The Forgotten Trilogy

by Cecilia Randell

Cuchi appeared a few seconds later. “The sluagh are stationed to the North. They’ll work their way south. The leprechauns decided to stay with them, something about using their shadows until it was time.” The guardi shook his head. “I didn’t ask.”

  “The trooping fae?” Dub asked.

  Finn shrugged. “Somewhere at the base of the hills leading to the cliffs. We may even run across them.” Then he smiled. “It’s kind of nice not worrying about each movement of every soldier. Though I wouldn’t use this strategy in every battle.”

  “That’s it then,” Dub said.

  Dechtire, Finnegan, Ciara, Daniel, Old Mike and Odion were staying behind on the boat. The man of ba, Odion, had protested being left behind until Bat pointed out that it was only until she called for Daniel. They needed someone who could sense the different souls in him to stay and monitor the human. He’d still been a bit resentful until Bat further pointed out that it was unlikely there would be much fighting until Daniel was near the cauldron.

  Saoirse had slipped off as soon as the island came into sight. She didn’t need to guide them anymore, and she wanted to get in position as soon as possible.

  As planned, Con had transformed and taken off even before that, just after they crossed the border of Tir Hudi’s space. The barrier had felt much like the brothers’ wards the first time Bat had crossed them, only a hundred times stronger. Everyone but Dub had cringed against the pressure until it finally gave with a pop.

  Bat had been entranced by the dragon’s sinuous form. He was not like the depictions of English dragons she had seen. Instead, he more resembled the Eastern dragons, his body thinner and snake-like, though he still bore broad wings. When they were folded, they fit so well against his sides he could have been a serpent.

  He was a pale gray in color, and even curled in on himself he’d taken up the entirety of the foredeck. Bat had been skeptical of his ability to take to the air. At first. Then he’d slid over the side of the boat into the water. She’d rushed to peer over the rail, but couldn’t see anything. The gray of his hide blended too well with the blue-gray of the water.

  Then he’d burst from a wave, his snout leading the way in an amazing leap that had his entire body hanging above the water like and arrow aimed at the sun. He’d unfurled his wings before the leap lost its momentum and beat them in great strokes that took him into the hazy blue sky.

  She’d stared after him open-mouthed until Ailis had pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. “I’m going ta need ta show this one to Con when we get home.”

  Mell came to her other side and nudged her. “Thinking of dragons again?”

  “He was so pretty,” Bat said, then shook her head. There would be no more distractions from this point. She needed to be completely in the here and now. She knew an opportunity would come for her to alter her vision of Ailis, she just had to spot it…

  Mell looked over at this brother. “You have it?”

  Dub growled. “One time. One time I left my sword behind.”

  Mell laughed and Shar chuckled. It was obviously what they called an “inside joke.”

  Cuchi rolled his eyes. “Okay, kids, let’s go.”

  Bat was too excited to take offense at his words. Energy and power poured through her. Her fingers tingled and her stomach jumped.

  The group pressed together, Bat in the middle. Cuchi twisted his hands, and they were off.

  Chapter 23

  SAOIRSE

  She dove in and out of the water, spinning and flipping a few times. Even three days without being in her seal form was three days too many.

  Her current task was to scout the small bay that most of Balor’s ships were anchored in.

  Five boats, most a mere ten meters in length, but two were larger. One matched the Blue Heron for size, and the other was even larger, nearly thirty-five meters. She swam close enough to read the name painted on the hull. Angel’s Roar.

  Saoirse snorted, the honking cough drowned out by the shouts of the unruly Fomoiri and Fir Bolg crawling all over the boats and ranging across the shore. Diving back below the surface, she came up once more on the other side of the bay. The distance should keep her masked from prying eyes.

  Observing from her new vantage point, she counted. Fifteen men on shore, another twenty that she could see on the smaller boats, five from the medium boat, and… one, two, ten, eleven on the larger boat.

  She calculated. Fifty-one that she could see. Didn’t mean there weren’t even more belowdecks.

  She’d watch a while more.

  And in the meantime, she’d rehearse what she wanted to say to The mac Lir when this was over.

  She had a few choice things to convey to dear old dad.

  The fucking idiot.

  CON

  Con wrapped air and moisture around himself in a cloak of illusion, bending the light away from his form as he flew. He sliced though the air, wings spread to catch an uplifting thermal. He needed to get high enough that the sharp eyes of the Fomoiri on the island below wouldn’t be able to spot him.

  He wasn’t so worried about the Fir Bolg or the sluagh. Neither of those races possessed powers to contest his. The Fir Bolg were too tied to the earth. No doubt right now they were retching over the side of the boats, or kissing the gravel on the narrow beach. The sluagh depended on their shadows, and there were no shadows where Con now flew.

  The Fomoiri, however, had always been formidable foes. Some possessed senses so keen even the best cloaking spells couldn’t fool them. Others were in tune with wind and water to the point a tiny shift would alert them to Con’s presence.

  Con flapped his great wings and struggled higher. He much preferred the water—he was a lake dragon after all—but they had Saoirse for that. The Egyptian goddess needed him in the sky for this round.

  He liked that one. She was a little spitfire, handling those O’Loinsigh brothers like a pro. And from what Ailis hinted at, and he’d seen so far himself, the girl had decided to take on Finn Cumhaill of all men.

  She was going to have her work cut out for her.

  That assumed everyone survived this. There were bound to be body parts littering the island at the end of this particular battle. Oh, he’d wanted to stay snug in his lair when Ailis had first contacted him, but he had to admit that this was going to be fun. And this particular dragon hadn’t had this kind of fun in far too long.

  Would the little goddess or the greedy Fomoiri win this battle? Con was curious as to what the outcome would be. Though dragons were creatures of neutrality by nature, in truth Con hoped it would be the girl he’d met one memorable St. Paddy’s day as she shivered on a chaotic and mist-filled street. He wouldn’t have allied himself with her otherwise.

  Plus, he’d always had a soft spot for round women and big eyes.

  A rumbling chuckle spread through his chest. Con reached the desired altitude and leveled out, chasing the thermals as he glided and hovered over the island.

  He would wait up here until the signal came. Then he would show the world once more what dragons were capable of.

  MEERA

  Meera turned to Neasa and Teagan. Her fellow banshees stared back with eager grins. Even the once reluctant Teagan. Getting stabbed by an asshole and thrown into the water will do that to you.

  It wasn’t just about helping out Bat and the O’Loinsigh brothers anymore. Now it was about payback.

  And banshees were very good at vengeance.

  “The boats will need to go first,” Neasa mused.

  That was their primary goal, take out any possible way the enemy could leave the island.

  “And after that we can rip into them.” Old feelings rose up in Meera. Resentment, pain, the need to draw screams from her enemy, the thirst for blood, the desire to hold wet flesh in her hands and see the shattered pieces of civilization scattered around her.

  She shook it off. That was not who she was anymore.

  From their vantage point, the figures on the beach and in the clearing belo
w were no more than ants scurrying along in paths determined by their master.

  “Do you really believe it’s Balor behind all this?” Neasa’s quiet question pulled Meera’s attention back to her friend.

  Balor. Balor of the Evil-Eye. She shuddered as half-forgotten memories threatened to press in on her. Meera pushed them away. She refused to fall back into that nightmare. She had moved on from that time in her life the moment she’d left her old name behind. And Teagan and Neasa had been right behind her.

  “Does it matter?” Meera finally asked.

  It didn’t matter to her, other than making the destruction she was about to wreak all the sweeter.

  “No,” Teagan answered. “No, it doesn’t matter at all.” The dark-haired banshee paused as wind whipped over the hilltop. “Do you think she can beat him?”

  “I think that innocent little Egyptian goddess may be the only one who can,” Meera murmured.

  OLD MIKE

  The human tourist tossed and turned on the narrow bunk he’d only left in order to occasionally piss and eat.

  “Seed of godhood… Yes… The final melody will play… I will have the power… right… Tara…”

  Old Mike’s eyes closed in sorrow. He had become attached to the tourist, though the entire time they’d spent together the human had been either unconscious or lost in strange ramblings.

  Maybe that was the attraction. This human was just so lost…

  “Cauldron… creation… Osiris… death to rise…”

  Osiris. Old Mike knew that name, it was the Egyptian god of the land of the dead. Kind of like Hades. Mike liked to spend time in the library when he wasn’t roaming his bog. It was almost as much fun getting lost in the stacks himself as it was leading hikers astray.

  Wasn’t he the god that died and came back? But gods didn’t die…

  Old Mike’s entire body locked down. He didn’t even dare breath. If what he suspected was true…? It wasn’t possible…. There was no way…

  Daniel’s eyes shot open. There was a green glow under the faded gray of his iris. He bared his teeth in a crazy grin.

  Old Mike couldn’t move. It was not shock, nor was it fear.

  Somehow, Balor had managed to channel a bit of his power through the human and his gaze. It was just enough to trap Old Mike in his own body.

  Daniel rolled from the bunk and stumbled to his feet. Then he staggered to the door and out into the passageway, disappearing from view.

  It was a full fifteen minutes before Balor’s magic wore off and Old Mike was able to go after the human tourist.

  But when he emerged from below deck, he was too late…

  FINNEGAN

  Something was off.

  Finnegan double-checked the boat’s settings and controls. The engine was off, the wheel locked, the anchor set.

  He checked his wards. They were intact.

  He glanced at the stone that matched the one he gave Bat. It was quiet, she was not calling for them.

  He scanned the horizon. Gentle gray swells met blue sky and whips clouds. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  He turned to the island. Gray cliffs fell into the water and sea birds rode the winds. Nothing was out of place.

  So where did this sense of wrong come from?

  Two thuds came from the stern, followed by clanking.

  What the…?

  He rushed from the bridge. Daniel stood at the stern, guiding the life raft into the water. Finnegan was half way to him, when the human twisted his head to stare at Finnegan.

  Grey eyes swirling with green lights found Finnegan’s gaze. The Druid froze, one foot in mid-air, and toppled onto his side.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  The word was a chant in his mind. He concentrated on his fingers, on getting a twitch or a tick out of them. If he could just free his fingers from Balor’s power he could sketch a rune and access his power. If he could just…

  The life raft inflated with a whoosh and water splashed. The deck bobbed under Finnegan as Daniel disappeared from view.

  Finnegan needed to get up. He needed to warn the others.

  Even with the small bit of Balor’s soul that resided in Daniel, his power was breaking through. There was a reason He of the Evil Eye was feared from Ireland to Iceland and across the North Sea all the way to Scandinavia. At full power the once Fomoiri king could stop a man’s heart with a single glance, could burst his veins and boil blood.

  Finnegan had been assessing their chances of success at about thirty percent. He decided to downgrade that to fifteen percent. The flimsy forces Bat and the O’Loinsigh brothers had gathered would be defeated with one sweep of Balor’s gaze. He still wasn’t sure why he’d been going along with their imbecilic plans.

  Light steps headed his way and Old Mike, the wisp, crouched down in front of him. Pastel lights flickered under the fae’s skin as he bit his lip. “It’ll pass in a bit,” he finally said. “Only took me about fifteen minutes.”

  Old Mike rocked on his feet. About five more minutes passed and Dechtire stumbled into view. “What…?”

  Ciara and her hound Fina were next. She sat beside the druid and hummed. “At least we’re still alive,” she finally said.

  Old Mike’s lights dimmed then flared. “Yes. We are still alive.”

  Finnegan tried to speak, but his body was still caught. There was something the wisp wasn’t saying.

  Siobhan, the lavender pixie, popped into view.

  Finnegan tried once more and his lips moved. “Tell…”

  “Oh.” The pixie bobbed. “Yes, of course. I’ll find them, warn them.” She zipped out of view.

  Finnegan’s eyes slid closed. This was as much as he could do for them. The rest would be up to the Egyptian goddess.

  FAOLAN

  Faolan loosened the leash on his shadows and allowed them to play among the dapples of light and dark among the trees.

  The other sluagh—Carrig and Dalaigh—watched him with their trademark smirks. Those two were only here out of curiosity. Faolan knew they were humoring him in his “obsession” with the Egyptian goddess.

  They’d see. They were already beginning to. When Bat had played the harp during the attack on the dock, they’d been entranced, just as Faolan had. When she sought them out and asked if there were any treats they’d particularly enjoy, they’d been confused and befuddled that a goddess would care to ask after them.

  Then, when she’d essentially given them free rein to do what they liked, as long as it was against the asshole Fomoiri, they had finally fallen, just a little.

  Faolan knew she’d done that because she understood the sluagh, she could see into them, she knew what they were and what they craved. She was allowing them to be exactly who they were.

  The sluagh sought cold-hard judgment. They held no mercy in their souls. And what the men who had set up camp in a clearing beyond the trees had done definitely deserved judgment.

  There were other sluagh among Balor’s forces. They would be the most difficult. Part of Faolan wanted to take them on, but he also knew he’d be most affective against those who didn’t possess shadows themselves.

  No, the sluagh on Balor’s side had been convinced they served justice, just as The Wild Hunt must have been convinced. He didn’t want to harm them if it could be avoided.

  But the Fomoiri and the Fir Bolg?

  They were fair game. And this time there was no harp he needed to protect.

  He grinned at Carrig and Dalaigh, revealing sharp teeth.

  This would be fun.

  Chapter 24

  Bastie,

  I… have no words. None. I cannot possibly say aloud what I have wrought, what I have witnessed.

  I… feel I should apologize, though I know not for or what. I am not sure what my life will be from this point, but know this.

  I have always genuinely cared for you. And I hope we do see each other again, even if I am not the same Bat you once knew.

  - Bat, the goddess of…
/>   BAT

  They had been trekking through the lower hills below the cliffs for an hour. There had been no sign of the enemy, no indication that anyone other than their small band had been through there in centuries. Tree branches had swayed in the breeze, and the sweet scent of grass had risen from below their feet.

  It had been peaceful.

  The others had grown antsy, but Bat remained calm. Balor had no reason to keep her from the cauldron. In fact, she half expected a guide to pop up in front of them and lead the rest of the way.

  Now, they stood just inside the wide mouth of a cave.

  “This is it, goddess,” Ari said as he waved his too-many knuckled fingers toward the depths.

  Warm sunlight filtered in through the cave mouth as motes of dust danced in the air. The small spring burbled as it flowed in a thin stream farther into the dark recesses of the cave. Her eyes narrowed. Was this that spring?

  Before them, nestled in a shallow hollow of stone, sat the cauldron. No, not the cauldron—the Egg of Creation, the vessel of life. She stared. She couldn’t help it. Here it was, in front of her. She still didn’t know the truth of the creation of other pantheons, or if this curve of stone and metal was responsible for more than just the Egyptian deities, but it was the beginning of everything she’d known for the majority of her life. From this, the start of Egyptian life and divinity had been born. It was…

  It was beautiful. The stone glimmered with a faint pearlescent sheen and the bands of iron along the edge and bottom stood out all the more.

  “I sense ten blank spots,” Mell whispered, referring to immortals who had cloaked and hidden themselves using either their won magic or runes. While he couldn’t sense anything from them, he’d once described it as a bubble that the usual emotional eddies slid around as though there was something there.

  It was a skill he’d practiced frequently a few centuries before, and had had to quickly dust off in the last week.