A satisfying impact shivered up his arm as the Spear of Lugh pierced the case in a flash of white light. Glass rained down upon the cavern floor in thousands of tiny pieces. The Book of Thoth remained suspended in the air, while the spear writhed and screamed in Max’s hands. Staggering back toward the cauldron, Max plunged the weapon back into the water. The cauldron steamed and frothed for several moments and then was still.
“You’ve done it,” Caillech sighed, steadying her frail form against the dais before lowering herself to the ground. She leaned her bent back against the alabaster and breathed deeply. “Well done, my boy. I have waited a long time for this.”
Wiping the blood from his hands, Max smiled at her. For the first time, Max saw the old woman smile, too. She turned to look at David, who plucked the Book from where it hovered in the air and cradled it against his chest.
“Now what?” asked Max.
“Now you must go home,” croaked Caillech. “And take this Book from the Sidh, where it does not belong. It was not made here and cannot stay.”
“How?” asked Max, remembering the Kestrel ’s wreckage. “How do we get home?”
“With this,” breathed David, running his hand over its golden cover. “The Book will show us.”
Sitting cross-legged next to Caillech, David opened the Book of Thoth and touched his fingers to its thin sheets of papyrus. The only sound was that of the flickering torches as David pored over its many pages and strange, exquisite symbols.
Max paced the cavern, watching his shadow creep and glide along the walls and tapestries. Occasionally, he glanced at the medallion, which had been giving off a bright, pulsing glow. David would not be rushed, however, choosing to ignore Max’s grumbles while he devoted all his attention to the Book. He dribbled the remaining vials of Maya’s wondrous blood onto the Book’s pages to decipher its contents. The blood beaded like droplets of quicksilver, skittering across the pages until the papyrus absorbed them. Turning a delicate page, David spoke, his eyes glistening with tears.
“It’s so beautiful,” he said. “So much simpler than I ever expected.”
“You understand them, then?” asked Max. “The symbols and things?”
“It’s not just the symbols,” breathed David. “It’s their sequence; it’s their shape; it’s everything! And I do! I do understand them!”
His face alight with wonder, David lifted his hand and spoke.
“Mllthias braga cibil fah.”
Max blinked. David began to laugh; there upon his hand were a pair of birds. The birds were small and smooth, with long beaks and brilliant blue feathers flecked with yellow. They chirruped and hopped up David’s arm to peer at his face.
“What kind of birds are those?” asked Max.
“I don’t know,” breathed David, smiling at them. “They don’t have a name yet—at least not a common one. They didn’t exist before, Max! These are the first two!”
Max walked over and bent close to look at them. They were beautiful and delicate, with shiny black eyes that peered up at him unafraid. Of course, they’d have no reason to be afraid, Max realized. They had no memories or evolved instincts to shape their view of the world or its inhabitants. All was new to them. They had simply sprung from David’s words, shaped from nothingness. Caillech was speechless, casting a wary eye upon the birds as one hopped into Max’s hands.
“What should we call them?” asked David. “You choose a name, Max.”
Max glanced at David and back to the brilliant blue bird in his hand. He felt like a naturalist stumbling upon the Galapagos, giddy with the possibility of naming so many things as yet unknown. Just as he was about to speak, however, there was an unexpected flash of light.
Bram’s talisman had burst into a phosphorescent flame.
Black smoke guttered from the melting metal and Max’s heart began to pound. Another voice sounded in the room.
“Why not call them Folly and Hubris and have done with it?”
Max turned and saw Astaroth standing upon the road’s last cobblestones. The Demon smiled and extended his hand. The birds abruptly flew from Max and David, swift and darting as hummingbirds, to land upon his open palm. Astaroth’s eyes crinkled into merry slits.
“Lovely work, David,” he said, inspecting the birds closely. “But do not be greedy and keep such fragile beauties to yourself. You should share your creations with the Sidh! Its inhabitants will be most delighted.”
Then Astaroth whispered to the birds and stroked each upon the head; they promptly hopped from his palm and sped from the cavern. Astaroth watched them go, their chirrups fading as they flew away. Turning back to David, Astaroth leaned out, over the last white cobbles, and extended his hands.
“Now be a good boy, David, and bring me the Book before you make any more mischief.”
“No,” said David, clutching the miraculous artifact to his chest.
“You are clever and can speak its secrets,” warned Astaroth, “but you do not truly understand the Book of Thoth and its possibilities. No mortal can. Your life is but a flicker, David, while I burn bright and eternal. The Book of Thoth is not meant for one such as you. Its mastery is not in your nature. Even now, Elias Bram rails at your foolishness.”
“Elias Bram is dead,” said David.
“His body, but not his being,” replied Astaroth with a slow shake of his head. “Beneath the halls of Solas, I spent my last breaths consuming him. Bram’s spark—his soul—lives within me and bears witness to my victory. It must be torturous indeed for Bram to know that you have undone all his painstaking work and recovered for me what I could never have obtained on my own.”
“But Bram’s letter!” cried David. “The talisman! He told us to seek the Book and keep it from you! I—I verified them!”
“No, David,” said Astaroth. “I told you to seek the Book and keep it from me. The letters and talisman are mine, planted by my servants, and you have danced to my tune, a merry little puppet indeed!”
Astaroth clapped his soft hands together, filling the cavern with an echoing applause. The Demon’s eyes flicked at Max; he raised an eyebrow in amusement.
“You see, Max? There are fates worse than death. Now, convince your friend to surrender the Book, or I shall have to punish you.”
Max’s fear turned to anger. He stabbed a finger at Astaroth.
“You promised you wouldn’t hurt us while we were in the Sidh, but you lied! You promised I’d see my mother beneath Brugh na Boinne and you lied again!”
“I’ve done no such thing,” said the Demon, shaking his head with a sly smile. “Don’t press false charges on me, Max McDaniels, hoping to invoke the Old Magic. I have not lied at all. While you are in the Sidh, I will not touch a hair upon your head. And your mother sits behind you, Max, though not so fair as once she was. It is she who will bear the brunt of my wrath and beg for a death denied her. And that, my boy, is a promise!”
Max whirled to gaze at Caillech, who looked old and broken as she leaned against the dais. Her eyes met Max’s and she smiled, giving a gentle nod. Max rushed to her side.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, only now gleaning a hint of his mother’s features peeking out from within the seamed and ancient face.
“I was forbidden to,” Bryn McDaniels replied, squeezing his hand and blinking away her tears.
“Do you wish more pain upon her, Max?” called the Demon. “I can sear the skin from her flesh and crack her shins to suck the marrow, and still she will not die.”
Max stood and looked at David, who held the Book tight within his arms.
“Max,” said David, “I can’t! I can’t give the Book to Astaroth!”
“David’s right,” said Max’s mother. “Do not trouble over me. My life is spent.”
“David would have her burn, Max!” hissed the Demon. “He cares nothing for flesh and blood or the bonds of family. Knowledge is his one true love!”
Turning, Max stared at David. His hands began to shake once more
.
“Max . . . ,” David whispered, taking a cautious step backward.
Max ignored his friend’s plea and turned his attention to Dagda’s Cauldron and the terrible spear sleeping within it. Gripping the spear, Max met David’s eyes once again and made his decision.
The spear gave a shrill cry as it was wrenched from the water. Eyes widening with rage, Max took one hop at David before casting the weapon at Astaroth with all the strength in his body. The screaming spear crossed the cavern in a blur, impaling the Demon where he stood.
Astaroth howled with pain and clutched at the spear embedded in his belly. The surrounding cavern began to collapse, as though the magic that sustained it had been spent. Bits of rock fell from the cave’s roof while its walls sagged and spilled inward.
Holding the Book open, David yelled more strange words. The burning brazier tipped over and crashed onto the floor, sending burning coals skittering across the cavern as though pulled by invisible strings. A tapestry promptly ignited, its pastoral image blackening quickly under sheets of bright flame.
“Into the tapestry!” shouted David, running forward to tug at Max and his mother. “Quickly, before it burns away!”
There was no time to argue. Max grabbed David’s pack and hoisted his frail mother up off the cavern floor.
Astaroth’s agony was deafening. Max turned and saw the Demon wrench the spear slowly from his belly. For a moment, their eyes met, and Max almost went mad with fear. The burning tapestry loomed ahead, yet through the smoke Max swore he could glimpse Old Tom’s tower. Holding his mother tight, he held his breath and leapt through the flames.
17
THE TALE OF DEIRDRE FALLOW
Max and David emerged through the burning tapestry into the sudden shock of cold air. They were standing on the hedged lawns before Old Tom, whose clock shone white and luminescent. Behind them, Max glimpsed a terrifying sight. Through the flame-wreathed portal back into the Sidh—through the smoke and rubble—Max could still see Astaroth. The Demon was clutching the awful wound in his stomach, peering intently at the burning gateway as though trying to gauge where they had gone. From the cavern came an inhuman cry that made Max want to fall to the ground and cover his ears. Flames consumed the opening, destroying the portal and leaving them in the dark and quiet of a winter night at Rowan.
Gasps and muffled voices sounded from the steps and walkways. Max set his mother gently on her feet while gawking students and faculty hurried over from the academic buildings to see what was happening. Bryn McDaniels clutched her son’s arm and sank slowly to the ground, sitting on a crusted patch of snow. Max huddled next to her.
“Dad is here,” he whispered, hugging her close to keep her warm. “You’ll see him soon.”
“I’m so glad,” she said, peering out at the surrounding campus.
Shadows loomed, dark and jagged on the bright snow. Max looked up to see Commander Vilyak and several members of the Red Branch standing before them, looking grim. All were armed.
“You’re back,” muttered Vilyak, shining a lantern upon their faces.
“Yes, sir,” said Max. “We have to get her inside.”
Vilyak paused a moment, scanning the faint scars and taller boy before him. Visibly puzzled but apparently satisfied, he glanced at Mrs. McDaniels. “And who is she?”
“Bryn McDaniels, sir. My mother,” explained Max, helping her to her feet. “She’s a graduate of Rowan.”
Mrs. McDaniels blinked at Commander Vilyak.
“It’s Deirdre Fallow,” she said. Max said nothing but stared at the snow upon hearing the unfamiliar name. Apparently, more surprises were in store.
“Deirdre Fallow?” gasped Commander Vilyak, stepping closer to shine the lantern on her face. “What happened ? Where have you been all these years?”
“A long story,” said Mrs. McDaniels. “And I cannot tell it now—I am so very tired.”
“We’re taking her to the healing ward,” said Max, helping her past the Agents, who readily parted for them. “Please tell Ms. Richter that David needs to see her immediately.”
“Whatever you need to tell Gabrielle, you can tell me,” said Commander Vilyak. “The Director is very busy.”
“I’d rather tell her myself,” said David, coughing into his collar.
“And I’d rather hear it directly from David,” said Ms. Richter, walking smoothly across the snow, wrapped in a white shawl. She acknowledged Commander Vilyak with a nod before stopping to look at Max and his mother. A kind, understanding smile passed over her face as she gazed at Mrs. McDaniels. “Hello, Deirdre,” she said. “This is an unexpected but very pleasant surprise. I did not think we would see you again. I look forward to a long chat when you’ve rested.”
Walking forward, Ms. Richter placed a protective arm around David. Together, the four of them walked past the assembling onlookers and onto the Manse’s broad stone steps.
“Ms. Richter?” asked David while the Director shooed away a trio of gawking First Years. “How long have we been gone?”
“Over three weeks,” replied the Director. “We were beginning to lose hope. I trust you were successful?”
“I’m not sure,” said David, hugging the Book tightly to his chest and following Ms. Richter down the hallway to her office. Max escorted his mother to the ward, pausing every few steps so she could catch her breath.
When the Moomenhovens had tucked Mrs. McDaniels into a soft bed with a stitched quilt, Max made his way up the stairs and down the corridors to his father’s door. Mr. McDaniels answered on the second knock, rubbing at his eyes and blinking groggily. He had not shaved for days and looked a mess. For several seconds, his father did not say anything; Max imagined it must be quite a strange thing to look upon a loved one last seen sailing off into the blue.
“Am I dreaming?” his father asked at length.
“No, Dad,” said Max. “I’m here. I’m back.”
Scott McDaniels reached out a hand and cupped Max’s strong chin, his eyes wandering over the faint and fading scars.
“You look different, Max—older.”
“I am older, Dad,” said Max softly. “I’ve been away a lot longer than three weeks.”
“How can that be?” said Mr. McDaniels with a hesitant smile. “Where were you, Max? Where have you been all this time?”
“Far away,” said Max. “Under hills—in a different time. A strange place.”
“I wanted to go with you,” said Scott McDaniels hoarsely. “It’s a terrible thing to watch your boy go off into the unknown.”
“I know, Dad,” said Max. “Let’s step inside. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Inside Scott McDaniels’s room, the two sat on the edge of a rumpled bed that was still warm. Max reached for a framed photograph of his family taken when he was eight. He stared at the image of his mother, confirming that the sleeping woman in the ward was really she. Any remaining doubts fell away and in a quiet, patient voice he explained to his father that his mother had been found and was indeed alive, resting within the Manse. Max’s insides knotted into icy cords as he watched his father’s face flicker and then ignite suddenly into joy.
“There’s something you have to know,” said Max firmly. “Mom’s not how you remember her.”
Mr. McDaniels glanced sharply at him; his smile began to fade.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Is she hurt?”
“No,” said Max. “She’s not hurt exactly. I don’t know how else to say this, but she’s old now.”
“What are you talking about?” chuckled Mr. McDaniels. “She’s only forty-two!”
“Not anymore,” said Max gently. “Time is different in the Sidh. Only three weeks have passed here since David and I left, but I’ve been gone for a long time. It’s been three years since Mom disappeared, Dad. She’s a very old woman now....”
“I’m going to her,” said Scott McDaniels abruptly, standing up from the bed. Fastening his robe, he walked quickly to a mirror and r
an his hand over his stubble. “I don’t want her to see me this way,” he muttered, filling the sink with water and briskly lathering his face with foam.
Rosy-cheeked and freshly shaved, Scott McDaniels put on his best shirt and gave his shoes a second glance before he and Max made their way to the ward. As they walked, Max informed him that Bryn McDaniels had also attended Rowan and that people here knew her as Deirdre Fallow.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” snapped Mr. McDaniels. “Your mother’s maiden name is Bryn Branson Cabot, and she attended St. Mary’s Preparatory School in New Hampshire. I’ve seen her birth certificate and yearbooks, for cryin’ out loud!”
“I’m just telling you what I heard,” said Max. “It’s all a lot for me, too.”
“I know it is,” his father muttered. “I’m sorry.”
Quiet as mice, they crept into the ward where the Moomenhovens had already laid out chairs and a sleeping cot. Max’s mother did not stir. Scott McDaniels stood for a long time, his hands deep in his pockets. He finally eased into a seat to gaze thoughtfully at her tranquil face. There, in the low firelight, the two sat while the Moomenhovens knitted and frost patterned the glass.
* * *
At first light, Max’s mother awoke. Mr. McDaniels smiled and patted her hand while her eyes wandered slowly over his face, from the watery blue of his eyes to the deep dimple in his chin.
“Not much to look at, am I?” she managed.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” replied her husband, leaning close to kiss her cheek. She sighed and gave him an amused if disbelieving smile. Reaching out a fragile hand, she clutched his finger.
“I have some explaining to do,” she whispered. “You two must be very angry with me.”
“What happened that day, Bryn?” asked Scott McDaniels. “Why did you go away?”
“I received a visitor,” she murmured. “Someone from a life I thought I had left behind.”
Scott McDaniels nodded slowly, his face grave. One of the Moomenhovens hurried over with hot tea while Max and Mr. McDaniels propped up his mother on some pillows. She took a few tentative sips, and her voice became stronger.
The Second Siege Page 32