The Forgotten Trilogy

by Cecilia Randell

  “You know what Ruith predicted,” the Dagda said. “And she has confirmed now is the time.”

  The Morrigan sniffed. She’d never liked that pretentious woman, but she couldn’t deny the accuracy of the Druid’s predictions. “You know I enjoy a good war, live for them, really,” she flashed a smile and Danu shifted, frowning. “But I do not like my side to be unprepared.”

  Lugh sat forward, and the Dagda held up a hand stalling the Bright God. “Knowledge of what is to come will allow us to prepare properly. We know the players, and the way the pieces will need to move.”

  The Morrigan bowed her head in acknowledgment. Yes, this was a time that they all needed to move carefully. But there were ways she could nudge her warriors in the direction they needed to go, additional help she could provide.

  It would have to be enough. For now.

  She just hoped this forgotten goddess that had traveled to her land was ready for what was to come.

  The next in the Forgotten Trilogy, The Legends That Remain, is now Available

  A Note From the Author

  I had way too much fun researching the background for this story.

  It was interesting to note that both the Egyptian gods and the Irish gods were much less codified than those in other histories. Names and the roles of the gods shifted by time period and location.

  Many elements are my own creation, and many are borrowed from various texts and books I found, including, yes, the Idiot’s Guide to Irish History. I apologize for any inaccuracies… but let’s just pretend it’s right and roll with it, shall we?

  Finn, as you may have guessed, was based on Fionn mac Cumhaill of the Fianna, and Diarmuid and Grainne really did run away with each other. The rest I took… liberties with.

  Bat was a goddess of pre-dynastic Egypt, and some speculate that it was her shown on the Narmer palette between Horus and Set, uniting the Upper and Lower Kingdoms. She held many of the same qualities as Hathor and was eventually absorbed as just another aspect of that more popular goddess. She is also mentioned briefly in the pyramid texts.

  Alatrom really was a Fomoiri, mentioned in the tales of Cu Chulainn. He had three sons, Dub, Mell and Dubros, who were seeking to take a maiden that Cu Chulainn then rescued. It was said the hero killed them. I say they let him get away.

  I took a little liberty with the last brother, changing his name to Searbhan. But, Searbhan was also another Fiomoiri I found, a one-eyed giant who guarded a sacred rowan in the time of the Fianna.

  Who’s to say they weren’t really the same man?

  Another note on their names. Dub means “dark”. I found references for Mell as well, meaning either “dark” or “joy”, “mild” and “pleasant” depending on sources. Interesting…

  THE LEGENDS THAT REMAIN

  Cecilia Randell

  Book Two of The Forgotten Trilogy

  This is for the forgotten, the misfits, the ones who just do their own thing.

  You’re beautiful.

  Chapter 1

  Dear Bastet,

  Is it possible to be both wonderfully happy and extremely frustrated at the same time?

  - Bat, the goddess of the pub

  Bat,

  Yes. Tell me again why you’re not doing something about this frustration?

  - Bastet, the goddess who is gonna go out there and make something happen if you don’t

  BAT SITRU

  Bat placed a pint on the bar before Old Mike, a will o’ the wisp regular. He came in every afternoon and stayed until dusk, when he would make his way back to the Keelogyboy Bogs and attempt to lead any travelers astray. It was an interesting purpose to have, and per the wisp, he was simply trying to show those travelers a new adventure, “for didn’t Lost hold hands with Fate and between them create adventure and wonder, the very reason for living?” The words echoed in her mind in the wisp’s deep brogue and she smiled at him. She loved that she was coming to know these people so well.

  He returned her smile, his teeth bright against the faded gray of his beard and skin. A delicate swirl of pastel light passed under the flesh of his cheeks—a reaction she’d learned was a wisp’s version of a blush. “Appreciate it, goddess.”

  She patted his hand. “I have told you, Mike. Bat. My name is Bat.”

  He ducked his head and shrugged. It was a reaction she was used to seeing from the immortals that came to The Dubros. No matter how she instructed them, many wouldn’t, or couldn’t, address her simply as Bat.

  There were a few exceptions of course.

  Mell O’Loinsigh—one of those exceptions—entered from the back hall, Killer at his heels and two plates of hot sandwiches in his hands. He flashed her a quick smile then focused on the table of banshees who’d come in for an early dinner. The Dubros didn’t serve anything fancy, never had, but since she’d come they’d added a few simple items to the menu, on top of the basic crisps and pretzels and munching foods—as she liked to call them—which had already been offered.

  Killer’s big brown eyes stared up that the food, then flicked to her, to Mell, and to the banshees. He gave off a little whine, ducked his head, then pawed the flagstone floor.

  Her puppy was a mooch.

  “No.” Mell pointed a finger at the pup then flicked it toward Bat, as though the animal would understand just from that.

  Killer did understand. Giving another pathetic whine that didn’t sway the Fomoiri or the banshees, Killer slunk around the end of the bar and came to sit beside Bat.

  “That one’s gonna be trouble,” Old Mike said. He sipped his beer as he shifted to peer over the bar. “Ya should train him to growl at the humans. Troublesome lot those are. Never let themselves be drawn away, do they? Got that GPS and those genius phones and those apps that’re always telling them where they are. Take the fun from living, those gadgets. It’s enough to discourage a wisp into crossing over, it is.” He sighed and shook his head, then took another sip of his Guinness.

  Bat listened patiently and made soothing noises, both for the wisp and the puppy. A low rumble came from the other end of the bar, where Dub dealt with a tourist who’d just come in. “So, who should growl, the Fomoiri or the puppy?” she asked, unable to resist the tease.

  Old Mike’s eyes sparked in mirth and waved a hand to Dub at the end of the bar nearest the door. “Oh, the pup for sure. We already have a Fomoiri who growls at the humans. But do ya really think ya could train him?”

  Deciding to play a bit, she leaned forward and tilted her head conspiratorially toward Old Mike then cast a glance at the Fomoiri in question. The tourist was asking for “a glass of that famous Irish beer.” “With that one, the trick is to get him in a good mood before we open the doors.”

  Old Mike grinned then turned to gaze at Dub. “And have ya figured out how to do that, goddess?”

  She pulled back. “No. It is a shame too. Killer is easier to keep in line.”

  He was. Her pup, an easy if squirmy handful when she had received him, now came up to her knee. According to Ciara, whose own hound was Killer’s mother, he would grow to be just as large as his dam, his shoulder coming up to Bat’s waist. And she would get to keep him forever and ever, as the pixie put it. A special breed combining the mortal wolfhounds and the Cu Sidhe of the Irish otherworld of the dead, these dogs could blend with the modern world, but wouldn’t die of age. Bat had been relieved to hear it. Already, a mere two months after the brothers offered him to her, she couldn’t imagine her life without him as a companion.

  There were also others she couldn’t envision her life without—but they came with their own set of worms.

  Old Mike chuckled. “Well, let the world know when ya do figure it out, goddess. It’ll save some bashed heads.”

  She twisted her head just in time to see Dub slam a half-poured pint down on the bar before the human tourist. Oh no. It took time to pull a proper pint. This man must have complained it was taking too long. “I’ll be back.” She hurried to where Dub stood, Killer on her heel
s, just as the pub door opened and a new annoyance—person—entered.

  Finn, out of his guardi uniform, took it all in with a glance, the human who crowded in next to his own seat at the end of the bar, the scowling Dub, and the frowning goddess. He hesitated for just a moment then sighed, wedging himself into his stool. “A pint, please,” he said. “And do it proper, will you?” He flicked a teasing finger at the cloudy glass.

  Dub growled. Yes, she had been teasing with the wisp a moment ago, but that really was the best word for the sound that rumbled its way from her grumpy not-man and into the air. “Fine,” he shot out.

  Bat sent an admonishing look at Finn, then turned to the human. “A piece of advice. The Irish take their beer very seriously, as is only proper. Do not rush the pulling of a pint.” She poked Dub’s side. “You. Take Killer out and see if Shar is done in the garden.” She paused. “Please.” That should do it. Please-s were very powerful with this particular not-man, almost as effective as thank you-s. She’d learned to use them sparingly, but in the interest of keeping a troublesome human whole, she would use one now.

  Dub pulled in a breath. “Fine,” he repeated. He snapped his fingers at Killer and strode from behind the bar and through the doorway that led to the kitchen and storeroom. Her puppy followed behind obediently, knowing that signal meant he would get to go outside for a romp, or even a ride in the truck.

  Her puppy was so smart. Why had she not gotten one earlier in her existence?

  She started on Finn’s pint, ignoring the grumblings of the tourist. She’d made humans leave before, she could do it again if this one got too out of hand.

  “So, Finn. How is your work going?” A safe enough question, and something to break the silence. “Will you stay tonight and play something with us?” He’d become more of a fixture recently, stopping by at least a few times a week to play a tune, or enjoy a pint. He’d also begun to mellow, as Ailis called the softening of his stiff mien.

  Finn was another she was coming to think of as intrinsic in her new life.

  He shook his head. “I’ll be staying for a bit, but not to play.”

  There was an edge to his tone that told her there was more behind his words, but he wouldn’t say anything with the tourist there. Her heart gave two hard beats and her fingers tingled, though no vision came.

  “That’s a shame,” she finally said. Silence settled over them as she waited for the first pull to settle then topped off the pint glass.

  Mell joined her behind the bar just as she set the finished pint in front of Finn, and stood a little too close to her. She shifted, unsure if she wanted to draw closer or pull away from the not-man beside her. Finn’s gaze darted between the two of them and his lips tipped up. “Something I should know here?”

  Bat frowned. “No.” And that was the problem. There wasn’t anything to know. The last two months, since she had agreed to stay, the brothers had, in a way, withdrawn. There were no more spontaneous and angry kisses in the kitchen, no more embraces, no more moments of revelation late at night or lingering touches. There were no more grand declarations of almost love. She told herself it was for the best, that there were good reasons for the lack.

  It didn’t matter what she longed for at night—and occasionally during the day. Just because the brothers offered her protection and companionship didn’t mean it needed to be of a physical nature. Grainne and Diarmuid had shown her that she needed to tread carefully with the immortals when it came to sex, or love of that nature, so she allowed the distance. Dub had also insisted that, until the meeting with his father was concluded, she shouldn’t draw any attention to herself, or let others know she planned to stay permanently in Ireland. He didn’t explain, and she didn’t press, since it was old business—business from before she came here to Ireland.

  But sometimes, every once in a while, one of them would look at her, and the early heat would build. They’d stand close, as Mell did now, and her heart would pound like a girl in the first stages of maturity. It only ever lasted long enough to tease, and it always made her want more.

  It had become clear to her a few weeks ago that there was a subtle boundary between her and the brothers. Not just her own self-imposed reservation, but an actual emotional boundary. It popped up every time they strayed into that teasing territory, like a protective construct.

  It is for the best, though. She had found a balance with the brothers, with her life here, and she didn’t want to upset it, to have to give up this new home—which was exactly what would happen if she broke that emotional barrier. Though, the brothers had once claimed she had brought that balance with her, and into their lives, their actions told her they were worried about that very balance. Already it was unsteady. Sometimes she thought if she could just sit them all down, tell them she wanted each of them, and could kiss them to her heart’s content, it would all sort itself out.

  It was a strange circular logic that didn’t seem to have a resolution.

  And what about the brothers themselves? Was the upcoming O’Loinsigh clan gathering simply an excuse for them to keep their distance because they couldn’t figure out a way to tell her they’d changed their minds? Or were they afraid she’d end up treating them like Grainne did? What would happen when that gathering was over? Would they find another reason to keep her status as a newly permanent resident secret?

  And all those questions simply fed into her resolve not to breach the distance they’d established. Love and comfort and companionship doesn’t need to involve sex. She’d tell herself that as many times as it was needed for her to fully accept it.

  Sighing, she brought herself from her musings and back to the present. She’d already decided many times over that she wouldn’t do anything, would never cross the line they had made clear. There was no reason to dwell on it further. But it was still frustrating.

  Mell shifted, pressing his muscled arm to her shoulder and she leaned in, just a little. Just to feel that reassuring pressure. The comfort of touch doesn’t need to be sexual. Sometimes a touch was just a touch…

  “No,” Mell finally said, a beat too late. He pulled away from her and her shoulders sagged.

  Finn frowned, his brows drawing together in puzzlement. Then he shrugged and wiped the expression away, resuming the more neutral lines he usually wore. “Well, if I can steal you and your brothers for a moment, I’ve got something I’d like to run by you,” he said to Mell.

  Mell’s gaze went from Finn, to Bat, to the human—who had watched the entire byplay with narrowed eyes. “Sure,” he said. “Shar and Dub are out back, I’m sure.” He waved at the beer. “Ya can bring the pint. Don’t want to waste it.”

  Finn stood from his stool, inclined his head to her, and disappeared through the rear doorway with Mell. Her senses stirred and she braced her hands on the bar counter, wondering if a vision was coming. They’d tapered off for the most part after the soul blade had been recovered, and she usually only received the briefest glimpses of the immortals who frequented the bar; hints of where a wisp could find a human in search of adventure, places a banshee could go to find a new family to wail of, or gardens in need of the care of a pixie.

  She strained, trying to capture the elusive feeling.

  “Hey lady.” The human’s voice was rough. “Can you get me another one of these that’s done right?” He held up the pint glass, eyes still narrowed.

  Pulling her attention once more to the here and now, she tilted her head and studied the human. Was he one who would cause trouble, or was he simply tired and hungry and therefore easily upset? Hangry, she’d heard it called. His face was pale under his blond hair, with a faintly gray cast, which was not usual for a human. His gray eyes were bloodshot. Was he ill?

  “Would you like something to eat as well?” she asked. “We don’t have much on the menu, mostly sandwiches, but I do believe there is a stew being prepared. It may be a good idea to have something in addition to the alcohol.”

  His stilled, then relaxed. His expr
ession eased and he nodded. “That would be good. I’ve been travelling for a few days now. A lady I ran into downtown recommended the place, said it had real local color. I thought I’d check it out before finding my hotel.”

  Bat suppressed a smile. “Did this lady have green hair?”

  “Uh. No.”

  “Oh. Well, I do understand the travails of travel.” She pulled out a glass and began the pint. “We should have a sing-song going later, if you can stay. We have them most nights, if you want to come again.” She released the tap and set the pint aside. “You have to let it settle, and then top it off. I learned this a few months ago. It really does make it better.”

  The man nodded. “Um. I’m sorry about earlier. With the other guy. I was just…”

  She gave him a smile of understanding. “You were tired, and he was rude. Dub is like that. If you come often enough, you will learn his frowns. I am Bat, by the way.”

  His brows rose. “Like the animal?”

  She waved a hand. “It is an old, and traditional, Egyptian name. Though, yes, it is spelled and pronounced the same as the flying rodent.”

  “Sorry,” he said again. He watched as she topped off the pint then placed it before him. “I have a feeling I’ll be saying that a lot around here. I can’t seem to say or do anything right. I’ve been pissing people off since I stepped off the plane.”

  “Would you like to hear a secret?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Buy the bar a round, and you’ll be welcomed. You do not have to do it here, in The Dubros. It works in most pubs. I would also advise getting sleep, and proper food in you, before you interact with anyone else.”

  He took a sip of the beer and his brows rose. “This is good. Really good.”