by J. M. Briggs
“I’m having a hard time believing this,” Alex said dryly. “I- I’ve seen some of Arthur’s past. You molded him into being vicious. You hurt him, lectured him and trained him. What did you think would happen? You’re trying to play for sympathy now.”
“I’m not perfect,” Scáthbás agreed. “This body… this human brain with its chemicals and reactions… it feels so much. So much more than my kind do. More than I did as a Síd.” Scáthbás breathing quivered. “I fought to survive, but it didn’t help.”
“Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you?! That’s a stolen body.”
“That’s true.” Scáthbás nodded calmly.
“Don’t you care?”
“About that? No, not anymore. Never did, to be frank.” Scáthbás straightened up and took a shaky step away from the statue. Her foot sank into the layer of ash. “That doesn’t matter. One life is nothing. I enslaved humans because it kept the Sídhe busy. They poked and prodded, took slaves which justified my invasion to the nobility. Kept the short-sighted and vulgar power grubbers busy.”
“Yeah, because that makes sexual slavery of children so much better.”
“I protected Morgana from that.”
“Oh, bravo,” Alex sneered. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at Scáthbás. “Congratulations, you protected the child who was useful to you from being abused. Then fused her and the Changing, which I’m pretty sure was painful, and made her a spy!”
“I was trying to protect my people!”
“Then why didn’t you just move in?” Alex pressed. “Why did you do things the way you did? It was hardly the best course of action.”
“Your world… it fights back. I kept hoping for a better way. Morgana might have… never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“And Arthur?”
“Arthur…” Scáthbás lowered her head, and Alex thought there might be shame in her eyes. “Arthur was perhaps a mistake.”
“You slept with your son,” Alex growled. Her stomach turned at the words, and she barely held back a shudder. “That’s not exactly sweet and innocent.”
“Do you think that your mentors have never taken comfort in each other?” Scáthbás snapped. She whirled to face Alex with sharp, dangerous eyes. “I was lonely!”
“I don’t believe that!” Alex raised an eyebrow now and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve seen parts of Arthur’s childhood.”
Scáthbás was silent for a moment, but there was no sense of victory. Instead, Alex felt ill and uncertain as she watched the woman’s face. It was so human and seemed pained. She was grateful that she’d never had a reason to meet Elaine Pendred when she and Arthur had been dating.
“This…I am a Síd. I was born in one of our colonies. My father was a general, and my mother was a noble. I rose to power and unified disorderly, warring principalities into a true Queendom.” Scáthbás looked back at her. “You find it difficult to change bodies and lives, Iron Soul? Imagine switching not only the body but your very species. I cast my spirit and my power, what remained of it, into this form. I only managed to grab on thanks to the mage blood that was already growing in the woman. Arthur was my link, my grip on existence.”
Alex shifted uneasily. Feeling like she should say something, she licked her lips and tried to speak, but nothing came out. The look in Scáthbás’ eyes was haunted, and the Queen was far away from where they were now.
“Medraut and I had a bargain. I kept that bargain to the fullest of my abilities. He was to be my consort. I keep my bargains.”
“You were his mother.”
“No, this human body was his mother,” Scáthbás said. She looked disdainfully down at her own hands. “Using the Iron Chain, I restored myself a little.”
Alex couldn’t look away from Scáthbás. Her brain whirled as she tried to process what the former Queen was saying, but none of it made sense. There were hints of something like regret in Scáthbás’ voice and flickers of more human emotions on her features, but nothing stuck around long enough for Alex to take it in.
Suddenly Scáthbás flinched, gasping for air. Bending over, she clutched at her gut. Alex froze. Scáthbás’ statement about dying returning with brutal force. Then the Queen laughed weakly and straightened up.
“That bastard is just lingering and watching me die,” Scáthbás huffed. “Doesn’t even have the decency to make it fast.”
Alex didn’t say anything. Nothing clever came to mind, and there was another twitch of sympathy. It was all too easy to imagine it. Arthur sitting in a chair in that brick-walled room she’d seen them in, with Scáthbás on the ground in a pool of blood. Had she used magic to defend herself, or had he knocked her out first and then injured her? Worse, was she being tortured and this was just a desperate magical projection?
“What are you hoping to achieve with this?” Alex asked.
“Just… please…” Scáthbás paused and dropped her eyes. “Please, don’t let them all die. We’re different from you at our core. We’re more selfish, far less naturally social. Your views of good and evil aren’t the same as ours. You hate me, and that’s fair. I’m not pleading for myself.” Her tone had gone very soft. “I’m asking you not to abandon dozens of species to death. I don’t have control over Arthur any longer,” Scáthbás admitted. There was regret and even some sadness in her voice again. “I’m afraid that you’re correct about my poor parenting skills. My destined consort has decided that he’s better suited to take over himself. The faction gathering under him has no interest in the plight of the Sídhe. He’ll allow the Iron Gates to stand forever now.” Good, Alex thought, but guilt quickly pushed to the surface. “Don’t celebrate that, Iron Soul,” Scáthbás scolded, her expression fierce. “The death that creeps through the branches will come to the root soon enough.”
Around them, the world flickered. Scáthbás swayed on her feet. Looking down at her hands, the former queen started to laugh hysterically as her limbs turned to mist. The fog returned, shredding their surroundings, pulling everything back into the haze. Alex watched the last spot she’d seen Scáthbás for a long time. There was nothing there anymore. Scáthbás was gone. Not in a great battle against mages, but with a desperate plea for Alex to stand against the Darkness.
She didn’t know how to feel about that.
33
Departing in Peace
Podlasie Province, Poland 983 C.E.
For the first time in months, Dobiemir slept well. Baldr had all but carried him back to his home, the Old One unfazed by the miles-long hike. Slavko had worried over him, a strange reversal of how things had once been. He’d slept deeply, satisfied that Chernobog was gone. There had been no dreams; no nightmares crafted of his fears to haunt him.
The sun came up as normal, casting warm light on the world. It had been days since the battle at the lake and Dobiemir was finally beginning to believe that it was over. The air was cool as he stepped out into the morning light and stretched. His muscles burned slightly, but it was pleasant and reassuring rather than the pain he’d been fighting since the battle. It really was over now.
Flexing his fingers, Dobiemir breathed in the fresh air. He looked down at his hands in amazement. Somehow all that power running through the seal had left only a slight scar in the shape of the triskelion on his hand, but there was no injury.
The spark in his chest flared. He could feel it now, see it, even if it didn’t feel strong. It was there. All that talk about him being a mage had been true. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest. None of this had hit him last night. The exhaustion had distracted him, but now it was a new day. Biting his lip, he contained the laugh, though his body still shook a little.
There was so much to do. He needed to speak with Merlin and Morgana. What happened now? Morgana had spoken of him returning to his normal life, but could it truly be that simple? Scanning the area, he saw no sign of the mages or the Old Ones. Had they already gone once he was safely home? Beneath his feet the ground thrummed sof
tly, traveling up his bones and feeding the spark in his chest.
Sitting on the ground, Dobiemir closed his eyes. Morgana’s words about connecting with his magic echoed through his mind. Now, they made sense. The spark in his chest fluttered happily at his attention. He pulled on it gently, almost cautiously. Unlike yesterday, his instincts didn’t spur him to action. There was no frantic hum in his bones urging him on. His fingers tightened, searching for the seal he had made, but it was gone. He remembered now, the way it had collapsed in his hands: he’d pulled out all the magic that he had put into it. Used it up, but Chernobog was gone.
Despite his unease, the magic responded easily, trickling down his arms. Opening his eyes, Dobiemir lifted his hands. Purple sparks orbited his fingertips, vibrating in the air. He could feel them. Dobiemir gaped at them, astounded by the sight of them. They were real. Looking around, he tried to find something to try the magic on. His eyes landed on a small plant growing nearby. Waving his hand, Dobiemir willed the magic at the plant with the command to make it grow. A stream of sparks rushed through the air and circled the plant. Focusing on his knowledge of the plant and recalling what it looked like at different stages, he tried to create the image of it growing quickly. The green leaves trembled as the purple sparks settled into them.
The plant glowed softly but grew taller right before his eyes. New leaves appeared and expanded, reaching towards the sun. A small flower bloomed. The hysterical laugh did escape him now. Birds went flying at the sudden loud noise, but that didn’t stop him. It felt good. Cathartic. Finally, all the worries were gone. It almost didn’t seem real. Didn’t seem possible, but here it was.
“Dad?”
He turned. Slavko was watching him with wide, worried eyes. Stopping the laughter, Dobiemir opened his arms and beckoned his son into a hug. The boy hesitated but quickly gave him what he wanted. After a few moments of hugging, the boy was shifting impatiently, and Dobiemir let him go.
“I’m fine,” Dobiemir said. “Chernobog has been dealt with.”
“That’s what Merlin said last night,” Slavko replied. “You were so tired. You barely even noticed me.”
“I’m sorry. I used magic… it was… it’s hard to explain. But everything is alright now. Chernobog is gone, and the Shadows are gone. We don’t have to worry about that now.” The urge to sweep his son into another hug built in his chest. “Life can return to normal.”
Slavko almost made a face. “Not completely,” he said. Nodding to the plant, he grinned. “You’ve got magic now.”
“Yes, but that’s a secret.” Dobiemir gave his son a stern look. “You’re smart enough to understand that you need to keep it a secret. Things have been tense enough around the village without more trouble.”
“Of course, Father,” Slavko agreed. His eyes were earnest. “I’d never put you in danger.”
Dobiemir gave into the urge and hugged his son again. Slavko sighed but didn’t fight back. When Dobiemir released him, Slavko grinned and headed off into the fields. Peace meant that it was time to focus on work again. There was a harvest to tend to, animals to care for, and now even some metalwork to do.
But it was safe again. Dobiemir couldn’t help but feel lighter as he flexed his fingers. In his chest the magic hummed in response to his happiness. He’d be careful with it, he promised himself. He’d never reveal it to anyone but Slavko and would only use to it keep the crops healthy and his son safe. With luck, by the time he died, they’d have a bit more wealth to ensure his son’s future. That was a worthy goal.
Nervous, almost frantic energy filled Dobiemir’s body. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Slavko was hard at work, but the ache in his muscles warned him off doing anything too vigorous. He settled on cleaning up the house a little. It had been neglected in the last few months. Opening the door and the window, Dobiemir allowed the breeze to air out the house a bit. He straightened the pots, pans, and baskets that filled the shelves. Using a small broom he swept the dirt out of the house and then restacked some of the firewood on the side of the house that had tumbled down.
Sometime later, after he got a drink of water and prepared some food for his son, Dobiemir caught sight of figures coming towards the house. Merlin and Morgana had their cloaks on despite the summer sun, and each of them carried a bag on their back. Something in their stride and expression told him exactly what was happening. Relief, eagerness, and a surprising sense of loss warred in his chest for a moment, but it passed quickly. The pair of older mages walked towards him.
“You’re leaving?” Dobiemir hoped he didn’t sound too excited or nervous. “Is it really over?”
“Over, no,” Merlin said. “But Chernobog is asleep. He will be for some time. We can even hope that he may regain his mind.” Morgana made a face. Her opinion on that possibility was clear, but Merlin either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “This area should be safe. We just returned from checking the lake, and Chernobog remains under your spell.”
“So, you’re leaving?”
“Yes,” Morgana said. “I think that we have frightened the locals enough as it is. We don’t wish to make things more difficult for you.”
“I… thank you,” Dobiemir said. “I hate to say it, but you’re not wrong. Everyone has been on edge lately.”
“That is fair,” Merlin said. “But I think… I think it is time for you to focus on your own life now.” Merlin smiled at him now. “You did well, Dobiemir: beyond what I thought you would achieve. But then again, mages do seem to find what they need when it truly matters.”
“Ignore him,” Morgana scolded. “You did very well. Don’t worry about anything beyond that.”
“Mind your magic,” Merlin said. His hand came up to rest on Dobiemir’s shoulder, and Merlin squeezed it. “People… sometimes they don’t understand. If they realize that you have the power that they lack, then they may turn violent. And believe me, even when you have magic, a mob is a terrifying thing.”
Dobiemir’s stomach tightened with fear, and he nodded firmly. “I’ll keep that in mind. I don’t imagine that I’ll need to use it for much.”
“You may be surprised,” Morgana teased. A more easy-going smile appeared on her face. “I hope that you have a peaceful life, Dobiemir. You deserve it.”
“Where will you two go?” Dobiemir asked.
“We’re heading east for a bit,” Merlin said. “Sif informed us that there are some more… militant clans of Fae establishing themselves out that direction. We’re just going to take a look and sort it out if needed.”
Dobiemir almost offered to come with them. Something pulled at him, urged him to help and do his duty, but it vanished quickly. The two mages were looking at him, studying him, and Dobiemir had no doubt that they knew what he’d felt. They said nothing.
“We will meet again,” Merlin promised.
“In my next life?” Dobiemir asked.
Merlin laughed, tossing his head back and letting the sunlight illuminate his features. “Then too, I’m sure. But I meant that we’ll be passing through from time to time. Just to be sure that Chernobog stays asleep.”
“If he does wake, we’ll be back to help,” Morgana promised. “Though… that seal you made did its job well.”
“Thank you… I-I didn’t want to fight,” Dobiemir said. “I didn’t want to destroy him.”
“No,” Morgana said. Her eyes were soft, and she almost looked amused. “I know you didn’t. You are a good man, Dobiemir, and most certainly not a warrior.” There was a hint of judgment in her voice, but it was more like fondness than true irritation. “I fear that despite your natural gifts, you make a poor battle mage.”
“I just hope that your spell holds,” Merlin said. His mirth faded away. “I hope that we don’t regret how this ended.”
“What has happened has happened,” Morgana said.
The pair looked at each other, and Merlin nodded. Dobiemir wasn’t sure how to take the words. Chernobog had once been good but now wasn’t. He hadn�
�t known what else to do. They might have spoken of Lokpal who saved Shiva, but he wasn’t Lokpal. Not really. Instead of saying anything, he forced a smile and nodded.
“I wish you both a safe journey,” he said. “And… if you need me…” the words trailed off. He knew what he meant to offer, but did not really mean the offer. “I want things to stay peaceful.”
“We’ll keep you in mind,” Morgana said. She sounded calm and nodded to him. “You take care of yourself and your son. Slavko is a fine young man.”
Morgana’s smile was gentle, almost wistful, and Dobiemir once more found himself wondering about everything he did not know about this pair. His mouth dried out as he tried to think of how to thank them. He had nothing of value to offer. In fact, the most valuable thing at his farm now was the forge they had made him and the supply of iron waiting for him to work. Giving up that line of thought, he swallowed thickly and forced himself to speak.