by James Comins
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Voice of Manannan
or, Finish the Curse, Please
The room was a vast round cylinder, like the empty interior of a drum. Stone blocks were set into the walls, holding up a slightly arched ceiling. It was completely empty. The stone wall had a narrow band of chiseled Ogham letters rounding it, struck vertical lines and sharp angles engraved into the blocks. A deep circular groove like an indoor moat had been dug into the stone floor, not quite as deep as a grave, but deep enough that Lenna had to jump down and pull herself back up the dusty trough with both hands. Aside from the Ogham writing and the moat, there was nothing there and no exits.
“We’re trapped. It’s all banjaxed. It’s got to be a bad dream.”
Lenna ran around and around the outer platform, brushing the walls, hoping there was another invisible illusionary passage leading to another room. There wasn’t.
“Harp of me uncle, show us the way out of here!” Andy ran his fingers over the strings and followed a twirling golden thread back to the wooden door. “No! A different way out!” Nothing. “Where are the Fomor at?” he asked. The thread tapped on the door. “No! You can’t be serious. They’re the Fomor?”
The door began opening. He ran to it and fumbled at the edge of the creaking wood, trying desperately to pull it shut from the inside as fingerbones began to curl around it. The room faded into darkness as he stopped playing the harp, and he held it and plucked a string as he struggled with the door.
“Why isn’t there a handle on this side? We can’t hold the door shut.”
“I don’t think they made the room for hiding in.”
“Okay. So we don’t hide. Let’s fight our way out. Harp of me uncle, kill these skeletons!” He plucked a chord.
Nothing happened.
“They’re already dead, sir Andy.”
“Right. Harp of me uncle, blow away these skeletons!”
The golden thread became a line drawing of the West Wind, a puffing face on a cloud. A gentle stream of air gusted around the doorframe. Toothless brown skeletons peered confusedly around the door.
“Not like that! Umm ... right. Running out of ideas, Lenna.”
There had been a strange flavor in the air as they had entered. She had been too panicky when they had first pushed into the room to think about it, but now she realized that there had been a magic circle across the threshold.
“Let them in,” she whispered, almost to herself.
“What?”
“Open the door!” Lenna shouted. She shoved against the wood. The door swung inexorably on its ancient hinges, the old metal shrieking. There was another sound behind the door, too, a sound of bones crinking against sodden ligaments and tendons. In the tunnel beyond, the click and pop of innards and joints was unending.
“Now the skeletons can get in. Oh man. Lenna, they’re moving. The skeletons. They’re--”
Lenna ran across the room, leaping over the moat-gaps to the far wall. “There was a magic circle when we opened the door. I think it’s the Ogham.”
“They’re almost in. They’re--”
As the skeletons crossed the threshold of the door, they transformed into shining white unicorns and stampeded into the room. They dropped into the worn-down trough, galloping mindlessly, shying away from the back wall where Andy and Lenna huddled. Blue sparkles fell from them as they ran. Their iridescent horns were thin and curved like scimitars and their hooves were tufted with feathery white hair.
“Unicorns,” breathed Lenna.
One of them cantered to a halt before them, sniffing the air cautiously. “Hello, Mr. Unicorn,” Lenna said gently, taking a step towards it. “What’s your name?” The unicorn whickered sneezily. “May I ride you?” She put a hand out. The beast shied, stepping backwards into the stampede, and the line of the herd flowed around it like water. The one unicorn stood impassively, warily. Lenna stamped a foot in disappointment.
“I want to be your friend, Mr. Fomor,” she insisted.
Saying the word Fomor seemed to interest the unicorn. It shook its head, white with a red patch on its nose, and a shower of sparkles fell from its mane. It waited, an eddy in the center of the stampede, motionless, heedless of the equine storm, and for a long moment neither Lenna nor Andy said anything. The thunder of hooves on stone was deafening.
“We want to free you from the curse, Mr. Fomor.”
It trotted back up the ditch and put its broad white nose against her upraised hand. “You’re so pretty.” The eyes were old and dark and sorrowful. Lenna put her arms around the chin of the unicorn. Andy stayed pressed against the back wall.
“That thing used to be Night of the Living Dead.” He kept playing his harp as he spoke. Any time he stopped, the room went pitch black.
“You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you? Come along, Mr. Fomor. Me and Andy will get you out. Is it okay if I ride--Hm.” She examined her green stamped-leather dress. “I wish I had jodhpurs. Maybe I’ll just lead you out.”
Looking at the sunken circle of powerful animals, she thought about how they had flowed around the one brave unicorn. These were unicorns. They must be the wisest and most wondrous animals in the whole world. They wouldn’t hurt her, any more than they hurt each other. She trusted them.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
She walked into the middle of the stampeding circle, down the trough and across and up the far side, feeling the heaving muscular bodies of the nervous animals around her, and motioned for Andy and the one unicorn to follow. The herd flowed around them, just as she thought they would. Across the empty middle of the room she walked, keeping her eyes closed, trusting that Andy and the unicorn leader were behind her. Down the other side of the circle toward the exit, and the sound of hooves was behind her. Lenna felt a woogly feeling as she stepped past the threshold of the wooden door, the border of the magic circle. She opened her eyes. Andy was there. The unicorn stopped at the edge of the round room.
“It’s okay, Mr. Fomor. Just take a step.” She demonstrated.
“Don’t think it wants to, really,” said Andy.
“Why not, Mr. Fomor? Come along and we’ll lead you out!” She pointed with both hands to the drained-away oval of water further down the tunnel.
The unicorn lifted a front hoof, glittering with sparkles, and laid it on the threshold. The tip of its pointed hoof began to steam and sizzle with a smell like roast beef and sick. It drew back to the room.
“That,” said Andy, “was really gross.”
Lenna nodded. “How do we get rid of the curse, Mr. Fomor?”
The unicorn turned back and walked to the wall. Floop went Lenna’s guts as she followed. The horn, reflecting brilliant blue and red, scraped across the carved path of Ogham words.
“It’s the words that make the magic circle. I knew it was,” said Lenna.
“Harp, let me read Ogham,” Andy said as he strummed.
Nothing happened.
“Oookay. Harp, wouldja read the words for me, perhaps?” The room went dark. He began to play.
A voice arose, resonant, sonorous and warm:
I, Lugh of the Long Hand
Ildánach, the Master of All Arts
Carpenter, smith, champion, harper
And teller of tales
High Druid of Tara
Son of Taillvin son of Bres
And of Ethlinn the White Rose
With these words
Do place a geas upon my enemy
The army of the Fomor
From night until noon must they stay within these walls
From noon until night may they leave
At the time of the moon may they choose their own form
At the time of the sun must they wear my shape
The shape of Lugh
Thus says Bodb Dearg, the High King of Ireland
And thus sayeth I.
The voice that came from the silver harp was lilting and oddly familiar. The ligh
t returned as Andy kept strumming. He wore a face of sly delight.
“That was the voice of Manannan. I can tell.” He smiled and let out a few heavy breaths.
She smiled at him, then turned to the walls and frowned at them. Hm. The words were carved into stone. What could ...
Oh.
“Andy Andy I know what to do now. But it might be rotten.”
“What might?”
“We need your mom’s hammer,” she said.
“To get rid of the words? Say now, that’s a pretty good idea. Only--”
“Yup. We’ll have to deal with him again.”
She put out her fingers. “I command Bres to be here.”
The unicorn watched her carefully.
From the gray smooth stone floor came Bres’ perfect face and long hair, gray and smooth and stone.
“What? What’s happening?” he snapped, looking out through stone eyes at Lenna.
“Mr. Bres, the Fomor have been trapped by stone words. We need a hammer that can turn stone to dust.”
“Intlás!” Bres called behind him. “Follow this working. Bring the hammer. Make sure you return it.” He fizzled away.
“So much for fooling him into letting us keep it,” said Andy.
The wall stretched. Indaell stepped out. “Aren’t we lucky lucky. We get to hold Bres’ magic hammer,” the angel said.
“I’ll take that.” Andy took it in two hands, changed his mind and held it in one hand. The light in the chamber went down to nothing, and he rubbed a thumbnail over the harp with his left hand. The gold brick reflected the silver light. “Mum's strong.” He whapped the first block of Ogham, and it was clay carved with Ogham. Another whap and a hail of dust billowed. Andy shielded his face. Indaell was gone.
The unicorns had stopped running. Slowly they lined up in a half circle around Andy and Lenna and bowed.
“Did the trick, that,” Andy said, wheeling his way around to the next patch of words. He played one note over and over with his other hand, plunk plunk plunk.
Shaking came from the ceiling. The stones began crumbling from age and weight, bowed like the underside of a mattress. The floor jolted and the unicorns backed, backed, backed. A huge keystone dropped into the gap where the curse used to be.
“Run!” shouted Andy, moving toward the door. “It’s all coming down!”
“Finish the curse, please,” Lenna said.
“Are you bleeding mad? We’re about to be buried.”
Lenna grabbed her hands together and frowned. “I don’t want to say Brugda’s prayer ...”
“Jost say it! Lenna, the roof’s coming down!”
She unclasped her hands and put her fingers out. “I command the roof to stay up.”
A line of stones crept down and showered, thud and bash and fall onto the stone floor.
“That clearly isn’t cutting the mustard here, Lenna. I saw how Brigid did it. She can do real magic. She said some Icelandic words and summoned a blasted glowworm into your hand. I don’t even think Ireland has glowworms.” He inhaled and half-sneezed. “Lenna. You told me you knew how to choose the future. So choose a future where we see the Liffey from the top of it. Please?”
“I can’t use Brugda’s magic. I promised. I said I wouldn’t ever use it again. She hurts me and hurts me and hurts me and I’ll never say them.”
“Lenna.”
Another rock fell. A swath of loam followed after it. The crack as the rock struck the floor made her knees hurt.
“No. I’m not. You go wait outside. Give me the hammer.”
“It’s mum’s bleedin’ hammer, pardon my Gaelic. I know what Brigid did. All right. I know. I saw her hit chu. But this seriously isn’t the time. Hurry up and say the words, Lenna.”
“No. I’m not using Brugda’s magic.”
For a long moment of thundery sound, Andy looked at her. He looked at the unicorns.
“Listen up,” he announced to the unicorns. “Get as close as you can to the door. When I’ve done with this, I don’t know what’s going to happen. It would be nice if none of you horsies got killed. When the curse is gone, get out.” He put a hand between Lenna’s shoulderblades and shoved her hard toward the tunnel. Then he turned to the walls and began hammering his way around the room.
As Lenna stumbled past the door into the outer tunnel, she felt the magic circle fall. The bulging roof collapsed in a single violent demolition. One moment, she was standing in front of a slanted pool of dark water, and the next moment the dim light gave way and everything in the world disappeared.