The Forgotten Trilogy

by Cecilia Randell

  No one could know what truly happened the day Balor was defeated and the Egg of Creation shattered.

  No one could know that Bat had sung the vessel—the cauldron, the Egg—into one last act of creation.

  No one could know that Ailis now held a piece of godhood inside of her.

  So everyday Bat came to her bedside, and gave her friend small offerings. Tales of the pub, a vase of fresh flowers, a song on her harp, a new blanket, soup she’d made herself.

  The others saw it as the care one friend gave to another, and it was.

  There was just more to it. How much power does a god need in order to wake?

  “Oh, Ailis. I miss you,” she said again.

  A throat cleared behind her. Dub stood in the doorway. “You’ve been in here long enough,” he said.

  Bat tilted her head. “How long?”

  “Five hours.” His voice was even, but there was something under the neutral tone.

  Bat’s stomach tensed. Dub didn’t do neutral. Where were his frowns? “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Just come downstairs, please.”

  Bat nodded. It was about time. She needed to gather more tales to tell Ailis tomorrow.

  Wait. He said ‘please’?

  Dub’s brows drew together for a second before his expression cleared. “You miss her. We miss you.”

  Her hand crept up and curled around her lapis pendant. “I’m here.”

  A sigh. “Just come downstairs.”

  What was going on? What had she missed? What was wrong? They were supposed to all be okay now, their lives were supposed to be back to normal, other than the still sleeping Ailis. The pub was open, the building repairs were complete, the enemy was either being held by the Tribunal or being dealt with by their own clan leaders. The brothers were free of their father and clan—Alatrom had officially let his sons go their own way. There were no gods knocking on the door, no ominous flashes of vision, no ravens cawing for attention.

  Dub scowled. “Dammit, woman, just get up and come downstairs.”

  Woman. That was new. He usually called her storeen if he didn’t use her name.

  Crossing the room, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. His grip was tight, but not so tight it hurt. Dub dragged her from the room, down the stairs and into the pub. He placed her behind the bar and pointed at the tap. “You’re in charge of manning the bar for now.” His tone was cold.

  Dub left her there and crossed the room. Finn and Meera sat in a shadowed booth and Dub slid in across from them. Neither man looked in her direction.

  It was all just different enough to drag her from her constant concern for Ailis. What was going on?

  Shar came in from the kitchen, two plates of sandwiches in his hands, and stopped just inside the common room. His gaze was locked on her, his eye wide. A light flush bloomed on his cheeks and he gave her a little smile.

  She tried to return it, but her lips lifted a bare centimeter before falling again.

  The smile on his face froze and he turned away, taking the food over to a couple of leprechauns in the last booth before returning to the kitchen.

  Something was wrong. Something was wrong, she knew it, but there were no visions, no flashes to tell her what was coming.

  “Goddess, could I get another?” Old Mike raised his pint glass in her direction.

  “Of course.” Bat grabbed a glass and began building the Guinness. When it was done she moved down the bar to place it before the wisp. “How are you doing?”

  “Been better,” he said, then downed the last of his first pint. “Got kind of attached to the human, you know? He was all right for being possessed by an evil wanna-be god.”

  Bat’s muscles locked and her lungs froze. “What?”

  “Huh?” Old Mike’s eyes widened and faint pastels shifted on his cheeks. “Sorry. Didn’t mean ta say it aloud. I know I’m not supposed to…” He ducked his head as Bat’s eyes grew wider with each word he said.

  She opened her mouth but couldn’t get a word out.

  “The human talked in his sleep,” the wisp finally mumbled.

  Bat had known that, she just hadn’t known exactly what he said. She finally drew in a deep breath. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I know.” The words were barely there.

  “Please,” she added.

  Mike’s head shot up and his grey eyes widened. He nodded.

  “Thank you,” she added, knowing the two words would convey just how important this was. “Was there anyone else around when he…?”

  “No.”

  She let out a sigh of relief.

  Silence fell between them. After a minute or two, Old Mike looked at her again. “Will ya play tonight? It’s been a while…”

  What did he mean? She played every day…

  For Ailis.

  Bat hadn’t played in the pub since before they set off to stop Balor’s schemes.

  We miss you. That was what Dub had told her.

  Old Mike nodded as if agreeing with her not-man’s words. “It’s time to come back now, goddess. I know a thing or two about losing your direction—I’m a wisp after all. I hate to admit it, but sometimes it’s best to stay on the path.”

  Bat was stunned. He was right. She’d been… gone. Not physically, but in spirit. She’d been stuck in that room with Ailis for the last four weeks. When was the last time she’d genuinely talked with Dub, or Shar, or even Mell other than the most casual conversation? What about Finn? What she had with the guardi captain was already so fragile…

  She’d been caught up in her worries. And they were worries she couldn’t tell anyone, not even her not-men. She’d closed herself off, without a word or an explanation…

  What had she done? Hadn’t she already learned this lesson? How could she be so blind?

  She sought out Dub and Finn once more. They stared back at her, expressions blank. Meera cast a frown in her direction, but it didn’t hold anger, only understanding. She whispered something to Finn, rose from the booth, and sauntered over to the bar.

  “They’re not angry, ya know? Well, maybe they are, but they’re more worried than anything.” The banshee leaned against the bar, her arms folded under her chest.

  Bat held her silence, but only because she wasn’t sure yet what to say.

  “Can I get a pint?”

  Bat nodded and started on Meera’s drink.

  “Ye’re going to have ta start talking ta them.”

  “Did they…” Did they tell you that? Why talk to the banshee? Why didn’t they tell me they needed me to talk?

  “No. But I have eyes.” Meera’s fingers tapped against the bar. “I like ya, Bat. Yer a good one, and I never thought I’d say that about an Egyptian deity. So, I’m going to say a few things, and I hope you listen, because some of us deserve a happy ending.” Shadows moved in the banshee’s eyes.

  Does Meera not expect to be happy? Pressure grew behind Bat’s eyes and she blinked.

  “Ye’re still too used to being on yer own,” the banshee continued. “That’s fine, centuries of habit can be hard to break. But ye’re not alone now. Ye’ve got four men wrapped around yer fingers. Sad thing is they’re too used to being alone as well.” She scowled. “And some of them are too stubborn ta see reason.” Her lip lifted in a sneer as she looked over her shoulder in the direction of the booth.

  It startled a small laugh from Bat. Yes, those two are definitely stubborn.

  Meera’s brows lifted and her expression softened. “Ya realize that’s the first time you’ve laughed since we got back?”

  Was it? Surely… Bat thought back over the last weeks.

  It was. Again, she’d just been so caught up in Ailis. Not only in her concern over her state of unconsciousness, but also over her future. What would happen when she woke up?

  “Ailis isn’t here, so I’m going to be her for a few minutes more and tell it to ya straight. Ye’re gonna have ta be the one to fix this. Because those men don’
t know what’s bothering ya, they don’t know how ta fix it, and they don’t know how ta deal with the frustration of seeing you in pain.” Meera grabbed the pint that Bat had only half finished. “Men are idiots. We women are always going to have to take the higher road.” She paused. “Unfortunately.”

  Bat nodded and fell into thought. Meera’s words held truth.

  How to fix this? She couldn’t tell them about the Egg’s ability to create gods and goddesses. Yes, it was now destroyed, but that didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t try to think of another way to rise to godhood if the idea was planted in their minds. There was also the fact that Osiris had truly died. Gods did not die, and if the full tale came to be known, someone—whether other deities, humans, or immortals—would try to think of a way to repeat that feat. She’d come to that conclusion back at the cottage, as soon as she’d hung up on Osiris. Her mind hadn’t changed.

  No, she couldn’t tell them the truth, but she could tell them something.

  She could also… what was that saying she liked? Pull her head out of her ass?

  Yes, she could pull her head out of her ass.

  And what a weird image that was. Sometimes she wondered who came up with these sayings…

  Reaching out, she found Meera’s hand with hers. “Thank you, Meera.” Bat was handing out “thank you’s” very freely today.

  The banshee shrugged, but there was a pleased grin on her face.

  “Can you watch the bar for a few minutes?”

  Meera waved her hand. “Go do what ya gotta do.”

  Bat curled her lips into a deliberate smile. The feeling was all too foreign. What had she allowed herself to become this last month that a smile felt foreign? She could only be grateful that she now had friends to pull her out of herself when needed.

  Leaving the bar, Bat wove through the tables until she reached a small hearth situated at the back of the pub. In front of it, four chairs were set in a semi-circle. Above it was a shallow mantle. And on that mantle was an embroidered leather case.

  Bat grabbed her harp and settled into one of the chairs. She paused, thinking of what she wanted to play.

  A door slammed closed from somewhere on the second floor. It could only be Mell, her flirtatious, damaged, understanding Mell, with his beautiful laugh and eyes that rarely reflected what he truly felt.

  Suddenly, she knew the song to play.

  He fingers started slow as she struggled to remember the melody. Gradually, the pub quieted as conversations fell away. Movement in the doorway next to the bar caught her attention and she looked over to see Shar and Mell standing next to each other. Both wore expressions to match Dub and Finn—blank. Mell blinked, and a cutting ribbon of pain and confusion reached her before being cut off.

  Oh, Mell. Oh, my laughing not-man. What have I done to you? To all of you, with my selfish worries?

  She had to fix this.

  Bat gave herself a few measures more to gather her emotions and thoughts, to be sure of the vision she wanted to hold in her mind, then began.

  Oh, don’t you now remember, love

  When you gave me your right hand

  You vowed if you got married

  That I should be the man

  This was the first song she’d heard from Mell. It was the song that had drawn her to him, that had shown her he was so much more than a simple man with a guitar sitting in the back of a pub. This was the song that had charmed her into joining him, that had settled her, that had given her a simple pleasure and delighted her for the first time in centuries.

  I wish I were a butterfly

  I’d fly to my love’s nest

  I wish I were a linnet

  I’d sing my love to rest

  Bat closed her eyes as she conjured up image after image. Her, Finn, Dub, Shar, and Mell in the kitchen, crowded around the central island as they drank tea and she ate her strawberries. She and Finn walking hand in hand down the streets of Sligo, out to explore for a day. Mell and Dub arguing over whose turn it was to take out the trash. Shar working in his garden as she sat beside him and Killer examined the new growth plants. Dub in his forge, a contented look on his face. She, Mell, and Finn playing music together in the pub. The five of them on a blanket spread out on the field under Benbulben as they enjoyed a packed lunch and Killer ran in circles barking at nothing. Dub behind the bar frowning at tourists as Bat tugged on his arm and tried to keep him from kicking anyone out.

  I wish I were a nightingale

  I’d sing to the morning clear

  I’ll hold you in my arms, my love

  The girl I love so dear

  She pulled up more images. Of her bedroom, her snuggled into her men, one after the other. Of kisses and passion. Of them holding her as she finally let out the sorrow and pain she’d held inside for centuries. Of each and every smile she had ever received from them. Of Finn’s almost confession of love, and of Dub’s assurance that none of them were going anywhere. Of Mell’s hugs, and Shar’s embraces.

  She poured every ounce of the love and longing she felt for them into the song. She wove comfort and home into each note. She bared her hopes and her dreams for them with each word that left her mouth.

  The girl I love so dear

  As the last note faded, she opened her eyes.

  Four sets of eyes locked with hers: two lapis-blue, one deep chocolate, and the last a golden hazel. Four mouths offered her sheepish smiles. Four pairs of arms reached for her in a tangle of limbs.

  Then she was being passed man to man as they pressed kisses against her lips.

  “Just go!” came a voice from somewhere beyond the wall of broad shoulders that surrounded her.

  Dub twisted around, gave Meera a nod, and grabbed Bat’s hand. Once more he dragged her along, this time back up the stairs, into his room, and over to his bed. The other three followed close behind.

  When the door was closed they stood before her once more. None spoke.

  “So, I suppose I should begin?” Bat hadn’t intended the questioning tone in her voice.

  Shar opened his mouth then closed it. Dub and Finn exchanged a look. It was Mell who finally answered her. “That may be best,” he said. “Because none of us know where to start without you talking to us.” He sat beside her, his weight causing the mattress to dip and her to tilt toward him. He slipped and arm around her rounded shoulders. “I know you’re feeling guilty. I know you’re worried. At first I thought it was about Ailis, but now…”

  Where to begin? “I am sorry,” she finally said.

  “Don’t want apologies,” Dub growled out, frowning down at her.

  She smiled back at him. “I just… don’t know where to start. There are things I can’t tell you.” It was the first time she’d outright said it. Back on the boat, Mell and Finn had hinted that they knew she was keeping something from them all. She held up a hand as their faces darkened. “I want to. I trust you. I simply cannot tell you these things.” She frowned. “No, that is not quite accurate. I can tell you, but I made a decision not to tell you. I made this decision knowing full well that my silence would sit between us in some way. I have also struggled with my decision many times. Despite this, each and every time I examine the facts, I come to the same conclusion—what I know is something I cannot reveal, not to anybody.”

  They fell into silence. Bat wasn’t sure if they were waiting for her to continue, or if they simply had nothing yet to say.

  “I did not apologize for not telling you this secret. I will not apologize for it, because it is not something I will change. My apology was for how selfish I have been this last month. You all have needed me, and I have stayed trapped in my worries and secrets.” She focused on Finn. “And I know better than that.”

  Still none of them spoke.

  She dropped her gaze and studied the green and blue patterned rug under her feet. “Meera said today was the first time I have laughed since Tir Hudi. I didn’t even realize.”

  Finn sat on her other side. “C
an you tell us if this secret has something to do with Ailis?”

  Can I? Is that much safe to reveal?

  As soon as Ailis woke, it would be evident that something in the trooping fae had changed. The green-haired woman would need more than just Bat by her side, helping her adjust. The next few months—maybe years—would be hard on the former fae as she relearned her own existence. She would need people who understood at least that much, and who would be tolerant of any… quirks that manifested themselves.

  Bat leaned her head against Finn’s shoulder and one of her hands landed on Mell’s thigh, giving him a light caress. “It does have something to do with Ailis, though it is not only her.” Mell picked up her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “When she wakes, she will need… additional care. She will need friends around her who will not ask too many questions, and who can watch out for her.” Pressure built in Bat’s eyes and she blinked, trying to rid the threat of tears. “I don’t know what will happen when she wakes. I don’t know how she will feel, or what will have changed about her. I don’t know… there are no visions.” She blinked again. “I feel…”

  “Lost,” Mell whispered.

  Shar knelt in front of her. Bat parted her knees and he scooted forward. He was tall enough that their heads were at the same level. His arms went around her waist, forcing space between her and Finn, and Mell’s arm to drop. “Why didn’t you simply tell us this instead of drawing away from us? We thought…” He didn’t finish, his voice thick.

  “We thought you’d decided you’d had enough of Ireland and were going to head home as soon as you knew Ailis was okay.” Dub stood over them all, arms now crossed over his chest.

  Bat stiffened as her blood surged and her chest tightened. Her eyes narrowed as she glared up at the arrogant not-man. “And what wanker came up with that idiotic idea?”

  His gaze flicked down and away as his frown faded and his brows drew up in the middle.

  “It was you, huh? And you then went blabbing to your brothers and Finn instead of coming to me to ask what you wanted to know.” Bat pushed at Shar’s shoulders, too angry at the moment to enjoy his warmth.