04 Sphere Song - The Isle of Destiny

by Tricia O'Malley

  “Ahhh, she was a goddess of nurturing. Her powers lay in giving, making people feel comfortable, caring for others, empathy, and the like. She spent her days helping people learn to care for others, teaching forgiveness and empathy, and nurturing the world.”

  “She’s gone then, from the way you speak about her in the past tense,” Neala said, surprised to find she could still feel sadness over a loss she had accepted long ago.

  “Of course she’s not dead – she’s just moved up the ranks in the spirit world. She’s completed her duties here and moved on to where she is needed next, is all.”

  “Oh. I suppose I don’t really know much about all that,” Neala said, leaning against the rocky wall and closing her eyes for a moment, trying to work through the tangle of emotions that hung heavy in her gut.

  “I find it interesting that you opened a bakery. You’re nurturing others, you know,” Fiona said.

  Neala opened her eyes to look at her. “How? I bake scones and serve coffee.”

  “You make people feel good. You put love into your work and your food, they are happy when they leave your shop, and you’ve created an environment of home and family. I’d say that’s nurturing.”

  “I suppose. I have always wanted to create a spot just for me – my own little safe haven,” Neala admitted, “that nobody can touch or change but me.”

  “And you could have done that with a house or an office, yet you chose a business that brings joy and happiness to others. Something to think about,” Fiona commented.

  “If I’m part goddess – what does that mean? Do I have duties to fulfill?”

  “You’re already doing so. You were born and put here with this path predestined. It’s on you as to whether you pick up the sword and fight, though.” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and studied Neala.

  “I’ve accepted the challenge, haven’t I? I’m here.” Neala feared her tone sounded a bit petulant.

  “Aye, you have. But I think you already know what you need to do for the next step, yet you’re deflecting me at every turn,” Fiona said, not backing down.

  Neala’s shoulders slumped. “Sometimes I think it’s easier to hold onto the anger. I’m comfortable with it. It gives me power in the situation.”

  “That’s the tricky thing about anger. You think it is you holding the power when you’re angry with someone, but it is really them holding all the power. The only power you can claim comes with forgiveness. If it is control you crave, it will come through letting go.”

  “How does letting go give me control? I control my story and my emotions around it right now. Letting go of that means… I don’t know.” Neala flapped her hands helplessly in her lap. “It means I have to write a new story. Reframe it. I’m comfortable with my story. Or I was until a few days ago. Now I don’t know who or what I am anymore.”

  “You’re still you. But the only thing consistent in life is change. Your old story, the anger you’ve held onto for years – it doesn’t play well in this story. In fact, it works against you. Sasha had to learn the same.”

  “What do I do? Will you help me?” Neala whispered, turning beseeching eyes on Fiona. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”

  “You won’t let anyone down, so long as you stay open and try your hardest,” Fiona said.

  “Head up, heart open,” Neala murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Dagda told me that, before we rescued Clare.”

  “He’s a smart man. And a handsome one at that,” Fiona commented. “You could do worse.”

  “I… he’s not for me. It’s not like that. We’re both loners and I don’t see a relationship fitting into our lifestyles. He likes the open road and I have a business to run. It would never work,” Neala said.

  “Love always finds a compromise,” Fiona commented, and Neala scoffed.

  “I was just thinking of bedding the man. Not love,” she huffed.

  “Aye, that looks like it would be great fun too,” Fiona commented, and despite everything they had just talked about, Neala found herself able to laugh until tears pricked her eyes.

  “I like you, Fiona.”

  “I like you as well, Neala. You’ve got spirit and a good heart. For that, I’ll give you a gift for your journey,” Fiona said. “Give me your hands. Both of them.”

  Neala turned and clasped Fiona’s hands in hers. The hands, though their skin was wrinkled and papery, were firm and warm beneath Neala’s palms.

  “Close your eyes and focus on that ball of resentment in your gut. Lead me to it. Open your heart and let me heal you,” Fiona ordered.

  Neala closed her eyes, focusing on her gut, where resentment and anger over past hurts twisted and seethed like a ball of angry snakes.

  “Do you forgive, Neala? Can you look at others with empathy and understanding – and send them love and light – even if they have wounded you?”

  Neala took her time before answering, testing the emotion of forgiveness, working on building a new story in her mind – and when she said the words, she meant them.

  “Aye, I forgive.”

  With those words the snakes of resentment seemed to shatter in her core, pulling forth from her and splintering like shards of glass into the night sky. Neala’s eyes flew open in astonishment; she’d never seen or felt anything like this in her life.

  “What was that?” Neala gasped.

  “Just a touch of healing and magick, my dear,” Fiona chuckled, patting her arm. “How do you feel?”

  Neala took a deep cleansing breath and searched her heart, her mind, and her soul.

  “You know what, Fiona? I feel pretty damn good. This forgiveness thing might be just fine after all.”

  “If only more people felt that way,” Fiona said and stood, stretching her arms above her head before holding out a hand to Neala. “Come, your man grows restless. We’ve tarried too long, and Declan is also champing at the bit to get to Sasha. But we needed to accomplish this before we could rescue her. I wasn’t sure if you were ready for it.”

  “He’s not ‘my man.’ I wish you’d stop saying that,” Neala said, not ready to talk about the forgiveness thing again. It was still just a wee bit tender in her heart.

  “And I wish you’d keep your head up and heart open as your man instructed. I wonder if he was telling himself to do the same as well,” Fiona commented.

  Great. Now she’d be looking at Dagda and wondering.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “What was the magick you used?” Dagda demanded the instant they were back in speaking range.

  Neala cocked an eyebrow at him, refusing to be intimidated by his attitude. “It was Fiona’s. And it’s personal,” she said, brushing past him to where Bianca offered her a canteen of water.

  “Personal? There is no personal. We’re all in this together now,” Dagda said, stomping after her.

  “Well, I say it’s personal.” Neala held her ground, rolling her eyes at a grinning Bianca as she took a swig of water from the canteen.

  “Let her be, Dagda. If it was Fiona’s magick, I trust it,” Declan sighed, raking his hand through his hair, and all but growling out the words as he paced.

  Dagda looked like he was going to argue, but then thought better of it and instead bent to pack the satchel and swing it over his shoulder before striding off down the path leading to the ruins.

  “What’s his deal? He’s certainly having a wee snit now, isn’t he?” Neala wondered out loud, staring after where the giant man trounced down the hill.

  “He’s worried about you,” Bianca said, patting her shoulder. “The magick looked pretty intense from here, and it was hard to tell at first who it had come from. Dagda was halfway up the hill, sword in hand, when he realized it was Fiona’s magick. Methinks he likes you…” Bianca sang out the last few words, like a schoolgirl singing a song about two people kissing in a tree.

  “He’s worried the goddess will kick his arse if he fails,” Neala amended as they fell in line be
hind the others and continued their hike up the hill into darkness.

  “I don’t think so. He’s got all eyes on you,” Bianca commented, cheerful despite the damp night and potential for danger on the horizon.

  “Listen, I get it. All the other Seekers and protectors ended up together. It would tie this little quest up in a nice, neat package of romance, wouldn’t it?” Neala said over her shoulder to Bianca. “But I’m telling you, our lifestyles are not compatible. Dag’s a wanderer. He likes the open road, doesn’t like being tied down, and he certainly doesn’t want to be in a relationship.”

  “And you think that can’t change? That men can’t eventually decide they want something different when they meet the right woman? From what I’ve seen, men will go to the ends of the earth to make love work,” Bianca said.

  “I don’t think that will be the case here,” Neala laughed. “You’re talking like this is some great love story instead of me, a small-town bakery owner, having met a man – a fae, at that – just days ago. Love doesn’t happen like that. It takes time, and grows, and you go on first dates and learn what your favorite music is or what your likes and dislikes are. I think you’re a romantic, Bianca, and I admire that. But I’m a realist, and I can tell you that this is not love you’re speaking of.”

  “You think love follows a formula?” Bianca asked.

  “Well, maybe not a formula, but there is no love at first sight or anything. It’s fun for the movies, but not in real life.” Neala shrugged.

  “Have you ever been in love before?” Bianca asked, continuing her line of questioning as they arrived at the crest of the hill.

  “No, I can’t say I have,” Neala admitted, and the thought made her feel just a little bit sad, and kind of like a loser for never having been in love. “Never quite found a man that was worthy of that, I suppose.”

  “Or perhaps you’ve been following the wrong formula,” Bianca sing-songed.

  Neala wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I can push you down this hill, you know,” she commented.

  Bianca smiled. “Try it. I’m little, but I’m fierce.”

  “I’d be tempted, but I’ve seen you fight. You are fierce,” Neala muttered, just a little annoyed by the topic of conversation, but also enjoying Bianca.

  “If you ladies are going to wrestle, might I suggest bikinis and a mud pit? I’d pay to watch that,” Seamus said over his shoulder, and they laughed at him.

  “In your dreams, buddy,” Bianca called back.

  “Silence,” Dagda ordered from the front of the line, putting the kibosh on their fun.

  Neala rolled her eyes again, but followed his order as they approached the half ruins of the old castle. It looked as if it had once been a small stronghold, with a run-down tower in one corner and a few rooms of various sizes with missing parts of their walls. Only one part of the fortress remained intact – and judging from where their lights shone on the walls, there was no way in or out.

  “I don’t like this,” Dagda declared, bringing the group together in a tight circle. “It feels like a trap.”

  “Everything is a trap and nobody plays fair in war,” Declan said, his eyes scanning the building. “But I can feel her inside this fortress. We just have to find a way without the walls coming down on her.”

  “Divide and conquer,” Fiona suggested.

  “I don’t know if I like that either,” Dagda said.

  Neala realized his voice sounded odd, like it was getting further and further away. She’d stepped a few feet away from the group to shine her light around the corner of the fortress, looking for another way into the ruin. The light had fallen upon a small door in the side that they must have missed.

  She turned to point it out to the group, and was surprised to see how far she had ventured from them.

  “That’s odd,” Neala said, and raised her voice to shout to the group. “Hey, everyone, there’s a door right here.”

  They all turned in shock, and Neala squealed as she was sucked into the hallway of the fortress, the door disappearing. She now stared at a rough stone wall just inches from her face. Whirling, her light shone down an empty stone hallway, with no way in and no way out. All she could do was walk forward.

  Cursing herself for her stupidity, Neala reached for the only weapons she had – the Stone of Truth and her dagger.

  She was on her own now.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dagda’s heart skipped a beat as Neala was sucked into the fortress, the wisp of Domnua magick still curling in the air after the wall slammed shut behind her. Time seemed to stop as he roared her name, to no response from within.

  “I knew it,” Dagda shouted, racing to pound on the wall Neala had disappeared into. “I knew this was a trap.”

  “We’ll get them both out,” Declan said, right at his side and banging against the stone wall just as hard.

  “Easy for you to say. This isn’t on your head,” Dagda grunted, testing the wall for any weakness, running his hands over the stones and looking for cracks.

  “It’s on all of us. And I’ll remind you that it isn’t just your woman in there; mine is as well. So stop your bitching and let’s figure out how to save them,” Declan said.

  Dagda whirled on him, so furious with himself that he needed an outlet for his rage. “Bitching? I don’t bitch. Back off or I’ll make you back off,” he seethed, catching Declan by the throat and pushing him against the wall.

  The first blow from Declan bounced easily off his chest, but the second – a direct hit to his gut – had him wincing a bit.

  Raising his arm to hit back, Dagda winced as he was cuffed on the back of his head.

  “Knock it off, boys. Immediately. We’ve trouble on our hands,” Fiona ordered.

  Dagda rubbed his head and turned to see Fiona wielding her walking stick like a club. “Stubborn old woman,” he muttered.

  “Testosterone driven imbecile,” Fiona shot right back, and Dagda shrugged. She wasn’t entirely wrong. “Either you can kill each other or the Domnua can. But I think they’d delight in you doing the job for them, seeing as they’re just sitting there watching ye all turn on each other.”

  “Where?” Dagda growled, and turned to see an army of Domnua, standing in stillness on the crest of the hill behind them, with Bianca and Seamus between them, swords raised.

  “Shite,” Declan cursed.

  “Shite, indeed,” Fiona said, “Time to work some magick, boys.”

  “What about Neala?” Dagda said, helpless not to look over his shoulder at the wall behind him.

  “She’s on her own for now. You can’t fight all her battles for her. Sometimes protecting someone also means letting them go out on their own. Can’t coddle too much,” Fiona admonished.

  “I do not coddle,” Dagda said, fed up with the lot of them, ready to murder all the Domnua, tear down the fortress wall, and sneak Neala away to safety.

  “She’s on her own. I’ve given her all the tools I can. Now, help me with some magick – I need fae input for this,” Fiona said. She began to rattle off some magick, centuries old, that Dagda had learned around the fire in his youth. He chimed in, and Declan did the same, and then they began to send their magick forth, praying it was enough to take down the Domnua army currently staring them down.

  Or, if they couldn’t take them down, at least hold them off until Neala conquered whatever faced her deep inside the walls of the fortress behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Neala crept forward slowly, the dagger in one hand, the stone in the other. Grateful for the headlamp and the light it provided while leaving her hands free, she wondered whether she should call out for Sasha or not. Deciding against drawing any more attention to herself than necessary – though certainly the bad guys knew exactly where she was, since they’d drawn her into their trap – she moved along, her steps quiet on the damp stone.

  When her father stepped in front of her, Neala gasped.

  He looked much the same as he had i
n the years leading up to his death – dark hair gone to grey, wrinkled brow, and a bulbous nose, ruddy from too much drink. His eyes narrowed as he looked her from head to toe, then spat on the ground in front of her.

  Neala squirmed, trying so hard to hold onto the gift of lightness and freedom that Fiona had bestowed upon her. But it was virtually impossible to look upon her father and not feel the old resentments surface.

  “Look at you running around with a dagger in your hand. That’s a man’s weapon. You never did know your place anyhow.” Her father glared at her.

  “My place is exactly where I want it to be,” Neala said, raising her chin and the dagger. She knew this had to be a trick of the Domnua, but everything about it felt as real as if she had just seen him yesterday.

  “You always did have a mouth on you, speaking too much nonsense. How women should be able to run their own businesses and get birth control if they wanted. What kind of good woman speaks like that? You should have taken care of our home, then found yourself a man and taken care of him and his home, and kept your opinions to yourself.”

  “‘Should’ is such a shite word, isn’t it?” Neala asked lightly, inching a little closer to her father. “There are a lot of things people should do that they never seem to follow through with. For example, you should have been a better father to me.”

  “You had food to eat, didn’t ye?” her father protested.

  “Aye, which I went and got with money from me after-school job. Food I cooked and prepared for you. Which you barely ate since your nose was so deep in a pint,” Neala retorted, glancing behind him to see if she could get around him, but his broad shoulders took up most of the hallway.

  “At least it taught you how to cook. You wouldn’t be owning a bakery anyway if you were shite at cooking. You should be thanking me.”

  “There’s that should word again,” Neala said and stepped forward, more boldly this time and then paused as a thought occurred to her.

  “You’ll not be passing me,” Her father loomed closer and held his ground, his eyes angry in his face.