Brothers: Legacy of the Twice-Dead God

by Scott Duff

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “I called him to ask a question and he ended up flying down to help me without even being asked. And he and his father have been amazing, really. I couldn’t have gotten through any of this without him. Without any of them.”

  “Introduce me to our saviors, then, dear,” she said, meekly, “Then I’m afraid I’m off to bed. I tire so easily these days.”

  “It’s quite late,” I said, “I’m sure we’re all close behind.” We entered the room, once again at my mother’s pace. Everyone looked up as we came in. I could feel her power weakly questing through the room to Kieran, trying to make some sense of what her sight wasn’t telling her. Kieran stood as we approached him.

  “K… Ehran, may I introduce my mother, Olivia McClure, nee St. Croix, of Savannah, Georgia,” I said, turning a half step away and facing them both, my mother’s hand lightly in mine. “Mother, this is Ehran McClure, son of Robert and my half-brother, of Alabama, I suppose. And the master of my apprenticeship.”

  Kieran smiled that beatific smile again and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  “Please, Ehran, the pleasure is all mine,” Mother said, smiling back at him. “I must say you are a far cry from the images of the lanky youth your father gave me, but you have his smile.”

  “I look forward to seeing that smile again soon,” Kieran said, optimistically.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Mother said. “Robert didn’t tell me about what happened between you, only that he regretted it deeply.”

  “Once we find him, we can build a better relationship. One without the regrets,” assured Kieran.

  “And you remember Peter,” I said, moving down the sofa a little, like a miniature procession.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. McClure,” Peter said. He moved in for a light handshake, but Mother swept in for a hug. He was comfortable with that, too, and hugged her back. “It’s good to see you up and about, ma’am,” he said softly. “We were so worried about you.” Both of their auras were in emotional turmoil.

  “Thank you, dear, it’s good to see you, too,” she managed to get out as she pulled away, wiping away tears again and smiling.

  “And this is Ethan,” I said, stopping. He just stood there grinning at me impishly. “Ethan, Ehran, and I have a complicated relationship.” It was all I could think of.

  Ethan snorted and snickered, “Hello, Mrs. McClure, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I feel like I’ve known you all my life.” He took Mother’s hand and lightly kissed her knuckles.

  “Not funny, Ethan,” I muttered under my breath. He just snickered more as he released her hand, smiling at us, his eyes dancing across her face. For her part, Mother just looked confused, but gracefully accepted him.

  “Shrank, if you want to be introduced, you’re going to have to come out of hiding,” I said, spotting him on the sofa behind Ethan. He took to the air, flashing into visibility almost instantly. Mother started a bit at his sudden appearance, but relaxed when he stopped a few feet out, giving her ample room to see him.

  “And this is Shrank, our pixie-in-residence,” I said.

  “My pleasure, ma’am. You’ve raised a remarkable son,” he squeaked out, bouncing in the air in a semblance of a bow.

  “Thank you, Shrank,” Mother said, “His father and I are quite proud of him.”

  Shrank flitted away again, his attention caught by something else in the room, though he never moved too far away from us. Mother chuckled a little at him as he bounced from place to place.

  “We spent fifteen years hiding you from this world,” she said, almost in an off-hand way, “And here you are falling head-long into it in less than six months.”

  Cahill choked on the brandy he was drinking then broke out laughing hard. Mother looked at him with raised eyebrows. Gordon was at his side, worried that he was still choking, then confused by the laughter. He got himself back under control and looked up at us again. Then broke out laughing again, holding up three fingers.

  “Oh,” I said softly, “He’s laughing about the ‘six months.’ It’s only been a few weeks. And actually Shrank joined us a few days after I met Ehran.”

  “Olivia, dear, you think the pixie is something?” Cahill said, still choking back laughter, “I think there is one man left to introduce you to, yet.” He stood up from the wing-backed chair he was sitting in, patting his son’s shoulder affectionately. The Cahill’s had moved farther back in the big room to give us some space for our reunion and introductions, but now it was time to move together.

  “A very short story, mainly because I don’t know most of it,” he said as he stepped across the room, “two weeks ago, I saw a scared little boy walk into a room filled with people who, by rights, could squash him like a bug on the ground. I watched as the two biggest, meanest bullies picked on him because he was the smallest and weakest one there. And I watched him stand up to both of them and send them packing, noses bloodied. Then later I saw the most vile monster in the world offer the most vile deal in the world to this scared little boy: his life against his mother’s. The odds were two hundred to one against him, but he accepted, or his brother did, thinking to keep the boy out of the fight. That didn’t work, though, did it, Ehran?”

  Kieran shook his head no. He didn’t want to interrupt Cahill’s discourse, curious to see where he was going.

  Cahill continued, “The boy did have a terrible decision to make there, one I wish my children will never have to make: who lives and who dies. I think he did well. It’s hard to say at what point a boy becomes a man, when honor and nobility become so ingrained that action becomes a need rather than a desire. Sometime in the last three weeks, it happened, though.

  “You can stop seeing him as your little boy, Olivia,” Cahill said, sliding his arm across her shoulders. “See Seth for the man he’s become. Show her, Seth.”

  I gawked at him for a moment, then acquiesced. I called for the armored form, letting the weapons know it was just for show. I didn’t want them thinking I was going to fight with my mother, after all.

  She gasped, wide-eyed, staring at me.

  “You know, I really have no idea what this looks like,” I said, scratching the back of my head.

  “Big,” Mother said.

  “Scary,” said Cahill.

  “Two swords?” asked Mother, starting to circle around me, looking.

  I looked down at my waist, at the swords hanging there. “Well,” I said, “They have different specialties.”

  “And on your back?” Mother asked.

  “The Crossbow and Quiver,” I answered. “For distance and accuracy. The Bolts aren’t as strong as the Swords in most cases, but some are more so. They’re incredibly powerful tools, though.”

  I felt a gentle tug of magic use from the far end of the room as Gordon lifted something off the ground and came toward us. He guided something through the furnishings like a sled. Halfway through, we saw the mirror. We helped by walking further into the room.

  “You said you hadn’t seen your armor, so…” he said shyly as he set the mirror down and stepped back. He was a lot like Martin.

  “Thank you, Gordon,” I said, looking at my reflection. The green and black diamond hatch pattern reflected in the light like diamonds and gave me a muscled appearance to match Ethan’s. The extra bands around my knees made me look knock-kneed and I was pretty sure I’d seen my head on a Saturday morning cartoon about robotic trucks that talked. The dark green of the Quiver looked a little odd against the harlequin costume but that was of no concern to me. I was amazed at how sleek the whole ensemble seemed.

  “May we see one?” Gordon asked, pointing to my waist.

  “Oh, sure,” I said, pulling the Day Sword from its scabbard. It shone brightly in the light, living up to its name. Gordon stepped closer, his curiosity overcoming his nervousness of me. I handed him the Sword, hilt first, for a closer look. “Don’t actually touch the blade,” I warned him.

  “Where did
you get these?” Mother asked me.

  “Ehran and Ethan gave them to me,” I said, slowly, “to protect me, after the elves attacked.” I sent everything home except the Day sword that Gordon was still looking at and taking an experimental swing occasionally. “I’ve had a busy three weeks, Mom.”

  “Martin will be so jealous of ya,” Cahill said to Gordon, chuckling deep in his chest.

  “Aye,” said Gordon, grinning at his father. “Won’t ‘e, though.”

  “Oh, Seth, put that away before he hurts himself,” Mrs. Cahill said. The first thing she’d said all night that I’d heard.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, grinning. I called Day, making sure it wouldn’t hit anything on the way to me, and sent it home, checking to make sure everything was safe and sound in my cavern.

  “Felix, now that the dangerous toys are put away,” Mrs. Cahill said to her husband, “I think I’ll retire for the night. Let you men talk about fast cars and big knives and such. No loose women, though. Gordon may be a man, but he’s still my little boy.” That brought a general round of chuckles and a slight reddening to Gordon’s face.

  “I’ll walk up with you, Enid,” said Mother, “I expect to hear all about what you’ve been up to in the last three weeks tomorrow, Seth.” She kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Good night, gentlemen, Felix.” She and the Lady Cahill left the room. I could see the bindings that streaked through her mind, wrapping through her memories. The turmoil her time with St. Croix had caused beating against the rest of her life, holding it hostage against the Pact. Maybe Mr. Cahill’s speech had planted a seed in her mind that St. Croix was gone, that we were safe from him, and she would unlock the Pact and free herself.

  “She’s doing much better,” said Cahill, softly, at my side, breaking me out of my melancholy. “She’s still having night terrors and her memory is still very splotchy, but she’s improving daily.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing, Mr. Cahill,” I said, staring out the empty doorway. “And I completely ignored your wife, I’m so sorry.”

  “Think nothing of it, Seth,” he said, “Enid won’t.”

  I turned and looked for Gordon. One huge social gaff was sufficient for the evening. “Gordon, I do apologize for ignoring you in your own home,” I said, walking up to him with my hand outstretched. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Seth.”

  “Good to finally met you, too,” he said, his voice lilting more than his father’s. “Martin hasn’t shut up about you since he and Da got back.”

  It was my turn to blush. “I’m sure he was exaggerating,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, wide-eyed, “I thought so, too. Till Da told even bigger tales and Gill confirmed those, and Jerry swears he was at the top of the Arena when the Winter Princess flew by, an inch from his head.”

  “And I only talked about the things that happened in public,” said Cahill, chuckling, pouring another brandy.

  “Bigger than that?” Gordon said, awed.

  “Son, there are some things that are better left unsaid,” Cahill said, wagging a finger at us, “These guys are doing them.”

  “And you’ve only known about this for three weeks?” Gordon asked me.

  I nodded. “I wouldn’t lie to my mother,” I said. “She can always tell.”

  “Did something happen at the airport?” asked Cahill.

  “Yes, why?” Kieran asked cautiously.

  “I had the most interesting phone conversation about twenty minutes after you landed,” Cahill said. “From Clifford Harris. He was rather panicked, really. I had difficulty understanding what he wanted. Well, that’s what I told him anyway. I also told him that I would ask you to call in the morning and discuss whatever happened at your convenience. I assumed that if it had been of any real significance, either my people at the airport or Diego would have contacted me immediately.”

  The four of us exchanged glances. “The trip over?” I asked.

  “Nah, had to be the curse,” said Ethan.

  “Why would he be panicked over that?” asked Kieran. That confused all of us.

  “Curse?” asked Cahill, an obvious prompt for information.

  “Oh, yes, Seth found a curse that was previously thought dormant on one of Harris’ men,” said Kieran. “We disposed of it for him. I wouldn’t think that would be a problem for Harris.”

  “No, but it would explain his panic,” Cahill said, his complexion pale. “This curse, it was on Calhoun?”

  “Yes,” answered Kieran, thoughtfully. “Do you have one, too, Felix?”

  He sighed heavily. “I believe so.”

  “Show us where, if you please,” asked Kieran, sternly. Standing up from the sofa, he started searching Cahill’s body for the curse. Cahill dropped trou, showing the brand just above his left knee, inside thigh. I dove into the foam around the brand, feeling the energies there, again surveying the space to create a map. Cahill’s flows were far more intricate to follow, even that far down in his body. The body can help greatly with controlling energies and Cahill was far more adept than Calhoun. I pulled out without seeming to interfere with anything. I could still clearly see the energy mark there, though.

  “So, all you see is the scar from the brand?” I asked.

  “Yes, it looks totally dormant to me,” Cahill said.

  I cast the curse out into the astral plane up over our heads, then cast a copy of Calhoun’s out next to it. Easier than it sounds when you just imagine a couple of mirrors and a giant magnifying glass. Just line everything up and bam, instant big screen.

  “The curses aren’t the same,” said Kieran.

  “But the brands are,” I said, looking at the scar. “Was that the ‘cure’? The brand?”

  “Aye,” answered Cahill. “Before that, the curse was visible.”

  “Well, it certainly slowed it down,” I admitted. “It destroyed a number of power structures, which seems to be what has helped keep it in abeyance for so long. There’s no telling how long that’ll keep, though.”

  “It’s genetic,” said Peter, from behind us, looking up over our head.

  “Peter’s right,” agreed Ethan, “The part that’s different is genetic. Insect, of some sort. The rest is mostly the same as the other with some almost natural modifications.”

  “What will it do? Aneurysm?” Peter asked.

  “At least,” muttered Kieran. “With someone like Felix, it could mean an explosion in an eight to ten foot radius at worst.”

  “The Night can excise it directly,” I said to Kieran. “Assuming we don’t need to see it.”

  “No, you go ahead,” said Kieran, absently, switching to the astral forms with Ethan and Peter.

  I looked at the two nervous Cahills. Gordon didn’t know what was happening and Felix was just beginning to understand. The problem was that magic isn’t water. The power structures in the curse may be damaged and leaking energy like a sieve, but that didn’t mean the structures couldn’t accrue the energy anyway—they were doing it. The energy didn’t seep out like water through a crack in a dam. The damage just meant that the power could seep out. Originally, I bet it burst out rapidly but over time Felix’s body made adjustments that walled the curse in and made the flow out a little more difficult, letting it back up into the curse. That turned him into a walking time bomb. Light the fuse at the wrong time and Kieran’s prediction meant he could hurt or even kill people. Or Felix may die of natural causes and the curse would fade with time.

  “Gordon, would you give me a hand, please?” I asked as I knelt down in front of his father. “Felix, stretch your leg out straight for me.”

  “What do I do?” Gordon asked, nervously, afraid for his father and himself.

  “I need to you come over here,” I said, patting Cahill’s left side, “and hold your father down carefully. What I’m going to do is going to be a shock for him, but he can’t move. Just keep him calm and still and everything will be fine, okay?”

  I called the Night sword forward
as Gordon moved around to his father’s side. Cahill tensed at the sight of the black and ivory blade. Gordon gasped and slowed, not taking his eyes off of it as he descended to one knee, taking his father’s hand. The room seemed to dim in the Sword’s presence.

  “Oh, Lord, Da,” Gordon whispered, glancing nervously between his father and the Night.

  “He’s done this once already, son,” Cahill said, tightening his grip on his son’s hand. “He can do it again.”

  “Ready?” I asked, touching the cold sides of the blade, feeling its eagerness, but my question wasn’t directed there. Both Cahill’s gulped and nodded. Felix relaxed his leg as much as he could and Gordon braced his arm against his father’s shoulder. I touched the tip of the rapier-like Night to Cahill’s thigh about a quarter of an inch below the brand. The Night began to hum a Cicadas’ rhythm as it slipped into the skin, different from the deep basses of Calhoun. This time, it came in from underneath the curse, dropping Cahill out of its influence in staccato releases of tone, as if holding the curse in the fugue. The blade popped free from Cahill’s leg flat rather than having to be pulled free, but the curse was evaporated into the Night sword completely. I sent the Sword home.

  “Da?” cried Gordon. “Are you okay? Da?”

  “’M’alright, Gordon, m’alright,” said Cahill, groggily.

  Gordon looked up at me with teary eyes, “Is it out?”

  I nodded, “Yep, all gone,” I said while I searched his aura for fluctuations or any manifestations that might relate. “You just sit here and relax for a bit, Mr. Cahill. I’ll be back in a few minutes so you can tell me what you felt. If there are more of these out there, we’ll need to find another way to identify and remove them. You might give us some clues in that. Okay?” I stood, shaking the blood back into my legs as he nodded to me.

  I turned to the group to see them talking but not hearing it. I stepped over the shield wall, Ethan’s, to hear Peter say, “…and I think the brand destroyed that part. If we saw it before, we’d see the complete trigger.”