in.

  “Siorradh? Is that you?”

  “Totally, dude.”

  “It was not the final death?”

  “Exactly.”

  There was a possibility of a smile on my face.

  Two more people came in. Fáidh and Oz.

  I gave Fáidh a hug. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

  “I should be asking you that question,” I replied.

  Oz caught my eye and gave me his patented quick nod. “Got.”

  “Good to see you, Oz.”

  “I heard what happened. It shocked me to find out Sarah was the daughter of the Máithrín. She never told me.”

  Keeping things like that a secret was familiar.

  “Know that I would never betray you. It’s the Dubhcridhe who need to pay for Sarah’s death. Not you.”

  And Hope’s death, too.

  “I appreciate that Oz.”

  Oz and I had lost people we cared for. The sense of devastation was debilitating, and I understood why Oz had been so torn when Sarah had died. I felt that way now, too. It sapped my energy. Drained me of motivation to do anything but mourn. Dragged on my spirit so that my spirit wanted only to lick its wounds.

  I was tired.

  But what would tired do for me?

  Tired sitting inside you just generates more tired.

  I couldn’t let it go like that.

  I had a right to mourn, but ultimately I’d seen Hope rise to glory.

  I had earned a time to be tired, and so much had happened over the past few days.

  I had lost much. But not everything.

  I had lost people I’d grown to care about. But not everyone.

  I looked around at the people I did have. My father. Oz. My armored friend who had not died the final death. My wife whom I loved, if only from a distance. I still had them. They needed me. They needed me to not taint them with sorrow.

  Hope had died. But my hope could not. I couldn’t let it.

  I was tired, all right.

  I was tired of people forcing other people to do what they wanted for their own benefit. Like Marcus manipulating events to force Hope out of what was rightfully hers. Like Ur coercing people to martyr themselves for his cause. There had been plans within plots and plots within plans. They’d gotten what they wanted, but whatever it had cost them, it hadn’t been enough. The price we’d been forced to pay had been high. What we’d purchased was an investment and I expected a dividend.

  There’s a fine line between vengeance and justice. For the moment, I didn’t care which side of the line I came down on. There was a fine line between sorrow and despair as well. That was a line I refused to cross.

  Everyone waited for me to say something. Maybe they were ready to help me overcome despair but I needed them to help me with something else entirely.

  “Hope’s gone.” It hurt to say the words. “She asked me to protect her, and in that I failed. But she became our friend and we will not tarnish her memory by throwing away the gift she gave us. She’d died to save us. To waste such a gift would be an evil all its own.

  “If, one day, the Súilfirinne judges us, let’s remember it can make angels as well as deamhans. And let’s make sure we’re pointed the right way.”

  It wasn’t the world’s greatest pep talk, but Sir Siorradh nodded. Fáidh looked at me with relief. Oz actually smiled.

  My father remained unreadable. Fine by me.

  “We’re going to take the fight to those who fought us,” I said. “We’re going after Marcus and the people who helped him. We’re going to make them pay and we’re going to take away anything and everything they think they’ve gained. I only need to know one thing. Who do we know that’s an Air mage?”

  * * *

  “It’s too hot here.”

  Bromach looked odd in a suit and tie. It all hung weirdly from his modest frame, partly because I’d never seen him in anything besides robes and hats. But he couldn’t wear his usual outfits in Miami. We were weeks away from the next Comic Con. We sat in my car with the windows down. I didn’t believe in idling the engine so we waited while some fine Autumn air drifted in and out.

  We’d only lost a single day after four days in the Behindbeyond. Time between realms passed so predictably unpredictably.

  “Well, Bromach, if we had more time, you could teach me Air magic, although I’ll never be as good as you.”

  Flattery was Bromach’s catnip/candy/kryptonite. One whiff and he turned to butter.

  “Very true.” Bromach sniffed. “I’m just wondering how much longer we have to wait for this Andy person.”

  “He has information we need, so we have to be patient. I told you not to come.”

  “It will be of interest to the king to know what kind of people you consort with and what kind of activities you engage in.” Bromach looked at me sideways. I was watching for Andy’s car, but I still saw Bromach pull at his underwear through his pants.

  “I also told you boxers instead of briefs,” I said, so he’d know I’d seen him adjusting.

  “The linens in the Behindbeyond are far more comfortable.”

  “You should have brought extra.”

  Bromach sighed. “I’m not a seer.”

  If only. A seer would come in handy right now. We could ask for a better plan.

  Bromach fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.
Finally, a white El Camino pulled up and Penny Andy got out carrying a stack of paper with a big clip on it. He wore a white double-breasted suit that was too small for him and a maroon polyester shirt that he’d probably got in a three-pack at Wal-Mart. I told Bromach to stay where he was and got out to shake hands.

  “Hey, Andy. For a second, I thought Scarface himself was walking over here. Then I noticed the hair.”

  “Congratulations. I’ll let you keep your private detective’s license.” Andy tilted his head to look past me at Bromach. “Who’s the little dude?”

  “Bromach.”

  “What’s his name?”

  I broke it down. “Bro-mock.”

  “As in Brother Mock?”

  “Yeah, sure. He’s from a monastery in, uh, Spain.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “Covert operations expert. With Interpol. The monastery’s a cover.”

  Andy leaned in to look at Bromach through the window. “You’re Interpol?”

  Bromach gave Andy a shrug and said, “Oui, monsieur!”

  French?

  Andy blinked. “Okay.”

  “Great. What do you have for us?”

  “I’ll show you,” Andy replied. “But you’re buying me lunch.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Stock Set to Blow

  There was a great Cuban restaurant in south Miami with good food and a quiet lunch crowd. Andy had probably been hoping for steak and lobster, but if that’s what he wanted, he could buy his own lunch. Comfort food to me felt like ropa vieja, and because I was the person I wanted to comfort, that’s where we went.

  I looked at the materials Andy had brought while he read the menu. “Good work. What’s this meeting tomorrow night?”

  “Some deal with a woman from Boston. He’s willing to, and I quote, ‘Hold up my end of the agreement but I’m going to need proof.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  Unfortunately, it does.

  “No idea,” I lied.

  “You can listen to the recordings if you want, but it’s in the transcript. There’s stuff in there about the insurance on a building and something about a stock that’s about to blow up. The mob may be onto some kinda hot Wall Street deal. Their conversations were short.”