by O J Barré
What now? Brian hiccupped. The pizza wasn’t sitting well all of a sudden.
“Yes, Sir. You know that when Brian was a toddler, my sister-in-law Cybele left Jake and moved back to Utah—”
“Wait. What?” Brian put the half-eaten slice on the plate. “She said he left us!”
Lugh glanced at Brian and his expression softened. “No, Bri, it was the other way around. It broke Jake’s heart. Then when Jake was recruited by the Axiom Corporation, he left the states. We haven’t heard from him since.”
Brian swiped at a fat tear before it ran down his cheek. He hadn’t minded so much being dumped on his uncle. It was warmer here and more civilized than back home. Plus, Brian knew his mother would eventually come back for him.
But she had lied about his father. Never once had she hinted that she was the one to do the leaving. His world brightened, and the dead man in his dog couldn’t spoil the hope growing in Brian’s heart.
His father hadn’t left him, after all.
**
At one in the morning, Brian was still wide awake. He stared at the Demons and Dragons game on the screen. He was losing to his buddy Lars in Utah and decided to pack it in for the night.
Signing off, he opened a new window and typed “man in body of dog.” The browser came back with over forty million hits, including instructional videos and how-to’s. Most links were for novels about shape shifters, werewolves and the like.
Brian clicked on the EuroPedia-link for shape shifter. Most references, it said, were recorded in mythological and fantastical literature—poetry, books, movies, and video games. Brian snorted. Fat help, that. Clicking on other links, he found nothing of use. He played with keyword combinations, yielding little more.
Disgusted, he closed the tablet and climbed between his sheets, clapping his hands to turn off the light. But his mind ran on, trying to make sense of a dog possessed by a bossy dead man.
The outside security light bathed his room in fluorescent purples. Brian rolled away from the lurid light and pulled the covers over his head. Silently, he recited the prayer his father had taught him when he was little.
“Stretch thine arms, oh Goddess bright, across this place I sleep tonight, that I may know your watchful eye, and shield protect both me and mine.”
In his imagination, an angel bright and beautiful but terrible, too, put her arms around him and his uncle’s house. The angel drew them into her powerful embrace and tucked them under her left wing, holding her shield at the ready with her right.
Letting go a long and shuddering breath, Brian slipped into a restless sleep where Jake MacBrayer took pains to teach his son the fine art of shape-shifting. Only Brian didn’t like it inside his pet hamster. And swore he would never do that again.
Nergal in New York
W hen his eyelid twitched for the umpteenth time, Nergal let go a string of silent profanities. The random spasms had begun that morning and troubled the Draco. He was unfamiliar with such worldly flaws.
Last night he had arrived late to Irkalla—the underbelly of New York City. Below the caverns of Grand Central Station, Nergal stepped from the chute and was whisked unceremoniously to the great hall by one of the ugliest troglodytes he had ever seen. There Nergal was questioned by the warlord, Shibboleth.
Normally Nergal would rage at such circumstances, or be coolly oblivious. At the moment, he was neither, too aware of the sickness that plundered his gut.
When his brow vibrated again, he slapped it, barely registering the blow. The Dracos nearest him moved away. Nergal had fought larger, viler opponents in the past, and come out on top. But something about Shibboleth curdled his blood.
The warlord was strong, even in Nergal’s home territory. Intel told him Shibboleth’s spies were everywhere. A contingent of his men crowded the great hall of Irkalla, making a show of force in front of Nergal and the Northern generals.
The warlord commanded the dais, surrounded by a host of his burly Dracos. Nergal studied him, astounded not only by Shibboleth’s far reach but by the ancient Draco’s youthful appearance.
Not to mention his enduring capacity for revenge. The warlord had no love for humans and even less for Nergal, who had long ago bedded one of Shibboleth’s daughter spawn.
Had Nergal known the female’s lineage, the coupling would never have taken place. It was his policy not to mix politics with recreation—he had surpassed too many dead predecessors to let some tail interfere. But that dalliance nearly cost him his position on the World Council.
Generals and attachés from around the globe packed the cavernous room. Nergal noted most were Dracos, though a few were Pindejahs or Jahkquadis that had wormed their way through the ranks.
With a start, he realized the room had gone quiet and Shibboleth no longer spoke. Nergal looked up. The warlord was striding toward Nergal, beady eyes glittering in anticipation, two of his henchmen close on his heels.
Nergal gulped and got ready for the attack. If it was a fight Shibboleth wanted, a fight he would get. The warrior halted in front of Nergal and gestured with one hand, bidding him rise. Nergal did, chest puffed out. Shibboleth raked him up and down with a hard stare. The goons held rank.
To the hall the leader announced derisively, “This one thinks he should be ruler of AboveEarth.”
The room exploded with laughter. Nergal glanced down to hide the hatred that flashed and threatened to burn. “Anyone here think Nergal would make a good leader?” The commander held up a hand as if voting “yea.” Not one of the generals dared respond.
Rage licked at Nergal’s insides. He held it close. He must bide his time. It wouldn’t do to start a fight in front of his peers. There was a war to win. He kept his eyes on the floor and refused to engage. Shibboleth spun on his heel and returned to the stage with his goons.
The warlord resumed his tales of long-ago adventures across the galaxies. And though Nergal’s mind was busy plotting Shibboleth’s demise, from that moment on, he kept his eyes on the dais and Shibboleth.
Brian Joins the Fray
S everal days had passed without rain in Atlanta and each got progressively warmer. Emily perched on the rocks by what she’d dubbed Crane Lake, basking in the sun while Hope droned on.
“As you know, powerful spells veil Wren’s Roost from all eyes except those who know its whereabouts. Official maps and surveys list the estate as a smidge over sixteen acres. In reality, it is much larger, as are the other druid holdings. All total, there are twelve hundred acres of spell-protected land in Druid Hills, and millions more across the United States. Not to speak of worldwide.”
Again, Emily was shocked. The world knew nothing of druids, or unknown lands hidden by magic spells. Druids must be powerful indeed.
“The enchantments protect the land, including Wren’s Roost, and draw power from the earth, its trees and flora, and its many bodies of water. For example, this underground spring provides special magic, having once held healing properties like those of Luftshorne. The fire of the sun and the air we breathe weave the magic together and hold it in place.
“Luftshorne?” Emily breathed, entranced. She’d heard the name somewhere before.
“The healing waters in Awen’s glade,” the Elder answered. “But that’s a story for another time. Close your eyes. Feel the energy.”
She opened her senses to the energy. It sizzled and pinged around her. This, Emily was familiar with, though she’d never been able to identify the source. She had learned instead to ignore it, after once consulting a doctor who called tinnitus.
“You mean that’s not just my ears ringing?” she asked. “I hear that all the time. Where’s it coming from?”
“The earth. Its water. The air. The sun.” The Elder peered across the pond. “Do you know anything about ley lines?”
“I’ve heard of them. What are they?”
Repositioning her bulk, Hope tucked her feet and tail beneath her in Buddha pose. “The Earth is encased in an energetic grid similar to a skin.
In olden days, the connecting lines were called dragon lines because the dragons used them as highways. Today they are known as ley lines. It is possible these pathways could help us locate Draig a-Ur and the other dragons.”
Emily’s ears pricked up. No one had mentioned dragons out loud since the day Emily saw a-Ur in the cemetery. The day she had revealed Awen’s manuscript to Hope and Lugh.
“You need to understand these geocentric forces and become familiar with Earth’s energy grid. There is a globe in the library depicting every ley line and connecting vortex. I want you to study that grid. Memorize every pathway and its related vortices.”
Emily half rose and Hope interjected, “But first, I want you to be still and close your eyes. Get acquainted with the energy.” Hope sprang from the grass and pounced on an unsuspecting Ralph, then scampered off into the woods with Ralph in hot pursuit.
Chuckling, Emily settled into a more comfortable position. She quieted her mind and directed it toward the power pulsing around her, allowing it in. After a while, the energy throbbed with such force Emily felt it as a physical vibration.
She took a deep inhalation and called to the elements, inviting them to calm. The thrumming softened and a realization bubbled from the depths of her being. She felt this energy all the time. And heard it, too. Her body was a giant tuning fork. Maybe now, having identified its source, the agitation would be easier to handle.
An explosion of disturbed geese charging into the water sent Emily vaulting into warrior pose. And staring into the eyes of a grinning, wriggling wolfhound.
“Cu! Da! You’re here!” she squealed, throwing her arms around the yipping giant. What Emily saw behind him made her let go. Lugh’s teenaged nephew wavered on the path like a frightened cobra.
Cu swiped a tongue at her cheek and crooned in Hamilton Hester’s voice, “Afternoon, Dru-y-en. Remember Brian MacBrayer?”
Emily nodded to the teen. “Yes. Hi, Brian.”
He held out his hand, then snatched it away, a scowl darkening his swarthy features. He stared at Emily like she might turn him to stone.
“What is it?”
“I knew I’d seen your face before. I just figured it out. You’re that woman in the picture! You look j-just like her! How old are you, anyway?”
“What picture?” she and her Da chorused.
Brian backed toward the path.
“Wait!” Hamilton commanded. Brian swayed in place, eyes like twin baseballs.
“What picture?” Emily asked again.
Brian took another step back.
“Sit!” the dog barked. Emily snickered at the irony.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” her Da said. “I told you before. We are your people. We’re different, too. Well, obviously I’m different.” His quick laugh was melodious, at odds with his appearance.
Still looking spooked, Brian dropped to a nearby boulder and tucked his gangly knees under his strong, sharp chin. His dark eyes locked on the dog.
“Emily is my daughter,” Hamilton pointed with Cu’s nose. “She’s different too—druid born. Like you.” Brian scowled and stared toward the pond, posture stiff and erect.
“Like Emily, all you need is training. Her mother took her when she was little, same as Cybele did with you.”
Brian bolted this time, face flaming.
Drawing to Cu’s full height, Hamilton blocked his escape. “You promised to do this, Brian. Where are you going?”
Fists balled, Brian snapped, “Don’t talk about my mother.”
Her Da teased, “Ooo, touchy, are we?”
Brian’s wild eyes flit from the dog to Emily, to the path and back, as if calculating the odds on making it should he run.
Emily stepped between them. “At least you’re starting early. I’m nearly thirty. How old are you?”
The kid scratched the back of his head. “Almost fourteen.”
“See. You’ll run circles around me.”
A lightning smile softened the boy’s face, momentarily lifting the melancholy. As if startled by it, Brian scowled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“I said I’d let Cu out and I said I’d come here. Nothing more.” He turned to leave. “I have schoolwork to do. I’m going home.”
Hamilton proclaimed, “No, son. You’re not.”
Surprised at her father’s fierceness, Emily tried again, “Brian, won’t you tell me who you think I look like?”
He spun and stalked back to face her, hands on hips, head cocked to one side, fascination warring with defiance. Without the sulk, the teen was quite handsome. His black eyes searched Emily’s face.
“We had a picture when I was little.” He jabbed a finger in her direction. “The woman looked just like you.” Then he pointed at Cu. “And the dog looked like you.”
Cu’s tail swished.
“They looked happy,” Brian blurted. “I used to pretend I hung out with them in the forest. There was a cat, too. A really big one, with black strips and whiskers as long as the day.” The smile flashed again before Brian clamped it down.
The dog yelped. “Where did you hear that?”
The boy’s face clouded. “What?”
“That thing you said about the whiskers.” Hamilton’s tone was sharp. Why was he being so overbearing? It was obvious the picture was of Awen. Why Cu and Hope were in it was another story. But still.
“My father,” Brian said. “He used to make up stories about them.”
“Where is the painting now?”
The boy hung his head. “I don’t know. That was a long time ago. I haven’t seen it since my dad…I mean, since we left. But I swear. I’m telling the truth.”
He looked at Emily. “That’s why I freaked out. It was weird enough when Cu showed up. Uncle Lugh said it was a coincidence, but now I’m not sure.”
“Look,” Hamilton softened, “I have a proposal. If you agree to train with Emily, I will tell you about the painting. But not until I declare you both ready. Do we have a deal?”
Brian looked from the dog to Emily, then beyond her to the lake. Ruffled by the light breeze, its surface mirrored blue sky and puffy clouds. No one spoke.
Still gazing at the lake, the boy broke the silence. “Okay, I will. Uncle Lugh wants me to, and it might be fun. But I have school and chores. So, don’t be surprised if I’m not here much.”
“Here first, chores second,” Hamilton rejoined.
The boy protested, “But my homework!”
“My daughter will help with that if need be.”
Emily balked. Hamilton glared at her and then turned back to the kid. “From the looks of your uncle’s place, nothing is being done there already. That changes today. As part of your training, you will do what Lugh asks. Anything else needs doing? You will do that, too—without being asked. Druids are not garden slugs. We pay our way. That goes for you too, young lady.” Hamilton rounded on Emily.
“Hey, what did I do?” she protested.
“Nothing. That’s the problem.” She crumbled like an accordion. But Hamilton was just warming up. “It’s time to buckle down. We have to turn you into a grand druid and time is short. The Darkness is coming, and it will not wait for you to get ready. And you must, Emily Bridget. Or we might as well kiss this earth goodbye.”
The lump in Emily’s throat was so big she could choke. Her Da had been harsh for the first time. She was surprised it hurt so much.
“Okay,” was all she could manage to say.
“A ghrá,” Hamilton softened. “You always were sensitive, even as a child. I’m sorry to be firm, but I must. This is important.” It was hard to read the dog’s expression, but Hamilton’s tone meant business.
Exasperated, Emily rubbed her face in her hands. “Well, we’d better get started then. What do you think, Brian?” She extended her hand to the rangy boy. “Be my partner in crime?”
There was a moment of hesitation when Emily thought Brian would say no again. But he grinned his uncle’s grin and took h
er hand. “Partner in crime, yes. As long as you’re not a ghost.”
Humiliation
N ergal had been delayed in Irkalla much longer than expected and was anxious to get back to Xibalba IX and his work with the human. Shibboleth had pushed him to the back of the agenda, no doubt to steal his thunder and to throw him off balance. Nergal ignored the current speaker and practiced his speech in his head. It was important he show no sign of weakness.
Many of the generals had submitted schemes to the High Council, none workable. The general from Naraka, the Bangladeshi UnderEarth, was currently suggesting shooting fire bombs from every portal between the worlds. When the humans were dead and the fires ceased raging, the Reptilians would assume command.
Someone pointed out early in the Narakan’s presentation that the Reptilians wished to harvest AboveEarth resources, and the explosions and fires would destroy these assets. Despite that, the Narakan idiot had been allowed to continue ad nauseam. He finally finished and clomped to his seat in the back of the room.
Nergal rolled his eyeballs. The logic, or the lack thereof, was beyond him. The general had not even addressed the main problem – breaching the membrane between worlds.
But it was finally Nergal’s turn.
The emcee stepped to the podium and announced him to the assembly. Nergal listened to the sonorous listing of his accomplishments, chest swelling with pride. He strutted to the front of the auditorium, basking in the applause. Today, Nergal would seal his place in the invasion and his claim to the rulership of AboveEarth.
Reaching the platform, he strolled across it to stand in the middle of the dais facing the crowd. Acutely aware of the disapproving glares from Shibboleth and his henchmen boring into his back, Nergal studied the faces in the auditorium. The majority of the room clapped and nodded. The rest, particularly the delegation from Gamma Reux, scowled or looked elsewhere to avoid eye contact.
Expecting as much, Nergal memorized his dissenters’ faces. He would win them over later, with brute force if necessary. The thought gave Nergal a sizzle of anticipation. He tapped a portable device and Shalane’s face appeared on one half of the giant screen, the shill’s on the other.