by Jodi McIsaac
Brighid let him stay there, and opened her hand. Eight blue jewels lay glittering in her palm. As Cedar watched, their colors glistened and shifted like the waves of the ocean. Colum couldn’t keep his eyes off them.
“You will build a holy fortress here,” she said. “You must keep these jewels and protect them at all costs.” She snapped her hand shut and tucked the jewels away in a pouch at her waist.
“Of…of course,” he stuttered. “But…why me?”
“Ireland is changing, and you are at the center of that change. Where there is power, there is safety. And I’ve been watching you, Colum Cille. You have a strong heart.”
“Are you a spirit?” he asked.
“Something like that. The importance of these jewels cannot be overstated. You must protect them with your life, and see that others do the same, throughout the generations. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “But if I knew what they were, I would be better able to protect them.”
“You need only know that the Lord commands it.”
Colum bowed even lower, so that his forehead almost touched the ground.
“I will not leave them with you now,” Brighid continued. “But later today a servant of mine named Eoghan, and one of his brothers, will arrive wishing to enter your service and join your community. You will accept them without question into your company. They will have the jewels with them, and they will guard them. When they die, others will come to take their place. They will know little of your religion, but you will teach them. Be kind. They are not to be harmed by you or your enemies.”
Colum ducked his head. “It will be as you say.”
“If word gets out that you have eight holy gemstones here in your community, you will be more vulnerable to attack,” she pointed out. “The Lord wishes you to speak of this to no one, save those who will succeed you, so that they, too, can carry out his holy commands.”
Colum nodded vigorously. Brighid rested her smooth white hand on top of his head.
“The Lord gives you his blessing,” she said softly. “Now go and do great things, Colum Cille.”
Once again, the world around Cedar started to swirl, the colors of the countryside blending together in a haze. She could no longer see Colum or Brighid, which worried her. For a moment she thought Brighid might have died, and that she’d become trapped in her friend’s fading consciousness. But then her vision cleared, and a new scene appeared before her…but not one she had been expecting.
She was in a white-walled home with large open windows. Outside, Cedar could see a lush vineyard under a blazing sun. The room she was in was sparsely decorated, with a few vases and urns clustered in a corner, and flowers hanging from vines that crept across the ceiling. In the center of the room was a large, low bed. Reclining on this bed were Brighid and a very handsome man with thick red hair and a neatly trimmed beard. They were lying naked in each other’s arms, the sunlight bouncing off their sweat-soaked skin, and Cedar automatically looked away. But then Brighid spoke, and Cedar snapped to attention.
“Thor, my love, this might be one of the longest romances I’ve ever had,” Brighid purred, trailing a finger along his red beard.
Cedar’s mouth dropped open. Thor? Her knowledge of Norse mythology was limited to the Marvel universe, but if anyone were to have the god of thunder as her lover, it would be Brighid. She crept closer to the bed so that she wouldn’t miss a word.
He grinned at her and kissed the top of her head. “For me as well,” he said. “I only wish I had found you sooner. I fear I had some competition among your human admirers,” he added with a wink.
Brighid laughed. “As much as I love my humans, most of them can’t do what you just did.” She stretched languorously and gave a satisfied sigh.
“Why do you love them so much?” Thor asked. “Why choose to live here, when you could be in Tír na nÓg?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Why do you choose to live in Asgard? Don’t you find it rather tedious, living century after century with the immortals, where everyone can do anything? Dull, dull, dull. Ériu, on the other hand, is fascinating. To watch these people deal with grief, loss, sickness, hunger, day after day…it’s positively inspiring. There’s so much more life here.”
Thor seemed to consider this. “But…they’re so weak, these humans,” he said.
“I beg to differ. We are the weak ones, because we very rarely face a challenge we cannot easily overcome. Look at you,” she said, running her hands along his sculpted arms. “You were born into a royal family, with extraordinary strength and skill and a magic hammer that can destroy anything it touches. I do not mean to belittle your achievements, but you did not become who you are through years of toiling in the fields and battling to protect your wife and children from harm and starvation. They are stronger than we will ever be, I’m afraid.”
“But doesn’t it bother you that these humans you love so much worship a new god?” he asked.
“The Irish, you mean?”
Thor nodded. “Don’t you feel…spurned?”
Brighid laughed. “I never feel spurned, darling, though if you were to leave me for a milkmaid I might change my mind. It honestly doesn’t bother me at all. Besides, I think the Irish have a bit of a god complex themselves. We are not so much their gods as their heroes, their champions, their legends. We are their history, their identity. People never stop believing in such things, even if they move on to other so-called gods.”
Thor looked thoroughly bewildered. “You don’t thirst for revenge on this new god who has taken over?”
Brighid pulled him down for a long, slow kiss. Releasing him, she said, “Revenge has its place. But not in this matter. The humans have not turned away from us; they have merely added another god to their repertoire. The Tuatha Dé Danann and all the other magical beings of Ériu will always be a part of them. I have never been more certain of anything.”
Thor looked so nonplussed that Brighid laughed again. “I’m a lover, not a warrior,” she said. “But there really is no need for revenge. And as far as I know, the rest of the Danann are happy in Tír na nÓg. Aren’t you happy in Asgard? You could always come settle down here with me, you know.”
“Asgard is perfect,” Thor said stonily. “And it will never be taken from us. But this god they call Christ is encroaching on our lands here on Earth, and our people in the North. Every day, more of them turn from us and declare their allegiance to him. Some remain faithful—they wear my emblem to proclaim that they will not turn. But their numbers are dwindling. And so we must look to other lands that can be conquered, other peoples to subdue, other followers to be gained.”
Brighid eyed him sharply. “That sounds like Odin talking, not you. The raids on Ireland by the Northmen—is that your doing?”
Thor reached down and lifted the covers to his shoulders. Brighid tugged them down to his waist again, her own naked body still sprawled on top of the sheets. “My father believes that if we conquer new lands, the people will worship him, as is his due. Forgive me for saying so, but he saw the weakness of the Tuatha Dé Danann in Ireland. It seemed as though they were willing to just hand over their land and followers to the upstart god without a fight. It was an opportunity he could not pass up.”
“I see. So he saw a land in transition and decided to capitalize on the chaos?”
“Something like that,” he muttered.
“Hmm. And how has that worked out so far?” Brighid asked, one eyebrow delicately raised.
Thor glowered. “You know perfectly well. Many of my Northmen have converted to the new religion of the Irish. Now they are bringing it home to our lands, where it is taking root.”
“Odin must be furious,” Brighid remarked calmly.
“He wishes to destroy this new god. But…” Thor looked around furtively, as if ensuring that Odin’s ravens were not perched on the windowsills. “My father does not have the strength he once did. I have counseled him against an outright w
ar, and for once he seems to be taking my advice. I think he realizes this might be a battle we cannot win.”
“Well, you are wiser than he is,” Brighid said, making absentminded circles with her fingers across Thor’s smooth chest. “You cannot force people to follow you, no matter how many battles you win. The humans are not fools—at least, most of them are not. Nor are they slaves, though I’m sure your father would disagree with me there. But they have a profound capacity for belief. I would stake everything on it. In fact, I have.”
“What do you mean?” Thor asked.
Brighid paused, staring up at him through her dark eyelashes. “You’ll be the only one I’ve told, you know. Besides my druid, that is.”
“You know you can trust me with anything,” Thor said.
Cedar listened as Brighid told Thor about the eight jewels and the spell she had cast over the Unseen, though she left out the fact that she, too, was bound by this spell. She told him how she had hidden the jewels with the monk Colum Cille, who was now renowned as the creator of the Book of Kells and the greatest of Ireland’s men of the cloth. Cedar wanted to scream at Brighid to stop talking, but she knew this conversation had already happened. By now, she had also figured out what the consequences would be.
“These jewels…they have the power to control belief?” Thor asked, his brow furrowed.
Brighid narrowed her eyes. “That is not what I said, so don’t get any ideas,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. “I told you: belief cannot be forced. You would do well to take that message to your father.”
Thor nodded slowly. “My father…he has not been himself lately. He is consumed by the need to keep his followers—or gain new ones. It is his obsession.”
“Well, my dear, perhaps sooner or later he will come to see that there are more pleasant obsessions to be had,” Brighid said, stretching out on the bed again and drawing him toward her.
Thor leaned into her, and Cedar was relieved when the room started to swirl around her in a blend of whites and yellows.
When the world settled again, Cedar found herself in a musty wooden barn with dirt floors and the reek of animals. It was completely dark except for the light of a torch being held by a small man cowering in one of the corners. The light shook, creating strange shadows on the walls of the barn. Cedar looked around for Brighid; this was her memory, so she had to be there. Then she realized why the man was cowering—Brighid was emerging from the shadows directly across from him, and her countenance was terrifying.
“For your sake, I hope I misunderstood your message,” she said in a voice that was dark and low and deadly.
The man in the corner cowered even more, and Cedar wondered if his torch would set the barn on fire. When he spoke, his voice came out in a squeak. “I am but the messenger, O Mighty One,” he said. “Cleos, who was in charge of the jewels, is dead.”
Brighid towered over the man. Her fury was almost palpable, yet Cedar could tell she was trying to keep it contained. “Tell me,” she demanded.
“They were in the cover of the Great Book of Colum Cille,” the man began, his voice trembling on every word. “It was the safest place for them—that book is protected day and night.”
“Colum Cille,” Brighid repeated. “Is he still alive?”
The man looked confused. “Of course not,” he answered. “That is, he died many hundreds of years ago.”
“The Order of Druids assured me they would be kept safe!” Brighid raged. “They were to never be left alone!”
“They weren’t, O Mighty One,” the man pleaded. “Cleos was with them nearly all the time, and when he had to attend to other duties, I would take over. There have always been two druids with the jewels, just as you commanded.”
Brighid’s voice was dripping with venom. “Then how did you manage to lose them? Was it the Northmen? Your skills should be enough to ward off any attack.”
“It was no man who attacked him,” the druid said. “We found Cleos still alive in the rubble of the church. Before he died, he told me the book had been taken from him by a red-haired…god. We found the book, but the cover—and the jewels—are gone.”
Brighid froze in place, her eyes still fixed on the quavering man in the corner. Cedar watched as the truth impaled her friend like a stake. All the anger she had been directing at the druids now turned inward—and toward the red-haired lover with whom she had shared her secret. She closed her eyes, and Cedar felt a deep ache in her stomach. She, too, knew the searing pain of betrayal.
“What should we do?” the druid asked.
“Speak of this to no one,” Brighid said; then she stalked back into the shadows and disappeared. Cedar stood confused for a moment, wondering why she was still there, until the light the druid was holding started to spin around her. When she opened her eyes, she immediately recognized where she was.
They were back in the Hall in Tír na nÓg, but it was larger and grander than the one where she now held court. It was night, and the marble pillars shimmered like starlight. Between them were pillars of white fire that gave off light but no heat. Something akin to a firefly flew around Cedar’s legs. But her attention was quickly drawn to those sitting in the center of the courtyard. There were eight men and women, but they were more resplendent than anyone Cedar had ever seen, even the other Danann she knew. Then she realized: these must be the Elders. She had heard many of their names as she tried to learn the history of her people, but she had no idea which one was which. She knew Brighid, who was standing in the center of the circle, was also an Elder, but she seemed smaller in both stature and countenance than these other beings. Perhaps it was because Cedar had always seen her in human surroundings or because she now regarded her as a friend, not a goddess. It was as if the Elders emitted raw power just by existing. Brighid was wearing a simple white toga with a gold clasp at the corner. The Elders, on the other hand, were dressed in rich, intricately embroidered robes and gossamer gowns as delicate as butterfly wings.
They sat calmly, serene expressions on their faces, regarding the maelstrom before them. Brighid paced angrily inside the circle, her agitation channeled into every movement.
“We must get the jewels back from Asgard!” she said, spit flying from her mouth. “They were stolen from us!”
“They were stolen from Ériu, where you left them, in the care of humans,” one of the Elders pointed out, his calmness a stark contrast to Brighid’s fury.
Brighid stopped pacing for a moment and glared at him. “I left them in the care of my most trusted druid and his successors,” she retorted. “I hid them as best I could.”
“Obviously, it was not well enough. Nevertheless, this is hardly an issue we can go to war against Odin about. Most of us didn’t even know about the existence of these jewels until today. You cannot choose to act alone and then expect the rest of us to pay for your mistakes, Brighid.”
“This isn’t about me living on Ériu,” she snapped. “If Odin destroys those jewels, the enemies of the Unseen will be able to track them down and exterminate them. They must be under our control! We don’t know what he plans to do with them! I’m not asking you to wage war on Asgard—I’m just asking for permission to go there myself and bring them back.”
“In the state you’re in, Odin would certainly interpret your visit as an act of aggression,” pointed out another Elder.
“What is the matter with you all?” Brighid raged, waving her hands wildly in the air. “Don’t you care about what happens to the Unseen? They are our allies…our friends!”
“They made this decision,” said one of the Elders as she rose to her feet. “As did you. If you had come to us for counsel, we would have advised you against this foolish plan. What possessed you to bind these beings to humanity in the first place?”
“It was the only way. You would not let me raise arms against the new church, and you also refused to let the Unseen flee to the safety of Tír na nÓg. It is your inaction that is to blame!”
“We all m
ust fend for ourselves at some point or another. It is no different for the Unseen. They did not rise to our aid when the Milesians attacked us.”
“Is that what this is? Revenge?”
“Of course not,” another Elder snapped. “But we cannot be held responsible for the fate of every creature in every realm. Besides, it appears they do not need us—they have you. But I must say, to bind one’s existence to the faithfulness of humans is an act of madness. You cannot possibly trust the humans so much.”
“You do not know them like I do,” Brighid replied, her shoulders back, her chin thrust forward. “You do not hear their stories, their songs, their poems. So long as humans exist, the Unseen will be safe.”
Some of the Elders exchanged dubious glances. Clearly, they did not share Brighid’s confidence. But one of them approached her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, as if to offer her comfort—or lead her away. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” the woman said. “What does it matter if the jewels are in Asgard or here or on Ériu?”
“It does matter!” Brighid retorted, shrugging off the woman’s arm. “Odin is crazed over the loss of his followers—if he destroys the jewels, the bond will be broken. The church is growing in strength, and they have lost none of their zeal for wiping out those who follow the old ways. If the bond is broken now, the Unseen will be destroyed. The jewels need to be kept safe.”
“I’m sure if he went to the trouble of stealing them, he won’t be in any hurry to destroy them,” interrupted another Elder. Some of them were looking at Brighid with sympathy, but others were exchanging amused glances, as if her melodramatics were not new to them. “But I am curious. How did he come to know of the existence of these jewels in the first place, hmm?”
Brighid’s shame and rage were almost tangible, even through the memory. “He has his ways of knowing things, just as we have ours.”
“There is no cause for us to anger Odin,” said the first Elder who had spoken. “We do not need to wage war over the fate of the Unseen. I forbid you from going to Asgard, Brighid. Though you have chosen to live on Ériu, you are still one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and I am still your High King.”