The Bloodline Inheritance

by Brad A. LaMar

  “If you can come right back to us then you better do it,” Lizzie said.

  Dorian nodded and removed her bag from her back and handed it to Lizzie just before she and Brendan stepped over the threshold and vanished from their friends’ sight.

  “Brendan!” Lizzie screamed, her eyes flaring over in purple magic as she began stepping forward to follow.

  “Wait, Lizzie!” Oscar shouted, reaching out and grabbing his daughter’s sleeve. “Brendan said to wait. Trust him.”

  Lizzie looked at the doorway with suspicion, but she held back. “He better be right.”

  …

  The mood in Sarvaloo in the Realm of the Gods had shifted mightily since Camulos had first returned to announce Elathan’s arrival to Otherworld.

  “So much has changed,” he mused to a Niseag standing guard on the very balcony where he had murdered Pwyll and Rhiannon, the former heads of congress.

  He gazed out at the marvelous capital city and smirked. His niseags had set up posts atop the surrounding buildings and kept themselves ready to act for whenever master Camulos required their skills. Fachen, Red Caps, Bendiths, and Brags patrolled the streets of the city while also roaming the countryside in packs searching for any enemies of Camulos and Elathan.

  A part of the war god wished that Arawn was freed and given his broadsword to challenge him. It was doubtful that Elathan would let the Celtic warrior live long enough to be a threat, but one could hope. Battles with Arawn were always memorable.

  A small amount of clamoring reached Camulos’ ears by way of the fact that Sarvaloo was famous for the echoes that reverberated off of the sides of the many tall buildings. He glanced down and spotted a small group of lesser gods congregating outside the entrance of the newly named Camulos Building. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he knew by now that whatever their message, it was not in support of his new reign.

  Camulos whistled and waited for a large and ferocious looking Fachen with pure white fur to come to his side. He could feel the hate and aggression seeping from the beast and it made him smile. Those were characteristics that Camulos knew how to exploit.

  “Do you see the small group of protesters down there waving their signs and singing their little rhymes of peace?” Camulos asked, pointing down at the small group.

  The Fachen nodded, his sharp incisors peeking out from beneath his lips.

  “Good. Set up a perimeter and provide them no avenue of escape.” He turned and faced the creature that stood three feet taller than him. “I will deal with this disturbance myself; I don’t want anyone to leave the party too soon.”

  The Fachen growled softly and bowed his head in obedience before dropping to all fours and galloping away. Camulos looked back down at the small group of protesters and noticed that a few more of the lesser gods began to gather with them.

  “I suppose another example is needed,” Camulos mumbled.

  He waited until the Fachen and its kind had pushed into position in an arch surrounding the demonstrators. The other gods shied away from the powerful creatures and fell behind the Fachen blockade. Camulos noticed that none of them left; instead, they seemed anxious about how the new ruler of Tir na nOg would respond.

  Camulos had no intentions of disappointing them. He grabbed the railing on the balcony and jumped. The wind felt exhilarating—or was it the anticipation of the impending confrontation? Either way, Camulos was about to make a statement.

  …

  Blackness engulfed Brendan and Dorian as they stepped through the doorway. The single pale light floated off in the distance seemingly moving away from their position. Brendan’s body began to glow with a soft silver light, which illuminated the immediate area around them.

  “Where is the light going?” Dorian asked. “And should we follow?”

  Brendan turned around and reached out his hand to feel for the doorframe that they had just came through, but all he found was empty space. “Hmmm.”

  “What?”

  Brendan continued to look around, but he knew they were in empty space. “I think following the light is our only option.”

  Dorian tried to feel for the frame of the door as well but was met with the same result. Panic began to play at her mind. “What about the others?”

  “We know they are capable, Dorian. Besides, they have two Protectors with them and Garnash’s ancient Gnome magic.” Brendan sighed, not liking the situation that he had just put his whole group in. “I admit this was probably a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision on my part, but we have to try something.”

  He held his head recalling when Elathan had pummeled him for a second consecutive time and thought that he should be in more pain than he was. In fact, he felt well—at least compared to the first beating he had taken a couple months ago at Sam’s Creek when he let Elathan open the tether to Otherworld and steal his father away. Perhaps he was growing stronger as well.

  “What if they get stuck in the Chamber? What if we get stuck in here?” Dorian asked anxiously.

  Brendan squeezed her hand a little tighter trying to reassure her. “I think this is where we are supposed to be and we need to follow that light.”

  She looked into his silver eyes and nodded. Suddenly, her body also took on a silver glow and they began to cautiously follow the pale orb. The light began to accelerate so Brendan moved faster in response. It was hard to really conceive that they were moving at all without a single reference point in the pitch black, but he moved forward anyhow.

  “Where do you think we’re going?” Dorian asked.

  Brendan reached out with his senses and felt for a destination. He felt for any information on the pale light, but in both cases all he interpreted was a dull sense of complacency, like the whole dark world was waiting on some direction.

  “I think we can go wherever we need to go,” he said finally.

  “Where’s that?”

  Just when he was about to respond the pale light came to a sudden stop causing Brendan and Dorian’s trajectory to shift, sweeping to the left to avoid a collision with the unknown entity. As they moved past the light it began to swell until it was roughly the size of a hot air balloon. Brendan halted their movement and rounded back to face it.

  “I see you are well, Protector,” the Morrigan’s voice sang from the midst of the large light as it pulsed.

  Brendan’s senses were caught off guard by the blast of cold that bombarded him. He saw his breath slip past his lips in a fog and float like a cloud into the darkness.

  “Morrigan? Where are we?” he asked.

  Now that he and Dorian could observe the light more closely it wasn’t hard to see that it was a large glacial mass that moved like gel beneath a glass surface. The Morrigan was there, but not physically. We’ll add this to the list of strange phenomenon in the world of magicks, he thought glibly.

  “You are nowhere and everywhere,” she mused. “But you are going where you need to be.”

  “Does she always speak in riddles?” Dorian asked.

  Brendan shrugged. “Morrigan, we’re not sure where to start.”

  “You have allies, Brendan O’Neal, capable friends and worthy warriors. You do not have to carry the burden alone.”

  “Told you,” Dorian said.

  “I trust them.” Brendan said, firm in his belief. “But where…?”

  And then it hit him.

  As soon as the image of the Sidhe’s cavern floated into Brendan’s mind their course was set and they began to zoom through the darkness away from the Morrigan’s icy light. They were traveling backwards until Brendan reoriented their position.

  “Look!” shouted Dorian, pointing ahead to a set of engaged megaliths in the distance. “Where are we going?”

  “Brugh,” he said. “In Otherworld.”

  …

  Time was dragging on for Lizzie who was waiting as patiently as she could near the darkened doorway, now void of the pale light. The others were talking amongst themselves, but Lizzie was
ignoring them, her eyes fixed on the doorway.

  “They’re not coming back, love,” a haunting, primal voice bellowed from across the stone and dirt path just across from the pub.

  “Who’s there?” Garnash called out.

  Fog rolled in over the lane and dropped the visibility to almost nothing. Darker shadows moved beyond the veil of the fog.

  “Unworthy lot, you are,” the voice continued.

  “Who’s he calling unworthy?” Frank asked.

  “A hodgepodge of misfits come to the Chamber for what, to die? To fail humankind and Otherworld?” the voice let his words hang in the air for a moment. “Better we kill you now than have you let us down in the end.”

  “I’m not in the mood,” Lizzie said as her eyes flashed over with a purple sheen and a bo staff appeared in her grasp.

  “Easy, Lizzie,” Rohl soothed.

  A dozen Loken shadows, complete with swords, axes, and maces fully drawn began to show themselves behind the cloak of the fog. Almost immediately a powerful presence, hairy, muscular, and brazen stepped out of the mist and stood before the group of heroes. His long arms were a mosaic of tattoos and thick strings of hair that were braided and saturated with sweat. He held his halberd—a weapon that resembled a spear with an ax head attached to it—loose in his right hand allowing the head to droop towards the ground.

  Frank pulled the falcata from his back and held it out in front of him. “Easy? I doubt it.”

  Oscar looked at the sword his daughter’s boyfriend wielded and paused. Something stirred in him, a memory of sorts, one that had been hidden from him for more than thirty years. The thought was elusive, like smoke in his mind, but he knew it had something to do with the sword Frank was holding.

  “What do you want?” Lizzie stepped between the hairy newcomer and her friends.

  The man closed his eyes and a strange, primal, single noted chant escaped from the base of his larynx. One of the shadows that hung back in the fog began banging a drum in rhythm. Lizzie thought back to a documentary she watched on the tribe from the South American rainforest.

  “He reminds me of Daddy,” Patty observed.

  “Mmmm hmmm. Never could clear his throat properly,” Wanda added.

  The hairy man began to thrust his legs out and slam his feet into the pathway in a tribal dance. The halberd was raised into the air and pumped. Suddenly the weapon burst into flames and he screamed, though it wasn’t out of pain, but rather sheer adrenalin for the impending battle.

  “I am Lailoken, and you are my victims,” the hairy man announced while twirling his halberd.

  “Look, Sasquatch, we’re not in the mood for this,” Simmons said as he removed his guns from their holsters. “So why don’t you scram before you end up face down.”

  Lailoken hooted a couple of times and dozens of his Lokens emerged from the fog encircling Lizzie and her small contingent. Each of the hairy man’s followers was unique in their appearance with the exception of the braids that fell to about the middle of the back. The Lokens wore burlap clothing that was dirty and tattered. Both men and women were among their numbers. They were humanlike, just like Lailoken, only their bodies had odd ridges that made the skin bump out on their foreheads and on the exposed sections of their tattooed arms.

  “Think any of them every heard of a shower before?” Rohl asked in jest.

  “Not now, Rohl,” Garnash said. “This is about to get serious.”

  …

  Camulos landed softly a dozen meters away from the small band of protesters. He looked up at the group as their monotonous droning was lowered to a dumbfounded silence. The god of war smirked at the thirteen lesser gods who had gathered.

  “I’m here,” Camulos said. “And I have heard your pleas.”

  “You have?” a lesser god of poetry named Maponus asked.

  Camulos stalked forward, confident in every stride, until he stood before the small group. “Remind me of the reason that you have gathered, Maponus.”

  “Well, we are used to living life a certain way with certain freedoms, and we,” he said, gesturing around to his cohorts, “we wanted to speak up for those freedoms under your rule, Camulos.”

  Camulos smiled broadly at the youthful Maponus. The lesser god had flowing brown hair, a short-cropped beard, and a carefree style. The god of poetry could never be a physical threat to Camulos, but Maponus was a gifted writer, and the written word could be far more dangerous.

  “Tell me of these freedoms you desire,” Camulos said.

  Maponus smiled showing off a row of perfect teeth. In some stretches of Otherworld Maponus was thought of as the perfect example of masculine beauty. Though he was a poet himself, he was the muse for many in his own right. Camulos hated everything about him.

  “We’ve always been free to think for ourselves and to debate topics that are important. What makes our society work is that we listen to all opinions and decide as a group. No one god has any more say than another.” Maponus glanced around at all of the other gathered gods and was met with affirmation. “We trust that your leadership will mirror the desires of the people.”

  Camulos nodded knowingly. “What you say seems to be very fair and judicious, Maponus.” Camulos began to walk away but after a few steps he paused and turned back to face the group of protesters. “Oh, but there is one little detail.”

  “Yes?” Maponus asked, caught off guard.

  “You know, that Elathan owns the heart of this realm and that I am now the lone ruler of Tir na nOg, so that means that all of those freedoms you were just pining over… well, they’re not going to happen.”

  Camulos pulled his new sword—a combination of his own sword, the god killer, and the Sword of the Protectors—from its sheath with blazing speed and drove it straight through Maponus’ heart. The war god’s strike was in and out of the poet’s chest before anyone even knew what had happened. Maponus dropped to his knees and a strange gurgling sound escaped his lips. The red blood that began to spurt from the gash slowed to a stop just before a blue goop started to leak out of the wound. Maponus fell over onto his side and began to convulse. Camulos made sure his eyes never left the dying poet and that his own expression displayed nothing more than contempt for what the god stood for.

  Camulos looked back at the remaining dozen protesters and smirked. “You have all been marked as potential traitors. Step out of line and one of my fachen will tear out your throat. Understood?”

  He received mostly blank stares and a few hurried nods as Maponus’ body burst into a blue flame. Camulos had made his point.

  …

  Airmid was horrified by Camulos’ barbarism. She didn’t dare reveal her identity, choosing instead to stay hidden behind her cloak and hood and far behind the fachen barricade. If she had only had her flask… maybe then she could have done something to help poor Maponus.

  This is why I don’t go to the city, she said to herself before pulling her hood just a little further down and leaving the sickening scene behind.

  …

  A blinding light caught both Brendan and Dorian off guard as it flooded in around them, a stark contrast to the blackness of the portal where they had just encountered the Morrigan. Their feet touched down on solid ground, and for the first time in a while the world around them felt tangible. A set of seven massive megaliths surrounded them showing off the fading runes that just brought them to Brugh.

  “So this is Otherworld,” Dorian observed as she and Brendan took the first steps onto extraterrestrial soil.

  Brendan nodded. “The Realm of Caverns, to be exact.”

  The megaliths were located on a rocky cliff overlooking a tumultuous ocean. They could hear the waves crashing against the rocks in rhythmic succession. Birds were somewhere off in the distance calling out excitedly on the wind. The other direction, which offered a full view of Brugh, had to have been where the name had come from. The land was mostly rocky with a few streams veining the landscape and feeding the greedy ocean, but the most pro
minent land features were the hundreds of cave openings that riddled the mountainous terrain, the grassy hillsides, and the granite outcroppings.

  “You weren’t kidding,” Dorian said. “A spelunker’s dream for sure, but what are we doing here exactly, and how did we get here? Where are Lizzie and the others, Brendan?”

  Brendan held up his hands and then pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay, Dorian.” He took a breath trying to form an explanation that was more than just it is what it is. “Morrigan lead us into a tether between the Chamber and Otherworld. We were able to find our way here mostly thanks to an image of one cave in particular that popped into my head.”

  “This is a cave that you have seen before?”

  He nodded. “In a vision, of course. I think my visions have taken me to every realm of Otherworld.”

  “How are we supposed to find this cave amongst the zillion that are here in the Realm of Caverns?” Her face showed her frustration. “And what about the others?”

  “They are presumably still in the Chamber. My guess is that the Morrigan won’t let them stay there long. I just don’t know where she will send them.”

  Dorian pulled in tightly to Brendan’s chest. “There’s just so much that we’re unsure of, between what we need to do here and worrying about our friends both in the Chamber and in Corways.”

  “I know.” He left it at that, even though he felt the frustration as well. “Let’s see if we can’t do something productive and find the cave.”

  Brendan pulled out of the hug and reached down to hold Dorian’s hand as they began to descend the cliff and walk towards the first set of caves.

  “What’s so special about this particular cave?”

  Brendan considered the question. “I think that’s what we will have to discover for ourselves.”

  Suddenly everything grew quiet. The birds stopped their calling, and even the ocean seemed to try and mute itself. Then, a heart-pounding roar bellowed from beyond the next set of cliffs and peaks causing both Dorian and Brendan to pause.