“What were you saying about a feeling?” Angie said, stepping back a few feet from him. “It’s probably like the other couple of times, Oscar. I bet there’s some sort of ancient relic here.”
Oscar nodded. “Most likely.”
He walked toward the tree and leaned his ear close to it. Something was there, but it was up. Oscar glanced at the distance from the ground to the treetop and gulped. He had never been a big fan of heights.
“Go on. It’s probably important,” Angie encouraged.
The trunk’s bark, fortunately, was filled with ridges and knots for him to gain a good hold as he began his climb. It was slow going at first, but as his confidence grew so did his rate of speed. As he rose further and further, he could sense the object getting closer.
He hadn’t bothered to look down since he began his ascension and he saw no reason to do so until he found his prize. He inched higher and felt the branches begin to sway with the wind. Oscar had to stop for a moment to collect his thoughts and renew his courage.
A high-pitched call from a bird—which normally wouldn’t have been a big deal to Oscar—nearly made him loose his grip. The call must have come out of some very large bird, and the worst part was that it had to have been close to him. It called out again and Oscar hid his face. Finally, he looked up to the largest nest he had ever seen.
“Of course whatever I’m looking for has to be in there,” he mumbled to himself.
Cautiously he continued to climb until he reached the bottom of the nest. It was a sight to see. Branches were woven together with an expertise that would have impressed the craftiest of weavers. The nest spanned fifteen feet across at the diameter and looked to have been at least eight feet deep. A calming breath left his lips before he began using the thick branches to reach the rim of the nest.
He peeked his head up slowly and spotted an enormous hawk. It had bronze-colored feathers that shimmered in the sunlight making it appear almost invisible. Its beak was sharp and scary, but perfectly beautiful at the same time. The hawk had large, alert eyes that zeroed in on Oscar, but the bird just sat there as if it had been waiting on him.
“Okay, here I come,” he said softly.
Oscar pulled his body up and with the grace of a clown unceremoniously rolled into the bowl of the nest. He popped up quickly and held his hands up. “Nice birdy.”
The bird’s head made quick, observant movements as it examined him.
“Do you have something for me?”
He waited, but the bird just sat there.
Tell the Hawk of Achill who you are.
Oscar heard the voice and thought it sound advice. “I’m Oscar O’Neal, and I am a Protector of the Earth.”
The hawk turned its head so both eyes had a chance to really study Oscar’s image. The bird nodded and then reached its beak back behind its body, picking up a burlap sack. The bronze hawk tossed it to Oscar and then waited. Oscar noticed that the bag didn’t weigh very much but obviously held something. He reached inside and pulled out what looked like a bracelet.
“Uh, thanks,” he said.
The bird screeched and then hopped into the air and shimmered out of sight as it flew further away on the horizon.
Oscar breathed a sigh of relief and then walked towards the lip of the nest. He climbed up so that he could show Angie what he found, but when he looked down he spotted something odd: a shadow of sorts that looked like a man.
“Conchar.” The memory was over. Oscar looked over at his ghostly dog and shook his head. “The whole time Conchar was with us, manipulating my thoughts and my plans, forcing me to find his stupid treasures.”
Ruger barked.
“You know what I remember the most? I remember how powerful the love Angie and I shared was even in the face of dark magic, and that’s why we need to find her now.”
…
Caer Wydr’s winds were brutal, ice speckled, and the last thing that Warnach wanted to be experiencing. Sure, he was grateful to Elathan for making him the Watcher of the realm, but the Realm of the Heavens possessed the harshest climate in all of Otherworld.
Since becoming the Watcher of Caer Wydr, Warnach had found himself a home in the form of a small castle. Unfortunately for the previous owners, a group of hard working Coblynaus, the Magog wizard was a being who would take what he wanted. One part of him regretted killing a group of Cobblers, who happened to be one of the few sentient clans in all of Caer Wydr, but shelter was needed so sacrifices had to be made, only not on Warnach’s part.
The evening was shaping up to be calmer, for whatever reason, so Warnach decided to venture out of the white castle and see more of his realm. This wasn’t exactly a vacation destination for him when he was a free Magog so he actually knew very little about the realm.
Warnach grabbed his mace and left for a walk. He needed to practice his craft, so he brought his wand and a scroll of parchment that listed his favorite spells and enchantments. During his long years of imprisonment, Warnach could only review them from memory. Now that he was free from Arawn’s confinement he could practice again. In fact, he was working up quite a sweat despite the chill that surrounded him.
His routine was akin to a master of tai chi working his craft on the balcony of some temple in the orient. It was graceful and practiced like a dance. At one point Warnach got so hot that he removed his shirt and worked out in the cold, his breath puffing out in bursts.
He moved with the ease and skills of a master wizard, steps taking him in a general area of around fifty feet. He moved his legs, his arms, and his torso in ways that took him in a multitude of directions, but he paused at the sight of something sticking out of the ground. It was bright white, sharp, and stood out like a sore thumb even among the ice and snow.
“What’s this?” Warnach said to himself.
He reached down and snatched the item from the snow. The object was glowing with pure white energy that Warnach knew nothing about, however the power was obvious.
“I think you will come in handy,” he said to the shard of white crystal before returning to his stolen home.
…
Brendan was growing weary of the visions. While he was awake one might hit him every once in awhile, but in his current state there never seemed to be a respite. The last couple had been relatively harmless filled with Leprechauns and Gnomes throwing parties—apparently any little event was a cause to celebrate. These were nice, but they were fleeting.
The scene changed again for Brendan, shifting from the celebratory party in Flumshire to a dark and rainy riverside. At first nothing was there, just droplets splashing on the river’s surface causing millions of tiny dancing balls of water to pop into the air. He absently thought about the time he went fishing with Lizzie and his parents when they rented a boat and sailed out onto Lake Ontario. They caught very little and he recalled how boring it was, but if he could go back and do it all over again he would in a heartbeat.
The sound of a scuffle caught his attention from the forest tree line off to his right. Someone was fighting, a noise he knew only too well, and they were bringing the battle his way. He waited patiently anticipating the coming fight with an almost blasé demeanor. How could he not since he had been living nothing but the life of an onlooker for who knew how long.
Finally, the tree line was breached and a pair of bodies burst onto the riverbank. He was slightly surprised to see Arawn, but he was really surprised to see what he was fighting. Arawn grabbed the creature’s arm, spun to the right and flipped it through the air towards the water. The werewolf contorted its body and landed on its legs with the grace of a gymnast, glaring at the Celtic warrior with bloodthirsty eyes.
“Stand down, Melville!” Arawn shouted.
Melville was not alone. Dozens of other werewolves crept out of the shadows and surrounded Arawn. Their fur was dripping wet and they wanted blood, but for whatever reason they held back, content to watch Melville make the kill. Brendan almost laughed since he knew that the werewolves w
ere dealing with a god.
Melville’s clawed fingers moved subtly out of habit as he stalked forward seemingly much more cautious of Arawn. Brendan could hear the growl in the wolf’s throat as its eyes narrowed at his opponent.
“You’re making a mistake if you don’t think that I will kill you, Melville,” Arawn warned, his sword clutched in his grasp.
Brendan noticed that it wasn’t the broad sword that Arawn seemed to favor these days but a sword that looked really familiar.
“So that’s where the Sword of the Protectors comes from,” Brendan said to a group of werewolves standing near him even though they couldn’t hear him.
Melville charged at the Celtic warrior with his fangs bared and his claws poised. He moved so fast Brendan couldn’t make out anything but a blur, but apparently Arawn could see him and moved his sword up in time to block the wolf’s jaws. Arawn kicked out his leg thumping the wolf’s stomach and making Melville double over in pain. Arawn struck the werewolf’s head and sent it sprawling into the grass.
Brendan was surprised to see that the rest of the group simply stood there watching.
“Arawn, you will need to kill this creature,” the Morrigan said, although she was nowhere in sight.
“No. I don’t kill without cause,” he replied.
“This one creature is the key to the curse. If he dies, then this form of the curse dies with him.”
“There’s got to be another way,” Arawn pleaded.
“How many more humans have to die at Ossorian hands? Give them freedom, Arawn.”
Arawn didn’t reply. He just stared at Melville. The werewolf struggled to his feet, anger apparent on his face. He let out a savage call and charged at Arawn once again. He leapt at the Celtic warrior hoping to overwhelm him, but Arawn was ready once again and drove his sword directly through Melville’s chest. The wolf’s body was stuck on the sword as the life left him. Arawn let him down gently and pulled the sword free.
All around him the werewolves were changing back into humans. Some fell to their knees while others stumbled around and tried to balance themselves against trees. It took a moment before they noticed Arawn standing over Melville’s corpse.
“What have you done?” one woman screamed.
Arawn pulled his wet hair back out of his face and looked at the woman knowingly. “I’ve given you back your lives. Spend them wisely.”
As the Celtic warrior began to walk away Brendan heard him mumble. “Take this weapon away from me.”
“Very well.”
Right before Brendan’s eyes the Sword of the Protectors vanished and was instantly replaced with Arawn’s standard broadsword.
“This sword shall not be seen again until the Earth be in peril. Only then will a Protector have use of it.”
Brendan thought to himself, Now all I have to do is find it.
…
Angie sat quietly with her back propped against an oddly-placed boulder near the Nez Canyons’ largest crevice. Bodach had taken her there several hours ago to wait for Oscar, but then he must have grown impatient and sent his Goblins to speed things along.
“Why are you keeping me alive?” she asked the Bogle.
“Why?” he repeated, turning his back on her. “I want to kill you in front of him. I want him to know true loss.”
She looked away from him with tears pooling in her eyes. “Not if he kills you first.”
Bodach almost smiled. “I’m no stranger to death. I would welcome its embrace.”
His red eyes were terrifying to look at so she avoided them as much as possible, and she hoped that Oscar would be able to close them forever.
…
“Aine?” Frank called her name to get her attention.
She was lost in thought and had fallen silent a little while ago, but hearing her name drew her back. “Yes?”
“Do you know of any place in Mag Mell that the Banshees might have taken Faolan? I mean, it would be great to narrow down this search,” Frank said.
Before she could answer an awful screeching could be heard from overhead.
“Uh, what is that?” Rohl asked nervously.
“Sounds like a niseag!” Aine warned. “Stay hidden.”
The treetops almost completely obscured their view of the niseags flying overhead. The group would have been satisfied to be left in peace until Lizzie spotted something odd about the creatures.
“What’s that they’re carrying?” she asked.
Aine’s eyes shot wide open and she transformed herself to scamper up the trees. She got to the top just as the group of niseags and Goblins were past them, but to her dismay her whole village—or at least a good portion of her village—were being carried in nets, piled up like fish pulled from the ocean.
She watched them fly into the distance and it hit her where they were destined to go. She waited long enough to confirm that the beasts didn’t switch their direction before she came back down.
“I have to say I’d be pretty scared of you if I didn’t know how nice you are,” Frank said honestly.
“Look, I know where they are going,” Aine said, changing back into her human form. “Bane, an ancient Banshee land.”
“That makes sense,” Garnash said.
“This way, and we must hurry,” Aine said, taking the lead.
Chapter 12
Tracking Down the Past
You are not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.
The Morrigan’s words rang through Brendan’s mind almost like a mantra, but when he truly considered it he knew it to be true. Throughout the whole experience dating back to battling the witch and Dullahan in the castle, he had always felt somewhat alone. No one else had his visions or had to bare the responsibility of so much power. No one else carried so many lives as their responsibility. Just him—and that was a lonely feeling.
You are not alone.
For a brief moment he allowed the anger to subside and the thought of his friends and family floated into his mind. If only they were really present. If only there was some way that he could speak with them and know that they were all right.
Maybe there is.
He focused on Dorian first. She had been with him when he went into his sleep, but where was she now? Suddenly, his mind was flooded with signals of souls from all over Otherworld. They appeared to his mind’s eye as points of light clustered like images he had seen of stars and galaxies. It was too much. He needed some way to cut through the noise and pinpoint his loved ones.
He waved his hands out of frustration, feeling the anger beginning to bubble, and noticed something odd. The points of light segregated themselves into six distinct places around him. Somehow he had created a mental virtual world for himself. Landscapes began to form around the lights and he quickly picked up on the realms of Otherworld.
“Okay, concentrate, Brendan,” he mumbled to himself. “Where are you Dorian?”
He reached out his senses and scanned the realms one by one until a single red light began to stand out in contrast in Mag Mell. He tried to make his reach zoom in on her location, but he was having trouble concentrating, and the realms around him faded away.
He shook his head and a new vision engulfed him.
…
It was night once again in Scotland, the darkness providing the cover Sinead, Finn, and Sierra needed to continue their search for the Crown. Finn was beginning to wonder if they were wasting their time and brought up the possibility of returning to Corways.
“I don’t think we should give up this easily,” Sinead said. “The last trees I spoke with mentioned the Crown specifically and warned us from trying to find it, but then in the same breath begged for help in stopping the Súmaire in his search.”
“Did you hear that?” Sierra asked as her head snapped in the direction of the noise.
They stood in silence waiting for something to happen. Seconds ticked by and silence won the night.
“Let’s go. Scotland is no small place,” Finn said.
“I wish Tevis and Fergus were with us,” Sierra pined.
They walked into the night not realizing that something sinister was much closer than they could imagine.
…
“We’re getting closer to Bane. It’s just past the trees,” Aine warned the others.
“What should we expect to see when we get there?” Frank asked the group.
“I don’t know, but you can bet your bottom crunkle that we’re going to be in for a fight,” Rohl declared.
The group reached the edge of Bane and managed to stay behind the cover of the trees. The leaves allowed a small amount of space to see through and to take in the scene. Lizzie was surprised by what she saw. The camp was pretty large with shacks and small crumbling buildings scattered here and there. Placed at both ends of the main gathering area sat iron cages filled with Ossorians, some of whom had returned to human form. In the center of the open area was a wooden stage with a single Ossorian chained to a wall.
“There he is,” Aine pointed out in a hushed excitement. “We have to free him.”
“Easy now,” warned Garnash. “Look around. There are plenty of Goblins here.”
“Don’t forget about the niseags, too,” Frank added.
It didn’t take long before three beautiful women stepped out from one of the shanties in their flowing dresses and observed the captives through the bars.
“Look at the filthy creatures,” they heard Meghan say in disgust.
“Each more disgusting than the one before it,” Farron cackled.
“You cannot keep us here. I demand that you release us at once!” Lynnette ordered from behind the cage.
“You demand of us?” Isabel asked, throwing her head back in laughter. “You are our pets. It’s time Ossorians paid for their betrayal.”
“Betrayal?” Lynnette asked in surprise. “We have never betrayed you or the Banshees.”
“Did you join us all those years ago? Did you stand with us when Arawn attacked?” Isobel just shook her head slowly. “And now your crimes will be punished.”
“What are we going to do?” Aine asked with a nervous edge in her voice.
The Bloodline Inheritance Page 15