by M. D. Massey
Upon seeing his new appearance, Mrs. McCool perked up and peered at the old man through squinted eyes. “Uncle Finn, is that you?” Then, she leapt up and pulled him into a hug. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since Colin’s dad passed on.”
Finnegas patted her back and gently pushed her away. “And it’s nice to see you as well, Leanne.” He took her hand and carefully guided her over to the cot, almost like a parent would with a child. “Now, lay down, lass, and take a nap.” She did as she was told, and after she had lain down on the cot, he gently covered her eyes and mumbled something under his breath. Within moments, Mrs. McCool was in a deep sleep.
Finn gestured at Colin’s mom with an ivory pipe that he’d pulled from his coat. “It’s better if she sleeps, because her mind is in a fragile state. I’ve spent months waiting for the right sequence of events to present themselves so I could arrange for you to wake up from the spell. However, I fear that for some of the town, it may be too late to fully reverse the effects.”
Colin stared at the old man, sucking his thumb absently. “Uncle Finn—hmmmm.” Then, his eyes lit up. “I remember you! You used to take me fishing down at the pond in the park. I was just a little kid, and you would tell me fairy tales while we sat on the dock.”
Finn puffed on his pipe, and smiled ruefully. “Those were better times. Better times for all.”
Colin continued as more memories floated to the surface. “I remember—I remember a lady who used to swim in the pond. She’d float out in the water, and sing to us. She was beautiful, and her voice used to calm me down.”
Finn gestured with his pipe again as smoke billowed around his head. “That woman was actually a water nymph. They can be nasty, but she seemed to be quite fond of you.”
Colin rubbed his chin and gazed off in recollection. “When I was ten, I fell in the pond during the winter. I thought I was going to drown, but then someone pulled me out and I woke up on the dock.”
“Yes, it was the nymph that saved you. As I said, she grew quite fond of you during the time we spent fishing her pond. In fact, I made certain to introduce you to several of the local Fair Folk that inhabit this area when you were a child, figuring that it may come in handy later when I was away. Turns out I was right.”
12
Colin’s mouth gaped, stunned as he was at the implications of what his memory and “Uncle Finn” were revealing to him.
Jesse took advantage of the lull in conversation to jump in. “Just a minute there, Gandalf—you’re saying that a fairy saved Colin’s life?”
The old man harrumphed at her characterization. “I’ll have you know that Tolkien based that character on me, and not the other way around. We used to play chess every Tuesday, and he’d pester me about all sorts of strange creatures and lore. Why he felt he had to borrow from the Icelandic sagas, I’ll never know.”
Finnegas puffed on his pipe and blew smoke out of his nostrils. “Now, as for your question of whether or not a nymph is a fairy, they are, of a sort. But what most people today think of as fairies are a far cry from the Fair Folk that haunt the ancient places, both in the old country and where Europeans settled here in the New World.”
Jesse arched an eyebrow at that. “So what you’re saying is, these ‘Fair Folk,’ as you call them, have always been around—we just didn’t or couldn’t see them?”
“Both. Some people have the ability to see them; they just choose not to at an unconscious level.” Finnegas took another moment to suck on his pipe again, puffing great clouds of fragrant pipe smoke as he continued. “Take Colin here as an example. As a child, he spent ample time with several of the local aes sidhe, interacting with them just as you and I are now. Yet, as he grew older, his mind somehow chose to filter out that information and those memories, and locked them away until he was forced to use them.”
“You knew my dad.” Colin gave the old man an accusing look. “I remember seeing you at his funeral.”
Finnegas looked down as his hands cradled his pipe in his lap. “Yes, I did. And a finer warrior there never was in modern times. Your ancestors would have been proud.”
“My ‘ancestors’—Brogan said something similar to me earlier today. What do you mean by that?”
The old man tapped out the ashes from his pipe on his boot heel, then packed the pipe with more tobacco, tamped it down, and pointed at Colin with the mouthpiece of the pipe.
“You, young man, are from a long line of warriors, and have the blood of Fionn MacCumhaill himself in your veins.”
“Finn McCool? I read about him last year, messing around in the library during study hall.” Colin leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists as he soaked in all that Finnegas said.
“The very same. And though the legends say that Finn’s fianna broke up once he passed on, it’s not true. Or, rather, the fianna may have faded out for a bit, but those of your blood revived it in secrecy in later years. In fact, it was Finn’s own son who revived it, the warrior-bard Oisín.”
“It almost sounds as if you knew these people.” Colin looked the old man in the eye and spoke it as an accusation.
“I did. Finn McCool was a student of mine, of sorts.”
“That would make you thousands of years old,” Jesse blurted out, covering her mouth after she spoke. “I hope that didn’t sound rude.”
Finn chuckled good-naturedly. “Not coming from as pretty a lass as you, my dear. And, you’re right—I would be thousands of years old, if I hadn’t lived most of the years since in The Underrealms, where the many of the aes sidhe still reside.”
Colin spoke around his thumb as he answered. “But I thought once you went to the world of the fair folk, you had to stay there. Don’t you age instantly when you come back to Earth?”
“No, not necessarily. I—have ways to circumvent the effects of visiting the youthful lands.”
Colin nodded, grudgingly accepting the old man’s story. “So how did you know my dad?”
Finnegas paused and leaned back in his chair, reflecting for a moment. “I owed your ancestor, Finn McCool, a great debt because of something he did for me. In honor of that debt, I agreed to look after the line of his male heirs, for as long as I am capable. I’ve been looking after your family for centuries, Colin.”
“You said something about the ‘fianna’—what is that?” Jesse asked. “It sounds like a girl’s name, but you mentioned something about warriors.”
Finnegas rocked back in his chair, crossed an ankle over a knee, and pointed at her with his pipe stem. “You don’t miss a beat, do you, lass?” He tilted his head at her in appreciation and continued. “The fianna were young warriors of no small skill and fame in old Ireland. They were protectors of the lands, and helped keep the peace in those times. But after Finn fell to treachery, his son O’Sheen revived the true fianna in secret. Since that time, the McCool line has been responsible for carrying on the tradition, banding together with other warriors to protect those in need.”
Colin’s face fell like a stone. “That’s why my dad was a soldier. He went to war to protect people.”
“He went to war because he believed it was right. But also, for other reasons I’d rather not speak about at this time. Your father was a good man, a proud warrior, and a true hero. And he loved you and your mother very, very much.”
“So what does this have to do with me?”
“For that answer, we have to go back to when Finn McCool was called on to slay the Avartagh. Some legends give credit for that noteworthy deed to the war chieftain Cathrain, but in truth it was Finn who finally put that foul thing to rest. Cathrain killed him, but the evil dwarf kept coming back. Finally, he called on McCool for his help, and Finn put it down for good—with a little help.”
Colin rubbed his chin absently with a wet thumb. “But if Finn put him down for good, how is it that the Avartagh is back now?”
“Well, the Avartagh can’t truly be killed, since he is one of the neamh-mhairbh, or undead. The only way to stop h
im is to pierce his heart with a yew wood sword to weaken him, and then bury him upside down under a large stone so he can’t escape by clawing his way out. Unfortunately, several years back he was set free, in a construction accident that I tried to prevent. The ground where the Avartagh was buried was soaked in blood, which revived him. When the workers removed his burial stone, it allowed him to struggle free. And here he is.”
“But what does he want?” Colin asked.
“For starters, he wants to see the line of Finn McCool ended. But he believes you have something he desperately wants, which is why he hasn’t killed you yet.”
13
Colin’s eyes narrowed as he replied. “Let me guess—he’s looking for a book.”
“Yes, your father’s journal. It was one of your father’s possessions, to be passed on to you when you come of age. He’ll never find it, though, as I’ve hidden it away for safe-keeping—until you’re ready for it.”
Jesse raised her hand and spoke up. “Excuse me for butting in, but why the heck does this evil dwarf want Colin’s dad’s journal?”
“Good question. You see, it’s much more than just a journal. In fact, it’s a tome of the collected battle wisdom of the McCool clan over multiple generations. In truth, it’s more of an encyclopedia than a book per se. Although I haven’t determined why yet, it obviously contains information he needs.”
The old man turned and gestured toward the object in Colin’s hand. “You know, your father also left you something that’ll prove much more useful in your present situation.”
“My bat? Yeah, it’s come in handy more than once today.”
Finnegas nodded. “As you’ve already seen, that ‘bat’ is a lot more than it appears. Can I see it for a moment?”
“Sure.” Colin handed it over to him, handle first.
“Watch what happens when I cancel the glamour that hides its true appearance.” Finn spoke a few words in a language that Colin didn’t recognize, and the bat was transformed into a war club, banded with a dull grey metal at the end, and with a grotesque face carved into the handle at the butt.
“Wow—that’s what I’ve been carrying all this time? Wicked.” Colin grinned from ear-to-ear.
Jesse chimed in with a whistle. “No wonder you’ve been hitting all those home runs.”
“Indeed,” Finnegas said. “With this club, you could make it to the majors before you hit college age, I’m sure. Although, you might get into trouble eventually for shredding baseballs. It packs quite a wallop, as you’ve seen.”
“All I know is that even Blackwillow was afraid of it—or, at least, he gave it a healthy respect.”
“Creatures like Blackwillow know what your war club was made for, which is specifically for smashing sídhe skulls. Very few fae could stand against it in battle. It was actually a gift from Ogma to your ancestor many centuries ago.”
“Ogma—isn’t he like a war god?”
“Yes and no. Ogma was one of the tuatha deities, and a great warrior. People mistook them for gods, but they were—something else. Not really gods, but powerful and strange enough to fool most folk. Ogma was known for carrying a great war club, which he used quite effectively in battle. I suspect your father left the club to you because he knew you’d need it someday.”
Colin rubbed his hands over his face and through his shaggy red-brown hair, and then then looked up at Finnegas with a grim expression. “Enough talk. Now, how do we kill this thing and put it in the ground, for good?”
They followed Finnegas down a long cave corridor that seemed to run parallel to the tunnels where they’d left the cat sith and red caps. “Now, remember, in order to stop the Avartagh you need to pierce him with a yew shaft. Can either of you shoot a bow or crossbow, or throw a javelin?”
“Jesse’s pretty good with a gun—real good, actually.” Colin turned to face his friend. “I don’t want to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I don’t think I can do this alone.”
She punched him in the shoulder teasingly. “C’mon, you think I’m going to let you have all the fun? Despite the fact that my dad doesn’t actually have his job back, and that we’re probably going to be in the poor house again soon, this is the most fun we’ve had since we threw dry ice and red food coloring in the school pool last Halloween. I’m in.”
Finnegas nodded approvingly at the two. “And so it begins. Frankly, I’ve been itching to see another female warrior in the fianna, as we haven’t had one for decades.” He motioned them to follow as he entered a side room off the tunnel they’d been traveling. As they entered and their flashlights illuminated the room, they could see a wide variety of weapons and armor, including spears and javelins, swords, clubs and maces, and an assortment of bows and crossbows.
Finnegas rummaged around for a bit, and then produced a small, hand-held crossbow and a brace of bolts. “Here, girl, this should serve you nicely. It’s small but powerful—enchanted, you see. The bolts are made of yew, with a nasty little surprise on the tips as well. Careful not to nick yourself with them.” He handed them over, and Jesse looked the weapons over appraisingly.
“Don’t we get any armor?” Colin asked. “I mean, it seems like it might help, considering that we’re going up against a crazy undead vampire dwarf.”
Jesse chimed in. “Undead vampire is redundant. Besides that, if he’s undead, then how do we kill him?”
“You can’t kill him; you can only stop him. The yew arrows will weaken him, but Colin will have to do most of the hard work. And, I’m afraid that without training, armor will just slow you down.”
Colin threw his hands up in protest. “You mean I don’t even get a shield? This blows!”
Finnegas rubbed his chin as he looked up at the ceiling. “Hmmmm—well I suppose I could find something around here.” He rummaged around in the piles of weapons and armor that littered the area. “Ah-hah! Here we are, just the thing for you.” He stood back up and produced a small shield approximately the size of a dinner plate.
Colin looked like he’d been slapped. “You have got to be kidding me. I’m going up against one of the scariest guys Finn McCool ever faced, and you’re sending me in with a pie tin and a bat?”
“Ah, but not just any ‘pie tin’—this buckler belonged to one of your ancestors, who carried it in battle against a mighty buggane, which he slew. It’s enchanted to help the wielder block more quickly and accurately. Better than any shield five times its size—and it won’t slow you down, either.”
Colin reluctantly took the small shield. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“Simple, really. The lass will shoot the Avartagh full of crossbow bolts, and you’ll come in after and pummel him into little mushy bits with your club. Then, we’ll put him in a box lined with silver, and bury him upside down in about five tons of concrete.”
“Concrete? I thought you said he had to be buried under a rock?”
“Well, for some things only ancient technology and magic will do, but personally I think modern science holds the trump card where vampire burials are concerned. Nothing says ‘stay put for all eternity’ like a few tons of steel reinforced concrete.”
Colin shook his head, still unconvinced. “Well, it didn’t keep that fat vampire on True Blood down, but I suppose you’re the expert. So, where do we find this thing?”
14
According to Finnegas, the Avartagh was using city hall as his headquarters. The plan was that Finnegas would lead them through the tunnels where they connected with the city hall subbasement. From there, they would sneak into the building, locate the Avartagh, and dispatch him in due haste.
Jesse raised her hand. “Hey, quick question for you, Finnegas—how am I supposed to shoot this thing and hold that fairy stone to my eye at the same time?”
“Well, let me ask you this—did you have any issues seeing the red caps or cat sith when they were chasing you through the tunnels?”
“Come to think of it—no, I didn’t. So why did I have to look
through the thing the first time at the park?”
Finnegas raised a finger as if to make a point. “That’s just what I was referring to earlier. Some people have a natural ability to see what others don’t, but most choose to block that information out. Sometimes all it takes is seeing what’s really there a time or two to jump start your brain back into ‘remembering’ how to see the world beneath our own.”
Jesse tilted her head and nodded. “So I should be able to see the Avartagh and other fair folk now. Sounds reasonable to me—at least, as reasonable as the idea of seeing fairies and vampire dwarves can be.”
Finnegas led them further down the cave tunnels to an opening that connected with the city sewer system. “Now, this entrance to the sewers is also hidden by magic, but once you leave this tunnel you’ll be exposed to the Avartagh’s cronies again. There’s a ladder straight ahead that connects with the maintenance tunnels under City Hall. I suggest you head directly to the mayor’s office and dispose of him quickly, before he can summon any other sídhe to his aid.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Colin exclaimed. “Oh, come on. You’re the one with magical powers—how come you’re not helping to kill this thing?”
“Quite simply, because I have other important things to do, and I’m the only one who can do them. Once you ‘kill’ the Avartagh, the spell should be broken, at which time all the local citizens will come to and realize that everything they’ve seen and done for the past few weeks was an illusion. I’ll have to cast another spell to convince them that all the damage to the town was the cause of some natural disaster.”
Jesse arched an eyebrow at the old man, who shrugged. “It’s thin, I know,” he said, “but it’ll have to do.”
Finnegas saw the worried look on Jesse’s face, and patted her gently on the arm. “Now, now, lass—everything will be fine. I know you’re worried about your father’s job, but I’m sure it will all work out.” He turned to Colin then, grabbing him gently by the shoulders and looking in the eye. “Hear me, boy: you can do this! I know you doubt yourself, because it’s written all over your face. But trust me, you have the blood of generations of warriors running in your veins—you were born for battles such as this one.”