by M. D. Massey
He removed his hand, and I eyed him warily. “Keep it secret and safe. Whatever you say, Gandalf.”
“I told you years ago not to call me that. Now, things are bound to get heated in there. No matter what happens, I want you to act like you know what’s going on. In other words, pretend like you have a clue. It shouldn’t be hard for you, seeing how you go through life faking competence as a matter of course.”
“Um, thanks. Alright, I’ll be cool as a cucumber. No worries.”
“We’ll see,” Finnegas said as he slipped out of the truck.
I took the lead as we headed up the walk to Maeve’s place. Quite unlike my previous visits, this time the lawn was brown, anemic, and generally ill-maintained. The front walk had weeds growing up through the cracks, and the trellised gate was overgrown with ivy. Paint peeled off its every exposed surface.
I glanced at Finnegas, and he leaned in to whisper in my ear.
“Don’t say a word about the house and grounds, no matter what.”
I raised an eyebrow, then I opened the front gate. It creaked as it swung wide to allow us entrance. Just as I was about to set foot in the yard, one of Maeve’s pet gargoyles leapt out in front of me, landing with a resounding crash. The beast roared at me, daring me to set foot in its designated territory.
I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. “Look, Adelard—”
The beast roared again, and despite the fact that I didn’t think gargoyles needed to breathe, the force of it blew my hair back against my head. “Fine, Lothair then. Maeve asked me to show up, so I’m here. I don’t like it any more than you do, but that’s just how it is.”
The gargoyle glowered at me, blowing puffs of dust from its nostrils every now and again and generally being intimidating as all hell.
I groaned. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, are you going to let me in or not?”
Lothair growled, his expression conveying pure menace. That is, more menace than normal. All gargoyles had permanent bitchy resting face.
Finnegas tapped me on the shoulder. “Let me try.”
“Fine, be my guest.” I stepped out of the way to let Finn pass.
The old man walked up to the gate boundary and spoke three clipped words in a language I didn’t recognize. If I were to describe it, I’d have to say it sounded a lot like Finnegas was coughing up a hairball. After the old man had spoken, the gargoyle cocked his head like a confused dog. Then, he backed off to one side, laid down, and went completely still.
Finnegas looked over his shoulder at me. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here all day.”
“Um, what did you say to him?” I asked as I followed Finnegas up the walk.
“I spoke the first three syllables of his true name. That was enough to get him to behave.”
“How’d you learn a thing like that?”
Finnegas tapped his temple. “Foresight, my boy. Part of being a Seer is determining what knowledge might be useful in future days.”
“And the other part?”
“Acquiring such knowledge without letting your enemies know you have it.”
As we approached the front door, I noticed that the rest of Maeve’s house was just as dilapidated as the front entrance. Paint was peeling everywhere, mold grew under the eaves and in every shaded place, and parts of the front porch were rotting away. In a matter of months, Maeve’s home had gone from something you might see on HGTV to a shithole that had “senile cat lady hoarder lives here” written all over it.
Finnegas allowed me to take the lead again as we mounted the steps. Unsurprisingly, the floorboards creaked and groaned underfoot as we crossed the porch. I knocked loudly three times, then we waited for someone to answer. Perhaps a minute or two later, the door swung open, revealing Lucindras and Eliandres. They did not look happy to see me.
“Enter, druid, but tread carefully while you are in the Queen’s home,” Lucindras said. “One slip and you will suffer the consequences. Nothing would please us more than the opportunity to teach you some manners.”
I yawned. “You guys are awful uppity for being the hired help. But hey, if you ever want a rematch, I’m easy to find.”
Eliandres smiled in a most unfriendly manner. “I assure you, druidling, we fully intend to even the score after our Queen is through with you.”
Finnegas laid a hand on my shoulder. “If this is how the queen treats her guests, we’ll be taking our leave.” By the time I turned around, he was already halfway to the truck. Lacking a better plan, I followed suit.
“Wait!” Lucindras exclaimed. “You may pass unmolested, as our Queen wills it.”
Finnegas stopped. I looked at him, and he at me. “Well, I suppose we have a few minutes to spare,” he said.
Lucindras allowed me to pass, but she barred the doorway with her arm before Finnegas could enter. “You were not invited, Seer.”
The old man’s eyes were two slits as he replied in a still, quiet voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Colin has a right to bring an advisor when summoned to the Queen’s court, as do all envoys, consuls, dignitaries… and visiting royalty.”
Lucindras laughed. “He is none of those.”
Finnegas frowned slightly. “I beg to differ. He is a direct descendant of Fionn MacCumhaill, leader of the fianna, who were and are a power and tribe unto themselves. That makes him a rígfénnid of the fianna, which is tantamount to kinghood. He is also a plenipotentiary acting and speaking on behalf of all druidkind, and therefore carries the rights and privileges thereof, to advise, admonish, advocate, and adjure all races, mortal and immortal, as The Dagda decreed when he established our order.”
Lucindras attempted to rebut Finn’s argument. “That’s not… I mean he can’t… he has no standing—”
The old man spoke over her stuttering response like a bulldozer mowing down a flowerbed. “Finally, he is a descendent of your Queen, through the line of Oisín, making him at the very least a lord in the Fair-Haired Lady’s court.”
Lucindras was now at a complete loss for words. “I…”
Finn leaned in and whispered his last words with a subtle menace I did not think him capable of. “You have no right to bar me entry. Let. Me. Pass.”
Eliandres stepped forward, gently pushing his now apoplectic partner out of the way. “This way, please,” he said with all formality. “The Queen awaits.”
I whispered to Finnegas as we followed Eliandres and Lucindras at a distance. “What was all that bullshit about?”
Finn whispered back. “It’s not bullshit. Every last bit of it is the truth.”
“Wait a minute… I’m a lord?”
“Don’t let it go to your head. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still my bumbling apprentice.”
“You say that now, but when I’m handing out titles and lands you’ll change your tune.”
Finnegas scowled, but remained silent as we walked further into Maeve’s home. The place still seemed much larger on the inside than it did without, but the halls and passages no longer constantly shifted position in relation to each other. Despite the house’s lack of its former Alice in Wonderland qualities, it was creepier now than it had ever been.
Just as it appeared on the outside, the formerly opulent interior of Maeve’s mansion had decayed considerably. Wall paper curled away from the walls, paint and plaster had fallen in specks and chunks to the floor, the rugs were worn and threadbare, and the paintings and tapestries that had decorated the place were now moth-eaten and tattered. The place appeared to be the classic example of a haunted house, so much so that I half-expected an apparition to pass through the walls ahead of us.
Eliandres and Lucindras led us to a tall wooden door, intricately carved and iron bound, with a crystal knob and an ancient iron bolt keeping it shut. Unsurprisingly, Eliandres opened it with a gloved hand, as the fae were notoriously averse to iron and steel.
After opening the door, the two assassins took up stations on either side of the doorway. I looked throug
h the entry to a large throne room beyond, complete with high ceilings, stone columns, and a long red rug that stretched across the flagstone floor and up to a raised dais. Fae warriors lined both sides of the carpet, each dressed in tarnished but serviceable plate armor. The warriors were armed with matching spears and shields, and each had a short sword strapped to their waist.
At the end of the hall, Queen Maeve sat atop the dais. Her throne was carved from basalt and inlaid with precious metals and gemstones. She rested on a cushion, regally poised with her legs crossed and hands resting to either side. Maeve’s appearance bore none of her past pretense; she’d shed her mortal disguise to reveal herself as the fae queen and Tuatha royalty she was.
The Queen wore a gauzy white gown, white slippers, and a blue sash about her waist. Besides the simple golden circlet on her head she was otherwise devoid of adornment, the otherworldly radiance of her pale skin and golden hair making trinkets and jewels superfluous. Despite the distance between us, her eyes drew me in as they swirled from the deepest sea foam green to the blue of a summer sky, to the indigo woad of glacial ice, then back to green again.
Finnegas nudged me with his elbow, and I immediately snapped back to reality. “Rather crass of you, Maeve, to attempt to charm my apprentice,” he said as he approached Maeve’s throne without command or invite. “I’d advise that you not try that again.”
Maeve regarded my teacher as he crossed the room. “Your presence was not requested, Seer,” she replied, her magically-amplified voice filling the hall. “My business is with Colin, and he alone.”
Finn didn’t miss a beat in responding, showing that Maeve hadn’t cowed him in the slightest. “As I reminded those footpads out there, Colin is allowed to bring an advisor when summoned to the royal court.”
I tried to avoid looking dazed as I scurried after Finnegas, but I was still reeling from the spell Maeve had attempted to cast. That alone was enough to infuriate me, and the resulting release of adrenaline helped me shake off the residual stupor. I caught up with Finn without looking like I was in too much of a rush, and took up a position slightly behind him and to his right. While I was tempted to say something witty and inappropriate, I chose to remain silent, if only to see how this power play turned out.
Maeve waved off Finnegas’ retort. “As you wish, but you will remain silent as I command Colin on how he is to proceed in his investigation. He owes the fae a great debt for his betrayal, which he will pay in servitude—”
Finn’s stomped his foot and the ground shook as a huge crack opened in the flagstone floor. The crack opened wider as it zigzagged toward Maeve’s dais, and Finn’s voice roared like thunder, shaking the columns and bringing dust from the ceiling with his reply.
“You will command him on nothing! Nothing!”
Fifty foot soldiers surrounded Finn and me in a clatter of armor and weapons, as they moved to protect their Queen from Finn’s wrath. Their spears formed a bristling wall around us, although we still had an escape route to our rear flank. The door to the throne room slammed shut, and a quick glance told me that Eliandres, Lucindras, and four more assassins guarded the exit.
Great. Now what?
Despite being trapped and outnumbered, Finnegas was unperturbed. He and Maeve locked eyes, and they engaged in a staring contest so intense, I swore I saw daggers flying between them. Finally, Maeve flicked a single finger. In response, her guard raised their spears and dropped their shields, coming to parade rest while maintaining their position in front of her throne.
Maeve gave us a serpent’s smile. “So, the Seer hasn’t become as decrepit and infirm as he led us to believe.” She steepled her fingers in front of her. “Tell me, Seer—why should I not have you cut down where you stand?”
“Besides the fact that my apprentice could bring this place down singlehandedly? Or that I might command the earth to swallow your entire guard whole?”
“You’d still be dead, old man,” she replied.
“Would you attack the last remaining druids, here while we stand as guests of your court, and break the pact The Dagda made when he created our order? Are you willing to carry that curse? Would you have it known that Niamh, daughter of Manannán mac Lir, is an oathbreaker who acts in defiance of the former leader of her people?”
“You go too far, Seer,” Maeve hissed.
“On the contrary, I haven’t gone far enough. You pounced on my apprentice, just as soon as you believed me weak and unable to intervene. While he was still reeling from the loss of his love, you used his mother as leverage to force him into your service. That, in direct violation of the promise we received from An Dagda—that no druid would ever be drafted into the service of his people.”
“That promise was made long ago, by one who no longer leads the Tuatha,” Maeve said. “As the sole living member of the Tuath Dé on earth, I now lead in his stead, and my decree stands as the will of the fae.”
Finnegas raised a finger in the air. “Ah, but the fae are not the Tuath Dé, but only their offspring. And from what I understand, The Dagda leads your people quite handily from his farm in Underhill.”
Maeve bristled at Finn’s response, but she opted to abandon that argument to attack from another direction. “Nothing you say changes the fact that Colin betrayed his word to me, and in doing so he diminished the power of my people significantly. For that, he owes me a great debt, and by rights I get to choose the manner of repayment.”
Finnegas calmly rolled a cigarette, oblivious to the fifty armed guards in front of us and half a dozen deadly assassins at our backs. He lit up and took several long puffs, arms crossed as he considered Maeve’s words. Then he took another drag, blowing smoke as he responded.
“Actually, Colin didn’t break his word in the slightest. In fact, he performed the tasks you set to him exactly as he agreed. And I quote: ‘So, I have to travel to Underhill, avoid being killed by various powerful factions while I’m there, kill the Rye Mother, rescue the children, somehow acquire all four of the treasures of Ireland, and then make it back to the gate in one piece.’ To which you replied, ‘I’d say that sums it up nicely.’”
Maeve’s eyes narrowed as Finnegas continued. “And with that, the pact was sealed. Colin stated the terms, and you agreed to them. Although you originally requested that he bring the Treasures to you, he only agreed to acquire them and make it back to the gate. A task which he performed admirably, I might add.
“To conclude, it is quite apparent that he owes you no debt at all.” Finn stated. The old man puffed on his cigarette as Maeve fumed silently. “Any questions?”
Maeve mouth drew into a tight line as Finnegas finished, and tiny crow’s feet appeared as her eyes narrowed. “Leave my presence this instant, Seer, and take your apprentice with you. Else I will break the Dagda’s oath, even if it means bringing my kingdom down around me.”
Finnegas took a few last drags from his lung dart before dropping it and stubbing it out on Maeve’s carpet with his toe. “A pleasure as always, Maeve.”
The old man turned and headed toward the exit. At first, I followed, then I paused. I could see Finn’s shoulders hitch slightly when my footsteps stopped. I looked back over my shoulder at Maeve, locking eyes for just a moment.
“I will find whoever is killing the fae, Maeve. Not out of any debt to you, but because they killed an innocent. And frankly, I simply cannot let that stand.”
Perhaps Maeve’s expression softened slightly at that, or maybe it was just my imagination. Nothing more was said as I followed Finnegas to the door. Upon exiting the throne room, we were deposited directly outside the house on Maeve’s decrepit front porch.
“I’d say that went well,” I said.
“Not until we’re in the truck,” Finnegas hissed. “Come, we have much to discuss.”
17
I opened my mouth to speak once we were in the truck, but my dour-faced teacher raised a hand to silence me. Trusting that he knew what was best when dealing with the fae, I started the t
ruck, put it in gear, and headed off down the road. A few miles later, I sensed the old man relax. When he cracked a window and pulled out his tobacco pouch, I knew things were alright.
“You’re going to give me cancer with all that secondhand smoke,” I jibed.
“I’ve been smoking leaf for over two-thousand years. Do you see me hurting for it?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, but I’m not semi-immortal.”
Finn paused as he was lighting up. “The way you’re headed, you will be if you’re not careful.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, truly confounded by what he’d said.
My mentor groaned softly as he readjusted in his seat. Working magic took a lot out of him these days. “Ask me about that some other time. For now, let’s stick with the issues at hand.”
“Okay, fine. What the hell happened to Maeve’s house?”
Finnegas flicked ash out the window. Why he was so careful with the yard truck and not my bedroom floor, I had no idea. “That one’s obvious, so you tell me.”
I thought for a second before answering. “Either it all deteriorated after I cut the earthbound fae off from Underhill, or everything I saw before was an illusion.”
The old druid wobbled his hand back and forth. “Eh, a little of both, actually. The high fae like to place spells on their possessions, especially things that can’t easily be regrown or replaced. The magic distorts time, slows it down so the enchanted items decay and degrade much more slowly.”
“Chronomancy—that seems to be popping up a lot lately,” I muttered.
“That idiot Click’s been showing off to you, has he? I’m telling you, stay away from that one. He’s been known to start wars just to see what would happen.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Getting back to the fae and how Maeve’s place went all House on Haunted Hill…?”