Indebted

by Amy A. Bartol

  When I finish, the place is dead silent for a few moments until they all burst out laughing like they will never stop. Brennus pulls me nearer to his side and whispers in my ear, “I may na be able to ever change ye, mo chroí. I’m afraid dat if I make ye a true Gancanagh, dey will only follow orders from ye.”

  “Ah, then my work here is done,” I reply, deflecting his flattery.

  “Would you like ta see da rest of da house den?” Brennus asks, grinning.

  “I would,” I respond, using the affirmative that the Gancanagh seem to always use. I think it’s their way of never saying “yes” to anything.

  “Finn, finish up for me here. I’m going ta take me queen ta see da estate,” Brennus orders. Finn inclines his head and Brennus leads me to a set of doors in the back of the room. I’m relieved because I don’t want to walk by all of the fellas again.

  Moving through a long hallway, I peek at Brennus who watches me with a smile on his face. I clear my throat and say, “I didn’t see Molly in there.”

  “Molly has na earned a spot in dere yet,” Brennus replies. “Dat was for da laoch. Dat word means ‘warrior.’ Dey are da warriors who have proven demselves ta me. Molly has much ta learn before she can enter dat room.”

  “Are you teaching her to fight?” I ask.

  “Finn will see ta dat,” Brennus replies. “Or, he may na. ’Tis his concern, na mine. She is na me sclábhaí. I didna create her.” We stop then in front of another set of enormous, wooden doors. The doors are carved with intricate dragon-like figures whose heads jet out ominously from the flat surface of the portal.

  Opening the door for me, Brennus ushers me into another long room with vaulted ceilings just like the hall that I had come from, but this one does not contain a long table in it. This one is like an armory where wicked-looking weapons glitter evilly in the slats of light from the narrow openings along one wall.

  As I walk further in, my eyes wander over the menagerie of deadly weapons that cover nearly every inch of the stone walls in this hall. Maces, swords, spears, chakrams, daggers, axes, bows, shields, machetes, throwing stars, armor, and other things that I have no names for are on display. Strolling quietly through the room, I pass by scores of armor. It all looks ancient. It’s not medieval, like the Knight’s Bar armor. No, all this stuff looks otherworldly—inhuman.

  I pause in front of a large suit of armor that can be described in no other way but faerie-like. It seems somehow more beautiful than the rest. Making a circle around it, I see that it’s long, like a silver tunic that is embellished with intricate gold-tone trim. The entire surface of the metal is etched with Celtic knots and scrolls. There is a golden set of wings affixed on the center of the silver breastplate. Silver chainmail leggings hang from the metal tunic with long, leather boots attached to them. The boots are covered with silver metal, making it look similar to the framework of a stained-glass window. The coolest parts of the armor are the slits in the back of it that were created, I’m guessing, to accommodate wings.

  The metal gloves of the armor hold a weapon in its grasp. I reach out with reverence and touch the intricately carved battle-axe that is attached to a long, metal shaft. The shaft of the axe is as long as the javelin that Zee trained me to use, making it nearly as tall as me. It has several notches to position my hands on so that they will not slip down the shaft easily when hefted. The blade of the axe is silver and resembles one of my wings, like the way my feathers lay upon each other and serrate along the edge, but the axe edge is sharp and menacing—lethal.

  On impulse, I pick up the battle-axe; the metal in my hand feels different—eerie. It has a vibrating current in it that is like an exquisite hum of an instrument I have never heard before. I rest it against my cheek, feeling the vibration and hearing a sweet melody that sounds like a lullaby.

  “Do ye hear someting?” Brennus asks me breathlessly.

  “Yeah…it’s like music,” I reply. I begin to hum along with the beautiful lullaby as it weaves lovely patterns in my ear. Smiling, I glance at Brennus to see that he looks stricken.

  “What? What’s wrong?” I ask in alarm, pulling the blade away from my face.

  “’Tis…I…it has na done dat since…” he falls silent, staring at me.

  “Since when?” I prompt him.

  “It has na sung since I brought it wi’ me ta face Aodh. I tought it died wi’ me,” he explains in a low voice, reaching out to take the weapon from me. He holds it to his ear and listens intently.

  “Can you hear it?” I ask.

  He looks so sad that I want to do something to change that. He shakes his head and begins to lower the weapon. I reach out and touch it, grasping the shaft of the weapon in my hand. I press the flat of the axe head gently to his ear. The vibrations ignite in it again as I press my ear to the opposite side of it, hearing the lullaby play again.

  “There it is. Do you hear it?” I ask.

  “I do,” Brennus murmurs. His hand moves to cover mine on the hilt of the axe, squeezing it lightly.

  Immediately, my personal guards all jet to different parts of the room, pulling weapons from the walls. Lachlan makes it back to my side first. He stares at Brennus who lowers the axe from between us and inclines his head.

  Lachlan turns to me and asks, “Will ye hold dis?” He holds up a spear that is capped with a diamond-shaped double-sided blade. The hilt of the weapon is intricately etched, just like the axe had been.

  “Uh, sure,” I reply with a confused look to Brennus.

  Moving to Lachlan’s side, I grasp the shaft of the spear just above his hand, while he raises it to his ear and listens. Lachlan leans down so that I can press my face to the other side of the weapon and hear the humming-sound of a different lullaby.

  After a while, Lachlan straightens up and there is pain in his eyes when he says, “I never tought dat I would ever hear dat again.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Home,” Lachlan replies sadly.

  “Why does it do that?” I ask.

  “It wants ye to know dat it will protect ye, dat ye don’t have ta be afraid,” Lachlan replies, his voice sounding thick with emotion. “It wants ye to know dat it will fight for ye. Dat it chooses ye, too.”

  Declan interrupts Lachlan by thrusting a ferocious-looking spear non-threateningly between the two of us. “Try dis one,” he says gruffly. This spear looks like it has row after row of sharp, spiky fangs jutting out of it.

  “Yours?” I ask as my eyebrow arches.

  “’Tis,” he says, looking lovingly at the brutal weapon.

  “Okay,” I sigh, gripping the handle of the spear near his hand.

  Declan’s melody is surprising poignant, like it aches for him. Before the song is over though, Declan lets go of his weapon. He turns swiftly and leaves the room. Holding Declan’s spear in my hand, I look at Brennus.

  Brennus’ eyes soften. “’Tis okay. He will be back in a little while,” he says quietly, taking the spear from me and resting it against another suit of armor.

  Faolan and Eion have similar reactions to hearing the songs of their weapons again. They both look like someone punched them in the stomach.

  “I’m sorry…I didn’t know that they would do that if I touched them…I didn’t mean to…” I trail off.

  “No, dat was a gift dat ye gave ta us,” Lachlan replies. “None of us ever tought to hear home again. We jus miss it, dat’s all.”

  “I know how you feel,” I say. “The same thing happened to me.”

  “Whah?” Brennus asks in confusion.

  “It’s ironic really. It happened in your cell, in the caves in Houghton. When I was dying. My Uncle Jim, whom I considered my ‘home,’ came and laid down next to me in my cell and held my hand at the end. I never thought I would see him again while I was still alive. I think it was his soul.” I say, feeling the poignancy of that moment again. “It’s a gift and it’s a curse because you can’t go back and change the past, no matter how much you want to. You can’
t keep them. You have to let them go.”

  Each Gancanagh in the room stares at me with the oddest expressions on his face. They look almost humble and that is something I never thought I would ever see.

  “Why did you pick up dis weapon, of all of the tousands in dis room?” Brennus asks, studying the huge battle-axe in his hand.

  “Well, it was held by the suit of armor, but I guess it’s because it’s the one that I wanted,” I say. “I like the blade. It looks like my wing, do you see?” I ask, running my finger gently over the edge of the serrated blade.

  “I do. Dere are hundreds of suits of armor in dis room,” he says. “Whah do ye tink now, knowing dat it belonged ta me?” he asks.

  “Coincidence,” I reply, not wanting to draw any parallels to Brennus.

  Brennus frowns. “Na coincidence. A weapon is personal; it has ta fit ye, it must please ye or ye do na choose it and it will na choose ye,” he says in a soft tone. “It has ta be made for ye. I made dis one and now ’tis choosing ye, so now ’tis yers.”

  “They’re all choosing me,” I say, indicating all of the weapons I touched that sang for me.

  “Dey are,” he agrees and something is telling me that he is not speaking of the weapons. “Will ye accept dis gift?” he asks me solemnly.

  I think about it for a second, and then I say, “I will accept it, if you promise to teach me how to use it.”

  The Gancanagh are vicious fighters and I could learn a lot from Brennus, who is their best fighter or he wouldn’t be the king. This tribe is ruled by cunning and strength, not by inborn privilege.

  “’Twill be me honor ta make ye earn it,” he replies with a wicked grin. Desire is clouding his eyes again and I have to look away from him so that I won’t respond to it.

  Wanting to change the subject, I say, “So this isn’t really an armory, like I thought. It’s more of an archive—a record of who you all were before you became Gancanagh.”

  “Dat’s right, mo chroí. We have other rooms dat contain more effective arms den dese. We create body armor now dat is more practical den dis wi’ advanced charms ta protect us,” Brennus says, raising his arms to indicate the thousands of weapons and armor that belong to another world. “Come, I want ta show ye a special room we jus created,” Brennus says, taking my hand and leading me towards the door.

  We exit the room and walk down the corridor turning onto another hallway. We stop in front of another huge set of wooden doors, but these doors are different. These doors have intricately carved angel’s wings on them. “Dis, is yer archive,” Brennus says as he opens the door.

  I am not prepared for what I see. It’s a tower room, so it’s round with a ceiling that is at least three or four stories above my head. This room leads to tier-like balconies above and there are different spaces arranged on every “floor.” A spiral staircase leads to each level, or I can fly up to each one, landing on the platform between each railing. It sort of resembles a cross-section of a hive, in a way, like the way the chateau is arranged, but more open.

  The main level is like a reception area. A large, stone fireplace is centered on the far wall and above the fireplace is the portrait that Mr. MacKinnon painted of me as the Goddess Persephone. On the mantel of the fireplace is a small glass box. My steps are slow as I walk forward into the room and move to the mantel.

  When I lift the lid of the glass box, I find that it contains a letter opener, cradled on a bed of red velvet. I recognize it instantly as the weapon I had used to try to ward off Brennus at the library in Houghton.

  Touching the letter opener lightly, I murmur, “Not as impressive as a battle-axe.”

  “Ye are wrong, mo chroí.” Brennus responds immediately. “’Tis more impressive dan da axe. ’Tis an unbelievably brave weapon.”

  I shut the lid to the box gently and wander slowly around the room. Some of the furniture from my uncle’s house is mixed in with very chic furniture to create a lovely place to sit and receive guests. Delicate tables dot the room and on them, next to beautiful vases of fresh flowers, are priceless things that I never thought I would see again. Pictures of my friends, of my Uncle Jim…of my mother…they have all been re-matted and framed so that they are better preserved. I walk numbly to the table in front of me, before picking up a picture of my uncle and me. I think I was in the fourth grade and I had won the spelling contest at school.

  “You were a beautiful child,” Brennus says from over my shoulder.

  “You think so?” I ask, trying to hide the tightness in my voice. “Tell that to some of the boys. They used to call me ‘tomato head.’”

  Brennus’ eyes narrow to a dangerous edge. “Who called you dat?” Brennus asks.

  “Mikey…” I begin, and then I stop. “Why?” I ask with suspicion.

  “I will kill him,” Brennus promises in a soft tone.

  “He was nine,” I reply.

  “Den he has lived many years longer dan he should have,” Brennus replies with malice.

  “Never mind,” I say, placing the picture back on the table and silently moving from table to table, touching the pictures with trembling fingertips.

  “Do ye want ta see da rest of yer tower?” Brennus asks me.

  “I do,” I say, finding it hard to breathe. “I’ll meet you up there.”

  As I expand my wings, I take three strides, and then jump into the air. I fly a little shakily to the second level. I find the railing a lucky addition to the design as it stops me from crashing into one of the bookshelves on the far wall when I come in a little faster than I should on my landing. Clutching the railing, I see that this tier is like a library, with ornately carved bookcases full of leather-bound books and comfortable chairs and sofas where I can read.

  “Dat was an interesting landing. Do ye need a couple of pointers?” Brennus asks as he and the fellas make it to the room.

  “I think I’m doing quite well for having had little instruction. The first time I flew was in China and well…you were there.”

  “I was,” Brennus agrees. “If I wasn’t already dead, dat may have killed me.”

  “Oh, come on,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “I was not that bad.”

  “Dat is debatable,” he replies. “I had ta keep reminding meself dat ye are stronger dan ye look. ’Tis why I didna try ta stop ye while ye were in da air. I was afraid ye would na survive it if I did.”

  “That was kind of you,” I remark.

  “Na kind, practical. I knew where ye were likely going,” he replies smoothly.

  “I’m sort of an open book, huh?” I ask.

  “I would na say dat,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Ye surprise me too often to ever say dat.” I smile as I go to the bookshelf and see many, many volumes of books I haven’t read yet, mixed in with books that I have. “Dis room is for me librarian, Lillian.”

  “I didn’t think you liked Lillian. She vomited all over the bleedin’ beemer,” I say.

  “’Twas Finn’s beemer,” Brennus replies with a grin.

  We head up to the third floor and I opt to take the stairs this time. This level is a chic office area complete with several computers and a seating area with a theatre size screen. DVD’s that I have long since lost interest in line the shelves, relics from my life with Uncle Jim. I let my fingers roam over the selection, pulling one from the shelf, I read the front aloud, “Hackers.”

  “Whah is dat?” Lachlan asks.

  “Is it instruction on killing?” Faolan asks, and I burst out laughing.

  “Uh, no,” I reply. “I’ll host a movie night and we can watch it. I’ll make popcorn.”

  “Whah’s popcorn?” Faolan inquires as we walk up the stairs to the next level.

  When I make it to the landing, I pause because it is almost like walking into my bedroom at my Uncle Jim’s house. Everything is there: my bed, my dressers, and my posters of the bands that I like. They even have my prom dress hanging in the closet. Molly must have been instrumental in recreating this room because everything is p
laced pretty much where I had it before I left for college.

  “Whah’s dis ting, Genevieve?” Eion asks, picking up a little troll with purple hair from a shelf.

  “That’s a troll,” I mutter numbly.

  “No, ’tis na,” he replies, sniffing it.

  “Uh, yes it is,” I reply.

  He raises his eyebrow at me and says, “Dis is na a troll. Trolls are huge and dey smell like arse and dey have razor-sharp teeth dat ’twill gut ye if ye get too close to dem. Dis is a little naked, plastic ting dat’s na da least bit scary.”

  “Oh,” I reply, stumped.

  I walk over to the bed and pick up my pillow. Bringing it to my nose I can just make out the smell of home that still lingers faintly on it. In an instant I begin sobbing and I don’t think that I’m ever going to stop.

  “I’m sorry! ’Tis a troll, I swear ’tis a troll,” Eion says in a rush.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed with the pillow grasped tight to my chest. “Lads, wait downstairs,” Brennus orders.

  When they are gone, he sits down on the bed next to me, pulling my head to his chest. I cry for a long time while Brennus strokes my hair. He doesn’t say anything like I would have expected a human to say. He doesn’t promise me that I will be okay or that things will be better soon—not in words anyway. But, even if he didn’t say any of those things, sharing my pain with him—letting him see me vulnerable and him accepting it—makes me feel better somehow.

  When I stop crying, he wipes my tears away and says, “Dis is yer room. Ye can come here whenever ye desire, but, when ye sleep, I want ye up in me room. Da fellas and I can protect ye better up dere. It makes it easier for dem to work in shifts and I can work in me office and still be near ye. Do ye understand whah I’m saying?” he asks me.