Insanity? Stupidity? Over-inflated ego? I didn’t say anything aloud, but I came up with a pretty good list in short order as it applied to present company.
Caimiléir gave his own answer, “It is a religion known among the mortals as Science.” Caimiléir paused for effect and then went on, “Make no mistake, Science is a religion, studied and given adoration in equal measure. At one time, our people were gods and demi-gods, worshiped and feared the world over. Glorious days! Our realm was vibrant and thriving. We had children. We had power. The mortals kept us eternally strong through their belief in myth and legend. We were myth. We were legend. We were fed by the strength of their superstition. We built the great civilizations of the Phoenicians and the city of Babylon. We shared in the dazzling glory of Atlantis and basked in the power of the great Egyptians. There was no corner of the world where our influence was not felt.
“Then came Science. The Greeks opened the door. The Romans threw it wide. We closed the door for a time, but the human Renaissance cracked it open again. We fled and had momentary rest among the Aztecs and the Chinese. It didn’t last. The Industrial Revolution accelerated the growth of rational thinking and our strength began to fade. Then more discoveries were made to explain away the mysteries of the world that had sustained us for so many centuries. Now we are so weak and so impotent we can’t maintain our population. We are on a long, slow, inevitable slide toward death and oblivion.”
Having captured the attention of the group, he looked from face to face, measuring their responses. Some were just shaking their heads and others were wearing expressions of disgust. Several of the ladies had covered their mouths with their hands or handkerchiefs. Erin slipped her hand into mine. Whatever Caimiléir proposed, it was going to be bad.
Caimiléir held an armored fist in the air, staring at it as if he had the answer in his hand. He said, “We can change everything. We just need a little hint of something that can’t be explained or analyzed. Something that will return a measure of uncertainty and chaos into the mortal realm. Give the mortals a reason to look away from science and they will look back to myth. Back to us. Is there anyone among us who does not yearn to be strong? Is there anyone among us who does not feel the need to leave weakness behind? To resume our rightful place? To hold sway again over the lesser creatures as we are intended? Who would not want this? How can this not be the correct action to take?
“My friends, we need to introduce the Deamhan realm to the mortal realm and there will be a shift. A shift in our favor. And there can be only glory in that.”
I noticed Caimiléir didn’t say how he intended to accomplish this. He didn’t mention the Jeweled Gate. Of course, I had no proof either. Yet.
Caimiléir went on, “And I can ensure the safety of the mortals. As you have seen, I have complete control over this creature. He obeys me in every way. If I command him to come, he comes. If I command him to eat, he eats. My control is absolute. Behold.”
The little monster had not moved from the table. He looked up at Caimiléir and blinked all his eyes.
“Greim! Maraigh tú féin!” Caimiléir commanded.
The deamhan shuddered. He put his front claws on the side of his head and then plunged his claws into his eyes. He opened his mouth in a silent scream and continued to tremble as if having a seizure. He fell onto the table and then onto the floor. He stood and bashed his head against the wall. The stone cracked. Greim slammed his head into the cold marble until his inky blood ran down in rivulets. Nobody tried to stop it, but women began to cry. In stunned, nauseated shock we all watched the scene before us playing out its nightmare. The sounds of impact went from hard and bony to soft and wet. A gurgling sound rose from Greim’s throat. Finally, the little monster reached the end and lay on the floor, still and silent.
Caimiléir, the bigger monster, smiled and held his hands out as if expecting applause.
“Complete control! Do you see? Thousands will witness the deamhan emergence! We will give the mortals something new to believe in. Something they cannot explain away. The mortals will set aside their science and renew myth. Renew us! We can become strong again and nobody will be harmed.”
“Nobody but the deamhans, you mean.” I found myself speaking before I’d even thought about it. “I’m new here but I thought one reason the realm of the Fae existed was to keep the mortal realm and the Deamhan realm separated.”
“A good point, fairly taken, dear prince!” Caimiléir stepped forward to accept my challenge. “The deamhans do so love the taste of mortal flesh. They don’t mind having an Eternal to snack on either—but oh! The sweet flavor of mortal meat is a true delicacy! Let’s face it, a mortal in the hand is worth two Eternals in the bush. Ten even! So, thou art correct. We keep the deamhans away from the mortals for good reason. The deamhans would gladly go to the mortal realm, if we allowed it, in order to feast. But the deamhans have no restraint whatsoever. It would just be nom-nom-nom all night and all day. That is why we must control them. And we can.”
Caimiléir went back to the corpse of Greim, which looked very small and very sad now. He held his hand above the creature’s head and invoked his will. The light flared for a moment and there was a sound of stone-on-stone.
Diamonds.
There must have been a dozen or so. Caimiléir picked them up with the tips of his armored fingers and placed them in his palm. He returned to me and grabbed my hand—his strength was instantly obvious—and he let the gemstones trickle from his hand to mine.
“Here. These are more of the things the mortals believe in. These unremarkable stones are given incredible worth by the mere belief of value in them. These stones have power and I have found a way to harness that power and use it. As you have seen, I can control even the wildest, fiercest creatures in existence with these.”
The stones sparkled in my hand, no blood on them, and they were large. Each one several carats in weight. I must be holding tens of thousands of dollars in my hand. Then I realized that my thoughts had just proven Caimiléir’s point. And I finally had an admission from Caimiléir that he was using diamonds for power.
“The mortals will kill the deamhans, if they can,” I said.
“Ah, they will indeed. After they have recovered from the shock, and argued and fretted, they will find a way to annihilate what they fear. But here’s the secret: deamhans don’t really die. Greim will be remade. It may take time—decades perhaps—but its essence will return to its realm and find a new physical form.”
“So a little pain and suffering. A little fear and slaughter and resurrection. That’s all it takes to realize your vision?”
Caimiléir clapped his gauntlets together again. “Now thou art beginning to catch on, dear prince.”
I probably shouldn’t have, but I said, “Let me say this slowly and clearly so you can understand: speaking as a mortal, you are completely out of your mind.”
Through the entire speech, the Alder King had remained patiently silent. Now, he brought the thunderclouds of his attention to bear. The resonance of his voice made the floor rumble.
“Thou knowest the law, Caimiléir. The courts are all agreed on this one thing, if nothing else. We cannot interfere with the mortals.”
Caimiléir started to protest and the King raised his hand to cut him off. A wave of controlling power swept through the room, and I felt myself wanting to kneel again.
“Thou hast attempted to create an exception to the law, Caimiléir. The law states that the Fae may not take action that would change the course of human events. I see thou dost want to have the deamhans do it for us. That is a fine line to walk, and thine actions, though indirect, still violate the law.
“The courts do not forbid interaction between us and the humans. Some conduct that would be considered harmful to mortals has always been tolerated. Toying with a farmer’s livestock or dallying with his daughter can be amusing, I’ll admit, but such a
ctions do not change a species. Removing deamhans from their realm is a breach of the law in itself, and thou art forbidden from doing so again. Putting deamhan in the mortal realm is cause for banishment.
“Remember, knight, we do not rule the mortals. We protect them. We are not their masters but their servants. The growth of their species must be allowed to follow the path that they determine. To do otherwise does not strengthen us but makes us weaker.”
The King indicated Greim’s little body with a sweep of his hand.
“As for this one, thou hast not exhibited control or discernment. Thou has taken the agency of the creature away from it and robbed it of the ability to choose. This has brought dishonor. For that there must be a payment. From this time forward, thou, Caimiléir, Knight of the Alder Realm, art Uncourted and Unblessed. Thou wilt hereafter be known as a Knight Solitary with no land, no host, and no master.
“Furthermore, thou must repay the lady Béil a debt of honor, and she will have claim upon thee for one hundred years.”
The King had a short sword in a scabbard on his back. He reached behind and pulled it free.
“Upon our land these decrees are sealed,” he said. He tapped the sword on the floor and Béil’s castle quaked on its foundation.
The Alder King nodded in Béil’s direction and she curtsied with her head bowed.
Then the King turned on his heel and departed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Broken Child
There was no salvaging dinner.
Caimiléir left first. He gathered his helmet and turned to give us a sneer before he stormed out of the room, leaving the body of Greim on the floor. That crazy look passed over his face again, and I wondered if the events of the evening had gone more the way he had wanted than we could guess. I wondered what all the Uncourted and Unblessed pronouncements meant. I’d have to find out later.
The remaining guests didn’t precisely make a run for it, but they made little effort to linger. They gave Béil their sympathy, wished Erin and I well, and headed for the exits in small, embarrassed groups.
I wasn’t all that excited to hang around either, but I had a question I really wanted to ask our hostess. And it seemed disrespectful to leave Greim’s body on the floor and just walk away. I knelt down by the side of the little corpse.
There was a surprising amount of heat coming off the body. I could see a few holes on the back of the creature where the diamonds had been. They had been buried under the skin somehow. I couldn’t hazard a guess regarding the method Caimiléir had used to control the creature while the stones had been put in place. Perhaps he had a spell that put deamhans to sleep.
There was a tremendous clattering, and I turned to see Béil pulling the tablecloth off the table. She wasn’t bothering to clear the dishes first, so they were tumbling to the floor. The dishes and goblets shattered on the stone and the silverware rang out musically and loud. Her lack of concern over the breaking china and crystal stunned me for a moment. She handed the corner of the cloth to me, already stained with wine and I spread it out for Greim’s shroud. The body was very dense and weighed a surprising amount. I laid Greim out on his back and folded his arms across his chest and proceeded to wind him tightly in the cloth.
We held an impromptu funeral of sorts. I carried Greim outside to a spot under the cliff. Béil drew a rectangle on the ground and the dirt rolled out of the way. I laid Greim on top and jumped down into the newly-formed grave. It was comforting to feel the earthen walls around me and the smell of the freshly-opened ground spoke of rich and fragrant soil. And there was power. Like a thrumming wall of electricity just behind the dirt. So much power there, just beyond reach. So much power calling for my touch. But touching would be lethal.
The grave was deep enough that I could barely reach the little bundle, but I was able to get hold of him and put him gently to rest. I clambered out of the grave and we stood for a minute, me and Erin and Béil, looking at the black opening in the dirt in silence. Then Béil waved her hand over the dirt and it rolled itself back into place. Erin collected a small bouquet of flowers from near the shore and put them on top of the dirt.
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
Finally, Béil whispered. “There will be. All that food. Inside.”
“Dinner would be nice,” I replied. I was actually starving.
Erin put her arm through mine as we trailed behind our melancholy hostess.
We looked in the kitchen to find Max and Sandretta had prepared a royal feast. There were six kinds of soup, mounds of roasted beef and ham, chickens on a rotisserie, potatoes with rosemary, rice scented with saffron, loaves of bread, baskets of rolls, beans, peas, carrots, turnips, spinach, and enough cakes, puddings, and pies to feed a party twice the size of the one that was no longer present upstairs.
Béil looked at all the food, in shock, for a long moment. Then she just shrugged her shoulders and laughed.
I tried to break the tension. “Well, there’s my dinner. What’re you ladies going to eat?”
Béil laughed harder. “We will. Have enough. Leftover. To celebrate. Your anniversary!” she said.
“Which one?” Erin replied. And we laughed together.
Béil’s sadness returned like a sudden summer cloud. She patted Erin on the arm. “Come. We’ll eat. And talk.”
There were serving platters nearby with nothing better to do, so we used them as trays to load up on bowls of soup with slabs of meat and vegetables and potatoes and rice and breads on the side. Instead of leading us upstairs to the dining room again, Béil took us to a room adjacent to the kitchen where there was a small table and some chairs. She got us seated comfortably and excused herself. She returned with two bottles of wine and two glasses, which were all her hands could manage.
“I begged. Stail and Láir. Whom you know. As Max. And Sandretta. To take. Some food. And go home.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” I replied.
Béil opened both bottles of wine and poured a glass for Erin and me. She left the opened bottle between us. The other bottle she kept and drank right from it. Couldn’t blame her.
She picked at her food, but Erin and I dug in. Delicious and filling comfort food—and some comfort was surely called for.
“Thou wast. Supposed. To be mine,” Béil said suddenly. I looked up at met her eyes. She was talking to me.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Thou wast. Supposed. To be. Mine,” she repeated. Then she looked at Erin and said, “Worry not. I want. Thee to hear.”
Erin nodded.
Béil took a deep breath. “Goethe. And I. Were born. In the same. Month. The only. Children born. That entire year. Can you. Imagine? Many thousands of. People. And only. Two children. Born.”
“I think it was a good year,” Erin said.
I smiled at her.
“We played. Together often. As children. You, Goethe. Don’t remember.”
She was right. I didn’t remember anything before I was eight years-old. For all I knew, we ran barefoot together through the autumn leaves and shared a baby bottle. Or, considering the times, a wet nurse. Bosom buddies.
“Thou was. Just called. Laoch then. Our parents. Always talked. About us. Getting married. Someday.”
“Did you know my mother?” I asked.
“I did. She was. Very beautiful. Young mortal. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Carried off. By the King. She lived. In this. Realm for. A while.” Her brow furrowed, remembering. “Then thou. Wast kidnapped. The King. Found thee. Brought thee back. Didn’t tell. Thy mother. Let her. Think thou. Wast dead. She died. Of a. Broken. Heart.”
I remembered Keeper’s telling of the story. He said the King was afraid to trust anyone. Still sucked for my mother.
“I was sad. As well,” Béil continued. “I was. Curious. I wanted. To know where. Thou wast. Buried. I followed. The
King. Although it was. Forbidden. He went. Into a crypt. Beneath it. Was a room. Thy body. Wast there. But thou wast. Not dead. The King. And his. Priests. Talked about. Thy condition. They said. Thou wast. In between. Places. Not alive. But not dead. I was so. Scared.”
Béil took another drink from the bottle. A long one. She smiled ruefully.
“After that. I went. To visit thee. When I could. Manage. My parents. Never knew. Why. But they thought. Me morose. Going to. The crypts. As often. As I did. And I would talk to. Thee all. The time.
“Then. One day. I heard thee. Thou hadst mater . . . materialized. As a. Spirit.”
I had no idea what to think about this. The hairs on the back of my neck came to attention nonetheless.
“Thy body wast. Lying still. But thy voice. Wast coming. From this. Other image. At first I was. Too afraid. To speak. After a while. I found. My courage.”
She had almost finished the bottle of wine now. She was often a mean person, but as she drank, she grew mellow.
“We talked. Thy spirit. Could not leave. The crypt. Thou saidst. Thou wast in. A place. That was. Bright. At least. A place. Of beauty. Trees. And rivers. And animals. Of every kind. But no. People. Thou wert. Alone. In paradise.
“So. I would visit. Often and. We would. Share stories. I grew. Thou remained. A child. Thou wast. My best friend. And. I fell in love. With thee. My powers. Had always. Been strong. As I became. A woman. I tried. To find a way. To bring. Thee back. My search. Was long. And difficult. I read. All the books. And scrolls. I could find. For decades. I searched. For an answer. At last. I found. The means. To reunite. Thy spirit. And body. Or so. I thought.
“I had. To summon. A deamhan. His name. Was Brón. We made. A bargain.”
“Oh, Béil,” Erin said. She moved her chair to be next to Béil and wrapped her arms around her.
Got Luck Page 23