by Amy Sumida
But there was one goddess who simply couldn't. Morrigan. Due to a human myth about a gate leading into her land, Morrigan could never completely close her wards. The gate had to remain open. And even though Morrigan was in hiding, her territory wasn't. The Formorians had taken her weakness along with her land. With the island surrounded by a ward, no one could sneak up on them, as they had done to the Tuatha.
Whatever the case, we were able to trace directly into the shining, silver palace of Tara. Kind of nice actually. I may have goddess and faerie healing abilities, but I was still tired after the exertions of the past few days, and I wouldn't have been happy to have to sail to the island, then take a carriage to Tara. Tracing directly there was so much easier. And the tracing chant had come with the invitation. I'd like to say the Formorians trusted me enough to give me their tracing chant, but I knew that chant would change the second I left Tara. Either that or I would be blocked until invited once more. I may be unsure of a lot of things as far as the Formorians went, but their cunning wasn't one of them.
We were met at the entrance of the tracing room (an empty space lined in translucent crystal) by a steward. He showed us through the meandering hallways, all lined in that same crystal. Beneath arching, bleached-white, wood beams, supporting the ceiling in a delicate display of impressive architecture. The last time I'd visited Tara, I'd been taken straight into a circular meeting room, then I'd spent some time in Dagda's office. That was all I'd seen of the Tuatha stronghold. This time, we were shown further in, to the dining hall.
It was as ethereal as the rest of the place. The walls and floor continued on in that glassy stone. But the crystal was brighter there, as if lit from within, and gave the hall a subtle glow. The ceiling was even higher than in the entry room, going up hundreds of feet. So far that the supports seemed like a spiderweb against the domed ceiling. Slender windows, tapering to points at the tops, showcased a striking view of the Blessed Isle.
As we walked up a central aisle, formed by rows of white tables set to either side, I admired the view through those windows. I could see the picturesque village just outside of Mag Mell. Mag Mell, otherwise known as the Plains of Joy, was the Celtic version of the Elysian Fields. A sort of never ending paradise for good souls to live in after their bodies died. I frowned, a chill racing down my spine, as I tried to spot some form of life (afterlife... whatever) out there. Not a single soul was about. How strange.
I let go of my misgivings, and turned my attention back to the hall and the gods dining within it. They were strikingly beautiful people, similar in appearance to the sidhe of Faerie. Tall, willowy, with perfect skin in a range of tones, most of which were a shade of tan. They were dressed in medieval styles. Mostly the fine garments of courtiers, though some wore the more rugged clothing of warriors. Swords hung from the hips of nearly every male there, and several females as well. Despite the weaponry, they seemed to be having a grand time; drinking, feasting, dancing, and singing. Though they all paused what they were doing when my group walked in.
The revelry slowly faded the further we walked up the aisle. King Elatha, who sat at the high table at the end of the aisle, noted the silence and looked up. He spotted us, gave a huge grin, then hurried over. Elatha's skin was deeply tanned, which made his blonde hair seem even paler. He had a trim, but muscular, body which looked equally capable of killing and dancing. Then there were his eyes, a blue as deep as Kirill's. Elatha had once been called “The Beautiful Prince of Darkness with Golden Hair”. A rather long title, but an apt one. He was one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen. Strikingly so, but a little too pretty for me. I liked men who were more masculine, and Elatha's features were too delicate to be labeled as such.
“Vervain Lavine,” Elatha gave me a respectful nod, his eyes falling on my rounded belly. “I see congratulations are in order.”
I'd worn a blue, silk gown, human made, but elegant enough to make me feel comfortable within this group. It was also clingy, and made my pregnancy very obvious. Not that it would have been unnoticeable in something else.
“Kirill and I are expecting our first child,” I smiled warmly. Best to start off on a good foot.
“Then we are even more delighted to welcome you to Tara,” Elatha proclaimed, pitching his voice for the entire room to hear. “The Goddess of Love has brought fertility into our new home. What a blessing!”
The Formorians cheered, but I cast an unsure look at my men. We'd brought a small group of Intare with us as our entourage, and they looked a little nervous too. We still weren't sure what type of reception we'd have. We hadn't opposed the Formorians. In fact, they had escaped their prison through a tracing point Bres had opened in Moonshine (the nightclub I owned with Trevor), and when Morrigan tried to fight them, I had stopped her. Still, I hadn't chosen to side with them either.
“Don't look so wary, Godhunter,” Elatha took my hand and kissed it, lingering long enough over my fingers to elicit growls from Trevor and Kirill. I have to say that felt kind of smarmy to me; kissing a pregnant woman's hand like that, in front of her baby daddy. But Elatha went on like he hadn't noticed the irritation he had caused, “I have offered you hospitality. I am not permitted to harm any of your party.”
“Really?” I lifted a brow.
“There is magic within the very walls of Tara,” Bres Mac Elatha, Elatha's son and Brighid's widowed husband, stepped up to us. “Even we, the new rulers here, cannot oppose the enchantments. The spell of hospitality is one of the originals. You are safe, Ms. Lavine, I assure you.”
Bres was a little lighter skinned than his father, but the half-Tuatha god had his father's golden hair and good looks. Though he was a little more masculine, more thickly muscled, and a touch taller than his father.
“It's Mrs. Fenrirson, if you want to address her as a human,” Trevor corrected Bres. “She took my name.”
“Ah, yes,” Bres held out his hand to Trevor. “The alpha mate. I've heard of you, Prince VéulfR. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“We've met already,” Trevor shook his hand, “sort of.”
“At the crossover,” Bres nodded. “Though that wasn't a proper introduction. I do apologize for any damage we caused your establishment.”
“I'd be happy to make recompense,” Elatha added.
“Not necessary,” Trevor shook his head. “The damage was minor.”
“How gracious,” a woman said as she joined us.
The woman had the palest skin of all the Formorians there. It made her stand out. That and the fact that she wasn't as thin as the others. She was tall and gorgeous, but her body had more curves than the average Formorian woman. Her thick, auburn hair hung down around the swell of her hips in wide, sausage curls. Such a rich color, which made the forest green of her eyes seem brighter. Something about her was familiar to me.
“This is my daughter,” Elatha introduced us, “Ethniu Ingen Balor.”
“Ethniu?” I frowned. Her name was familiar too.
“Lugh's mother,” Odin whispered to me.
“Your Lugh's mother?” I asked her, making Odin groan.
I suppose he'd meant for me to be more discreet. He should have known better.
“It's alright, Oathbreaker,” Ethniu laughed before looking back to me. “We Formorians prefer directness. Yes, I'm Lugh's mother, and I've heard what you did for my son. Thank you, Godhunter,” she leaned forward and hugged me, then kissed both of my cheeks. When she pulled away, she had a sheen of tears over her eyes. “You have righted wrongs which I could not, and given Lugh the home I'd intended for him. I am in your debt.”
“It was my pleasure,” I smiled gently at her, one mother to another. “I can't imagine what it was like for you to give him up, and then to have him stolen from his true family. It was a tragedy I was happy to help repair.”
“Is he happy now?” Ethniu asked wistfully.
“Very,” I assured her. “Perhaps we could see about a visit for you.”
“Oh,” her mouth dropped o
pen, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “That would mean so much to me,” she snatched at my hands and squeezed them. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” I squeezed her back. “I think he'd be excited to meet you.”
“Really?” Ethniu swiped at her eyes. “He doesn't hate me?”
“He understands what you did was a sacrifice,” I assured her. “And he's expressed a desire to meet you. He's had a lot of mixed emotions to deal with, but the one certainty was his relief over your freedom.”
“That means everything to me,” she whispered.
“It seems that your visit is even more of a blessing than I'd first thought,” Elatha proclaimed. “We are so honored to have you as our guests. Please, come and join us at the high table. Uh,” he looked over my Intare entourage. “We also have a place for your guards,” Elatha indicated a table in front of the high table. “I hope this is close enough for their comfort?”
“It's fine, zank you,” Kirill nodded, then directed the Intare over to the lower table.
“Shall we?” Elatha escorted us up to our seats, while Ethniu continued to look at me as if I was her savior.
“I didn't know you were Elatha's daughter,” I said to Ethniu, floundering for conversation.
“By marriage,” she said softly. “I was married to his son, Ogma.”
“Oh, I see,” I blinked.
“As I'm sure you know, Ogma and I had an understanding,” Ethniu shrugged. “There was no betrayal when I spent time with Cian.”
“Right, I recall being told that,” I nodded as I took my seat.
I ended up sitting beside Elatha, and Ethniu reluctantly went back to her seat, a little further down the table. My men, of course, sat beside me, on my right. Bres was to his father's left. I glanced out the windows again, towards Mag Mell, and that uneasy feeling returned. As Elatha poured some water for me, and my men helped themselves to the platters of food before us, I leaned in closer to the Formorian king.
“Where are all the souls of Mag Mell?” I asked Elatha in a low tone.
“Oh, we sent them on to Annwn,” he said flippantly.
“Sent them on?” I lifted my brows.
“Mag Mell shouldn't be shared with humans,” Elatha chuckled. “It's meant for gods. Annwn is the Celtic Underworld, a paradise akin to the Christian Heaven. That is where good, little, human souls go when they die.”
A smattering of laughter rippled through the room.
“Is that so?” I asked. I found it a little arrogant that he had such opinions on a territory he had no part in creating.
My gaze wandered away from Elatha, jumping over the curious faces of his fellow Formorians, until a flash of silver caught my eye. At the other end of the hall, above the door we had entered through, something strange was mounted. I squinted, focusing my superb vision on the item, then gasped. I nearly dropped my glass, just managing to get it back on the table before confronting Elatha.
“Why is Nuada's silver hand hanging on your wall, like some hunter's prize?” I asked Elatha. My tone was cold, practically freezing, and my voice carried out over the gathering.
Everyone stopped eating, and turned to face us. My Intare especially gave us their full attention, staring at me as if waiting for the order to attack.
“Be at ease,” Elatha held up his hands as if warding me off. “It's in a place of honor, a way for us to show respect to a fallen warrior.”
“Respect?” Odin hissed. “Why don't you just stuff his head and hang it next to his hand, while you're at it.”
“It was done as a reminder of what was lost that day,” Elatha's voice was starting to take on a sharp edge. “Do not come into my hall and question my choices.”
“Nuada was a friend of mine,” Odin stood, glowering at Elatha. “Do not welcome me into the hall you took from him, then brandish your victory in so barbaric a manner. Before my pregnant wife. You test the laws of hospitality and you break the laws of decency.”
Oh damn. I wanted to applaud my husband, but that would probably escalate things.
Elatha stood to face Odin, and several gasps were heard throughout the room, “Nuada was once a friend of mine as well, Oathbreaker. It is exactly as I said, a show of respect. I break no laws, of decency or otherwise. The Battle of Tara was hard on us all.”
“Battle always is,” I stood between the men and gave Odin a look. We were outnumbered, and I had no wish to test this hospitality enchantment. Odin snarled (something he'd picked up from Trevor and Kirill), but sat back down. “I don't know all the sides to your story, King Elatha, and I try not to make judgments without all of the information.”
“Yes, I remember you saying as much to Morrigan,” Elatha smiled. “I owe you thanks for that. We were all weary from the effort it took to push past the wards, and a battle with the Morrigan was not in our best interests.”
“You outnumbered her considerably,” I pointed out.
“As if we would have simply overpowered her with numbers,” Bres scoffed. “We have more honor than that.”
“Bres,” Elatha chided. “The way of showing honor does not include crowing about it, but it does include respecting others, especially a goddess under our hospitality, who has shown us kindness.”
“Sorry, Father,” Bres said immediately, then looked back to me. “My apologies, my lady.”
“No harm done,” I shrugged and sat back down. Elatha followed suit. “Still, I find that offensive,” I pointed to the hand. “It's not Nuada's weapon or his shield, that is a body part. If you truly wish to show respect to its owner, it should be buried with the rest of him. Odin's comparison, to hanging Nuada's head upon your wall, is a fair one. And he, more than anyone here, has the right to be offended by that particular part you chose to put on display, since Odin was the one who helped Nuada forge it. Perhaps Nuada would understand, but regardless of his tolerance, you've just offered insult to the greatest god in the Norse Pantheon while attempting to forge a truce with him. Consider that while you dine beneath our fallen friend's hand.”
“Oh,” Elatha winced, “she does have a way of cutting a man down, doesn't she?”
The gathering laughed... nervously.
“She's right,” Ethniu whispered.
“What was that, my dear?” Elatha's eyes narrowed on his daughter-in-law.
“It's his hand,” Ethniu shot a quick look down the hall. “Not a weapon. The fact that it's silver, not flesh, changes nothing. It should not be displayed like a piece of taxidermy.”
Elatha looked from Ethniu to me, and back. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and the hand he had upon the linen tablecloth clenched. I watched him carefully, as beside me, Trevor tensed. I knew all of my men and my Intare were all preparing to defend me. I even felt Re's warmth start seeping into the room. The Sun God was ready to roast anyone who laid a finger on me. Ah, sweet, sunshiny love.
“Damn it all,” Elatha swore, “I hate being proved wrong, but a king becomes a despot when he fails to listen to good counsel.” He shook his head, and then waved to one of the stewards. “Take it down, and bury it with Nuada's body.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man ran off.
“Thank you,” I said with some surprise.
“I'm not sure what stories you've been told of me, Godhunter,” Elatha smiled ruefully, “but I'm not a monster.”
“As I said, I try not to judge without all of the information,” I shrugged. “With you though, even your enemies spoke highly of you. Nuada himself said you were honorable.”
Elatha went quiet, his face dropping into blankness. He looked up as a ladder was brought into the room, and a man began to climb it, going after Nuada's silver hand. The Formorian King watched somberly as the hand was taken down, and finally, he sighed.
“I didn't lie when I said we'd been friends,” he whispered. “We were very close once. Out of all my broken relationships, I think I miss my friendship with Nuada the most. With exception to the bond I had with my son.”
“Your son?�
�� I looked over to Bres.
“My other son,” Elatha shook his head, “Dagda.”
“Dagda was your son?” I gaped at him in horror.
“Yes,” Elatha swallowed with some difficulty. “I told you the battle was hard on us all. I had to watch an old friend and my son die upon Mag Mell.”
“It's a horrible thing to lose a child,” I said. “But to watch them die in a war you brought against them...” I shook my head, “I can't even imagine.”
“I tried to sway them into surrender,” Elatha looked off to the left, out one of the windows. Straight at the field his son and friend had died upon. “They would not. Not even at the end, when it became obvious we would prevail. They finally retreated, but they never surrendered.”
“Did you...?” I swallowed hard, and tried again, “Were you the one who...?”
“No, that was I,” Bres said grimly. “I killed my brother.”
“You had no choice,” Elatha laid a gentle hand upon his son's shoulder. “Dagda attacked you.”
“After you attacked Tara,” Odin muttered angrily.
I shot a quelling look at Odin.
“Yes, we were the aggressors,” Elatha agreed. “But you know our history, Allfather. I heard that you fought with the Tuatha over their decision to imprison us. Yet now you side with them?”
“It was wrong to send you beneath the sea,” Odin said. “But what you were doing to the Earth and the humans, that wasn't right either. You had to be stopped.”
“This is an old argument,” Elatha waved his hands as the Formorians began to mutter angrily. “And you know we had our reasons for what we did. But that is in the past. We have learned how the humans have progressed. The Earth is not the place we once knew. We will be content to live here, at Tara, in peace. After all those years beneath the sea, we are happy to simply have her within our sights again, instead of above our heads.”