“Good. For I am not a child.” Using my mind, I lifted a dozen boulders into the air. A strange hush swept across the valley as the stones lingered there, turning and turning like tiny planets. “I am Elizabeth Tanner, the last Aisling of her time, ruler of the Fae Resistance. I have come to your age to retrieve this bull, and nothing in this world or the next will deter me.”
Cuchulainn frowned at the spinning stones, but with a shake of his head, he barreled forward, his spear flashing and hungry for blood.
My blood.
I unleashed the stones, and one hit Cuchulainn square in his knee. He howled, staggering to the ground with a horrible snarl. Another one smashed into his shoulder. He tumbled to the ground, and far above, Maeve’s army hollered and screamed.
“Yield to me,” I shouted across the valley. “And I will take the bull.”
He leaped to his feet, brandishing his spear with a war cry.
I lifted up my hand, using my Aisling energy to push him back. He landed against the rock face with a sharp crack and crashed to his knees.
“This is the last time I will ask.” I walked closer, but not in reach of his deadly spear. I knew what that weapon could do, and I wouldn’t ignore Scáthach’s advice. Stay out of the way.
“I will take the bull,” I demanded.
Cuchulainn opened one eye and let out another dark peal of laughter. “I would rather die.”
“Very well,” I whispered.
I struck straight for his chest, but Cuchulainn rolled out of the way. He feinted low, but then sliced his spear through the air, aiming for my neck. Just like I had with Scáthach, I slowed down time, the spearhead moving at jerky, incremental motions, allowing me to sidestep easily. Time sped up again, and I traveled to the other side of Cuchulainn, jabbing my spear into his side. His body arched, and he let out a short gasp of pain. Not missing a beat, he pivoted sharply, the Gae Bolg passing by my gut with just a hairsbreadth of space. I traveled again, to the other side, and jabbed. Cuchulainn twisted, locking his spear against mine before I could pull away.
His face was inches away from mine. Sweat seeped from his pores, dirt and grit smeared against his cheek. He snarled and, with one swift movement head-butted me so hard my ears rang. I didn’t let go of my spear, but I staggered back, stunned. My fiery spear let loose from his skin with a sickening squelch, and I only had a second to travel out of there before Cuchulainn pierced through my vital organs.
I couldn’t even catch my breath before he charged me again, swinging his spear in a great arc. I blocked his attack, the force of it reverberating through my limbs and settling deep in my belly. My muscles took over, and without thinking I ran through the forms Scáthach taught me. Up, down. Up, down. Side. Side. Whirl. Whirl. Up, down. Cuchulainn met me count for count, but I managed to graze his jaw as he settled into the fighting pattern with me. Welts broke out from the flames, blood pouring from his side, but the warrior was relentless, his strength unwavering.
He feinted left, and I made to block, but he whirled, the Gae Bolg twisting deep in my side. Pain burst through my body, but I recovered quickly, turning to parry his spear away. He whirled his spear low, trying to slice through my ankles, but I jumped at the last minute, traveling out of range to assess my wounds.
He must have anticipated my move, because as soon as I materialized at the other end of the valley, a knife twisted through the air. I slowed down time again, the knife sailing in slow motion, allowing me enough time to slide to the left. When I glanced up at Cuchulainn again, his eyes were closed, a low chanting echoing through the valley. When he opened them again, a pair of giant hounds materialized beside him, snarling and bellowing.
Maeve’s soldiers quieted above, and blood roared in my ears as the hounds lunged toward me, their white teeth glinting razor sharp in their gaping maws.
I reached out a hand, trying to push them back with my Aisling energy. But that didn’t work, nor could I bend time to stop them. Each time I did, the rest of the world paused, but they kept galloping toward me, magically protected.
Shit.
I brandished my spear, the pale flames creating wild tracers in the air, but the hounds leaped forward. I managed to wound one with my spear, but the other one tackled me, its teeth locking on my neck and dragging me across the valley and forcing my spear from my hands.
I couldn’t scream. Blood filled my throat, my lungs. Bel’s spell healed me, but the hound was vicious, its razor-sharp teeth tearing and biting the freshly healed skin. The beast dragged me to the foot of Cuchulainn, forcing me down with its enormous weight. I tried to push Cuchulainn back with my Aisling powers, but the hound created some sort of magical barrier between its master and my abilities. I struggled for air, darkness closing in.
Cuchulainn hovered over me. “Yield,” he demanded.
Yield. Yes. I needed to yield. It would mean losing the bull forever and a way back home, but I could find some other path. I couldn’t do that if I were dead.
I opened my mouth, prepared to give in, but just as the words collected on my lips, a great flash of light appeared in the sky.
A twisting, glowing snake fell through the air. No. Not a snake. An eel! The giant creature landed at Cuchulainn’s feet and twisted around his legs, tripping him. The hound, sensing a new enemy, raised itself up from my neck and nipped at the eel as it sent volts of electricity through the warrior. I scrambled to my feet and summoned my flaming spear into my hands. Who had summoned that eel? A Druid? Bel? The Morrígan? It didn’t matter. I marched over to Cuchulainn, but a thundering sound made me pause. I glanced down the length of the valley, and I had to blink, my eyes not registering the great stampede heading right for us. A white calf with strange red eyes led the charge, and my stomach dropped to the ground.
It was her. I recalled it from the story. The Morrígan. She had interfered to save the day, to keep me alive for some reason not known to me then, but shit if I wouldn’t let her stomp Cuchulainn to death. Gathering my Aisling energy, I pushed him into the pass, no more than a crevice allowing two men to walk through it. The massive beasts charged around us, the dust clouding my vision. The eel disappeared around his feet, and the great warrior laid there, electricity still rattling through his body. His hound whined, its wet nose pressing against his cheek, glancing at me and back to his master, not sure what to do.
I pointed my flaming spear at Cuchulainn’s head. “I saved your life. I’m taking that bull, okay? You’re going to be all right, but watch the Morrígan. The eel that tripped you? That was her. She’s after you.”
Cuchulainn struggled to lift his head, waving my spear away, and passing out with exhaustion.
I skirted around the hound and Cuchulainn’s prostrate body. Panting and sweating, I raced through the cave feeling more and more fatigued with every step. By the time I had reached the end, my energy had completely depleted, each movement an agony of effort. I released my spear as pale flames ran down the staff, incinerating it. It vanished in a puff of smoke, and I leaned against the wall, blinking hard and shaking my head.
“So much for that,” I said beneath my breath.
Bel had aided me through my battle with Cuchulainn, but clearly, I was on my own now.
I peeked out of the narrow pass and gasped at the sight before me. I wasn’t prepared to see the masses of bodies up close, still in their armor and clutching their weapons. I stepped lightly around the slumbering men, seeking out the Donn Cúailnge. I picked up a leather canteen and gulped down long draughts of sweet, fresh water, tying the rest to my belt. I checked that my knife, vials, and the sleeping draught were still in my pocket before continuing on.
I finally found the bull on the other side of the camp, standing in the middle of a highly fortified pen. Its tail switched back and forth, and its massive horned head bowed and snorted. Magic hummed from its muscled body, its slick black fur shining with unnatural light. I let ou
t a long exhale and smiled. Finally, after everything, I had come to face to face with the beast. I took out the draught and the vials, and closing my eyes, I sought out the bull’s energy, preparing myself to travel out of the camp and back to Maeve. But instead of a glowing orb of power, I found—nothing.
Chapter Twelve
I cursed, slamming my fists at my sides. Whatever enchanted Cuchulainn’s hounds must be the same spell shrouding the bull, protecting it from magical fuckery. I stared at the bull, running my hands through my hair, conjuring up one hackneyed solution after another, only to shoot them all down. I couldn’t send it to sleep because there was no way I was getting that bull back to Maeve’s camp. This wasn’t my first rodeo, but well…
I was so enthralled in my own thoughts, I neglected to hear the camp stirring beside me. There was a flash of light, and a glowing rope fell from the sky at my feet.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said, glancing upward. It must have been Bel bestowing a gift. “There’s no way I’m going full cowboy on that thing!”
“You there!” a male voice called behind me.
I whirled around, my heart thundering. The sleep spell had broken, and a hundred angry Ulstermen glared at me, their faces distorted with blood rage. “Ok, rodeo time!” Grabbing the glowing rope, I kicked open the pen, and the bull bolted.
The rope already had a knot twisted into it. All I had to do was stay on long enough and not get gored or trampled. The bull charged, its powerful hooves thundering toward me. I closed my eyes and traveled onto its back, grabbing onto a roll of pure muscle. The Donn Cúailnge bucked wildly, crazed and bellowing. My thighs gripped the sweaty animal tight, but I shifted to the side, the ground perilously close. With a whispered prayer, I threw the rope and it landed with a quick snick around one of its horns. The bull stilled, quiet as a kitten under the power of the rope. I righted myself, kicking in my heels.
“Let’s go!” I cried.
The beast bolted out of the pen, obliterating the door in a rain of splintering wood. The Ulster soldiers shouted and screamed around me as they gathered their weapons to attack. One quick-thinking archer sent an arrow whistling past my ear, and I dug my heels into the bull’s sides, urging it to gallop faster. Soldiers tried to block us, but the bull tore through the camp like a juggernaut, scattering men and trampling anyone foolish enough to stand in our way. More arrows rained down and the beast bellowed as one pierced its side. Once. And then again. I winced, hurting for the poor animal. A searing pain exploded in my shoulder. My leg burned with white-hot flames. I didn’t need to look to see I had been hit.
The narrow pass lay just a few feet away, but one burly Ulsterman stood at its entrance, waving a giant ax. I lowered my head just in time, but the bull gored the soldier, lifting the three hundred-pound man into the air then throwing him like he weighed next to nothing.
We raced through the tunnel, Ulstermen charging at our heels. Cuchulainn must have wandered off into one of the many tunnels, because only a trail of blood gave any sign of him. Blinding light greeted me on the other side, and I blinked, letting out a loud whoop as Maeve’s soldiers swarmed the valley, mowing down the Ulsterman through the bottleneck.
My vision started to fade, a deep fatigue overwhelming me. From far outside of myself, I remembered something I needed to do and unplugged my canteen, pouring it free of water. I set the canteen below Donn Cúailnge’s gushing arrow wound, watching it stream into the container in a bright red line. I plugged it and hid it inside a spare pocket.
I guided the bull up the narrow trail to the hill above. My strength drained out of me, and I could barely hold onto the rope as we made our ascent. A battle waged below, the cries of dying men ringing hollow in my ears, but all I could see were Maeve and Scáthach at the crest of the hill, their hands intertwined as their hair whipped around their heads. Red and gold. Like fire.
My hands trembled, a deep chill invading my limbs, and I slipped off the bull as soon as I reached the summit. The bull snorted and bowed beside me, but otherwise stood as placid as an old milking cow.
I slipped the ropes in Maeve’s hand. “Here’s your bloody bull. Now bring me to Bel.”
And with that, my consciousness went dark.
A hand shook me awake, and my eyes snapped open.
“Elizabeth!” Scáthach’s voice hissed in the darkness. “Easy. You’ll mess with your bandages.”
I leaned back against soft pillows, licking my dry lips. “Water,” I croaked.
Scáthach pressed a goblet to my lips, and I sat up, gulping down the cool liquid. Her face came into focus in the dim light of the tent, her clear eyes studying my face.
“I’m glad you’re awake. I think the fever broke,” she said. “Your wounds nearly did you in, despite Bel’s protection.”
I nodded. “How long was I asleep?”
“Almost three days.”
I let out a long exhale. “I need to talk with Maeve.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You need rest.”
“I’ve rested for three days. I’m running out of time. We need to go now.” I glanced around. “Where are my things?”
Scáthach pointed to a neatly folded pile of clothes. My Tree of Life necklace lay on top, but the canteen with the bull’s blood was gone. My heart sank. Someone had thrown it out, discarded it in the chaos of the day. I placed my head in my hands, shaking and trembling, staring out through my fingers.
“There was a bottle, a canteen,” I said. “Did someone find it?”
Scáthach gave me a pointed look and opened up her cloak, revealing the canteen attached to her belt. “You mean this?”
My heartbeat raced, and my chest tightened. “Scáthach…”
“Why did you take this blood?” she demanded. “Why did you steal what was not yours?”
I swallowed hard, reaching out for the bottle. “I need it. Please…”
“Why?” she hissed, drawing away, her face growing red.
“It’s just a little bit,” I said. “What does it matter to you?”
“Tell me the truth!”
I raised my hands. “Fine. It’s… It’s for a spell.”
She squinted at me. “Sorcery?”
I nodded. “It’s why I need to find Bel. Why I need to return home.”
“And where is home? Don’t lie to me.”
I let out a long exhale, staring into her eyes, black and dilated with suspicion. “Far away from here,” I said. “In another time.”
She sat back on her haunches, crossing her arms.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I blurted. “But there will come a time when the gods are once again at war and the only thing that can save us is what’s in that bottle there. I’m begging you, Scáthach.”
She took hold of the canteen, untying it from her belt and eyeing the small container. “There is more power in this bottle than most men could ever dream of possessing. Power of a thousand armies. It is life and death. Birth and rebirth. You could create a universe out of what is inside. The blood of a goddess. It is nothing to trifle with.”
“I know,” I said. “I would not have taken it if I’d had another choice. I wouldn’t even be here, if I didn’t think I could make a difference.”
She folded the bottle into my hands. “Keep it safe. Use it for good. But know this.” She pulled me close, my nose in her hair. “If you use it against my Queen, I will slay you myself.”
“I understand,” I said, exhaling with relief. “When do we leave?”
“I will lead you to Bel,” Scáthach said. “But it’s a long march back to Connaught, and we’ll need to find a small band of soldiers to—”
“I can get us to Connaught. Right now,” I interrupted. “We’ll be there in a blink of an eye.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” an imperious voice said behind me. I whirled around
to find Queen Maeve standing in the doorway of the tent, her full body clad in gleaming armor. Maeve narrowed her eyes at me. “We have our own war to fight here, sorceress. We—”
“You made a promise! The bull for Bel.” A wave of emotion surged through me, my voice high and hysterical. “I need to get home.”
Maeve’s eyes flashed, her jaw clenched tight.
Scáthach cleared her throat. “Your Highness, we’ve seen how the sorceress can travel. We can place you back in your fortress in Connaught, away from Conchobar’s army. We may have the bull, but their soldiers are closing in on us. Sneaking you off to home might be the best chance of survival.”
Maeve stood still. Outside, the sounds of shouting, galloping horses, and clinking metal echoed through the camp. Instinctively, I could sense the tension in the air. I didn’t remember every single detail about the aftermath of Maeve taking control of the bull, but I knew it wasn’t all roses and lollipops. She might have the power of all of Ireland, but greater forces were aligning against her; she would lose everything once that bull faced its rival.
“Very well,” she said. “Let’s prepare for a journey.”
She marched to her private section of the tent and began filling a rucksack.
“Get dressed,” Scáthach said. “I’ll get you a new staff and pack for the journey.”
I threw on the faded wool tunic and leggings in silence, Scáthach and Maeve scurrying around the tent and stuffing supplies into their packs. My body ached with every movement; even the soft wool of my tunic was painful against my hot wounds. Finally, Scáthach set a pack down next to me, placing a gentle hand between my shoulder blades.
“It’s light,” she said. “You really shouldn’t carry anything, but it will have to do.”
I shrugged the pack over my shoulders and stuffed my knife into my belt. The pain from my side and my thigh burned through me, but when I studied the wounds, there was no sign of infection. Just dark purple bruises, the pain telling me at least I was still alive. The wounds appeared clean with no lasting damage. They just hurt like hell.
Echoes from the Veil (Aisling Chronicles) Page 12