Echoes from the Veil

by Colleen Halverson

  “Do you see that black dot in the distance?” Maeve pointed, squinting against the sun.

  I followed the line of her finger, gazing across the thousands of soldiers lying in wait. A great makeshift wooden pen stretched out across the plain full of cattle roiling and bucking. One part of the pen stood adjacent to it, with a lone beast circling the perimeter.

  “You will steal that bull for me,” Maeve said. “You will steal it, or you will die.”

  Chapter Eight

  I sat before the smoldering coals in Maeve’s tent, warming my numb hands. Maeve had left to meet with one of her warriors, leaving me in the grim company of Scáthach. I had eaten a simple dinner of black bread and some strange-smelling cheese, and I washed it down with a cup of wine that left me with a fuzzy head and drooping eyelids. I thought of the bull beyond the hills, the tiny black dot surrounded by hundreds of guards. I couldn’t just zip in and out. Not if I wanted to get home. I had to deliver this beast to Maeve and somehow still get a sample. The quick zap in and out I had planned in Morven’s tent seemed so naive at that moment, and my weary head couldn’t even begin to wrap itself around the series of problems now facing me.

  Stifling a yawn, I turned to my sullen guard. “So what’s the plan for stealing this bull?”

  Scáthach snorted. “You tell me, sorceress.”

  “I want to strike soon,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

  “We will strike when the Queen decides.”

  I bit back a silent scream, exhaling and settling back on the cushions. “I would need some kind of cover,” I began thinking out loud, picking invisible lint from my trousers. “Might take me a few seconds to snatch it away, and I wouldn’t want to be out in the open.” I glanced back at Scáthach. “I can get a few soldiers in there and get us back.”

  Scáthach nodded, taking a deep sip of wine. “How many?”

  “Three? Maybe four to be safe.”

  “Done.”

  I leaned forward. “And then, there’s the matter of the bull itself. If I transport it back here, I don’t want to be gored by it. We’ll need people who can rope it down or something. Make sure I can get away safely.”

  Scáthach smirked. “Would you like anything else? A bed of roses for your landing? Perhaps some pillows?”

  I frowned, leaning back on my elbow. “Are you going to mock me, or are you going to help me get this bull, because it looks like your lady is pretty set on it.”

  The warrior woman looked away and stood up, grabbing her spear. “She’s not my lady.”

  Scáthach’s voice was like ice, and she drifted to the back of the tent, her shoulders tense. “You can sleep back here in the Queen’s tent with me. You’re too valuable otherwise.”

  “Fine.” I stood up with a stretch, following Scáthach to her corner where a pile of blankets lay tucked under a woven mat.

  The warrior woman pointed to a strip on the ground. “You sleep there.”

  I rubbed my shoulders, a damp chill flooding my bones with the fire so far away. “You don’t have an extra blanket or something?”

  Scáthach made a low growl in the back of her throat and plopped down on her mat, turning over on her side.

  “Okay, I guess that’s a no,” I said beneath my breath.

  Pulling up my cloak, I curled up on the ground beside her.

  Outside the tent, the camp still pulsed with life. Soldiers calling out orders, horses whinnying, the endless clamor of pounded metal as the blacksmith forged more arrows. Sleep pulled at me, but the events of the day had my mind whirring. I recalled something Finn had told me once about my spear. That the only person who could teach me how to wield it was the warrior woman Scáthach. An idea formed in my fuzzy head.

  “Scáthach,” I whispered.

  She gave a low, annoyed grunt.

  “Do you ever, you know…teach people how to fight?” My throat tightened, and I tried to spit out the words. “Like, uh, with a spear?”

  She paused, and for a long time I thought she had fallen asleep. Then she turned around, her eyes blazing.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I shrank away. “Just wondering.”

  She sat up, throwing her shoulders back. “I have trained the finest warriors this world has ever known. There is no man or woman I cannot teach.”

  I stifled a smile, thinking about Grainne screaming at me to use “my other right” as we did various attack variations and then holding her head in her hands and walking away as I tripped on my own feet. Grainne had the patience of a saint, but she was no match for my eternal clumsiness.

  “If there’s time, would you mind showing me a few things?” I asked.

  Scáthach frowned and turned abruptly away from me.

  Okay…

  I paused, playing with one of the tassels on the rugs that served as my bed. “I could do you a favor, like with Queen Maeve. If there’s something or someone you need—”

  “Don’t presume to know what I need,” she snapped.

  “Right.”

  I let out a sigh and shook my head. “Listen, I know you don’t trust me. But something brought me here. To you. And Maeve. I think the gods wanted me to find you.”

  She let out a barking laugh. “And now, she presumes to know what the gods want. Go to sleep, sorceress, and stop asking me nonsense questions.”

  I turned and laid on my back, staring into the shadows. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but no matter how I tried, slumber eluded me. A cold chill emanated from the ground, seeping into my bones, and I shivered, wishing I had a blanket or something to keep me warm. Wishing I had Finn.

  Finn.

  My heart clenched at the thought of him waiting for me in the future. What if I couldn’t find Bel? I closed my eyes tight, suppressing a scream welling up in my throat. My arms ached for him, and I bit my lip, imagining his mouth on mine, his hot breath against my ear. I sought out his energy, flying through the astral plane to seek out his light. Nothing but darkness greeted me—the tie between us severed utterly. Finn didn’t exist yet, and I didn’t have the power on my own to sail across time to find him.

  I rolled on my side, letting out a deep breath. I had spent the past year as the pawn of one entity or the other. I had to keep going. Get the blood. Find Bel. Destroy the device. And if I couldn’t do that, I would somehow get back to the future, return to Teamhair, and burn it all down.

  The tent door flew open, and the sound of giggling pierced through my vengeful fantasies. Maeve stumbled inside, a hulking male warrior following in her wake and grabbing her waist to keep her from tumbling to the floor.

  “Watch yourself, love,” he murmured, pulling her close to the length of his body.

  She pressed a hard, passionate kiss to his lips, running her fingers into his hair and rolling her curvy body against his. His palms spread across her ass, and he lifted her up, her legs encircling his torso. He roared something insensible and carried her to a quiet spot in the other corner of the cavernous tent, pulling a sheer curtain behind him. The sound of slapping skin, wet, seeking kisses, and lusty moans filled the space, and I rolled over with a sigh.

  A pair of big, shimmering eyes met mine. Even in the darkness, Scáthach’s face appeared drained of life, and she blinked back a flood of tears. She frowned, snarling at me.

  “Go to sleep, witch!” she hissed.

  I shook my head, turning back to the other side. Maeve’s moans grew louder and louder, climaxing in a throaty scream. I shut my eyes tight, and minutes later, in spite of the wild sexual congress taking place in the tent, I drifted off to a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  A rough hand shook my shoulder, and my eyes snapped open, Scáthach’s grim face swimming into view. “Wake up. Your screaming will raise the whole camp.”

  For a moment, I forgot where I was, still lost in a nightmare. Sleepi
ng next to Finn had kept them at bay, and without him, my thoughts swam in chaos, even in sleep. I sat up, scrubbing my face and sweeping my curtain of hair over my shoulder. “What time is it?”

  A thin indigo light leaked through the seams of the tent, the camp outside quiet, aside from the solemn cooing of a dove far away.

  “It’s time for you to get on your feet, you worthless witch,” Scáthach snapped, grabbing her spear. She eyed a line of weapons on the foot of her mat. Studying a staff, she grasped it and threw it at me.

  It banged into my forehead with a thunk, and sharp pain blasted through my skull.

  “Ow!” I grabbed at my brow, a lump already growing on my temple.

  “Shut up,” Scáthach hissed. “Grab that staff and follow me.”

  She stalked toward the entrance, glancing over her shoulder then grasping at the tent flap. “Unless you changed your mind about training?”

  I took hold of the staff, weighing it in my palm. It was a bit heavier than my spear, well, Cuchulainn’s spear now. My mind twisted with the logic of that, and I gave up, scratching my head. Heaving myself up with the butt of the spear, I vaulted out of the tent, racing after Scáthach.

  The wild roar of the camp had settled down in the early morning hours, the smell of smoldering fires scalding my nostrils. A soft mist settled over the pointed tents, and I pulled my cloak up higher, shivering beneath the coarse material. Scáthach marched forward in bands of leather that would be suitable for a high-end strip club, but if the cold bothered her, she didn’t show it. She wore the skimpy leather like a badge, her skin all the uniform she required. Celtic knot tattoos swirled with every movement, the flex of her biceps, the tension in her calves. The vulnerability I had glimpsed last night at the sound of Maeve’s lover had all disappeared, and nothing remained but sharp steel. The legends had never hinted at Scáthach’s number one crush being Maeve, but I wasn’t about to needle her about it.

  “Do you think the Queen will want to attack today?” I ventured after a long, uncomfortable silence. We needed to get this show on the road, and my insides twisted with impatience, thinking of Finn waiting for me in Morven’s tent. Scáthach paused in the middle of a field, high grass grazing our thighs. A pale sun skimmed the horizon, the dew glistening like diamonds. With a frown, she planted her spear into the ground and raised an eyebrow.

  “You wish to learn how to wield a spear,” she declared without blinking.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, yes. But I was wondering about the bull—”

  She raised her hand. “I told you. We attack when the Queen says it’s time. Have you had any training?”

  “A little.”

  She nodded. “Let’s see it then.”

  “Yeah. Ok. All right.” My hands started to shake, and I cursed myself. I possessed the power to make Scáthach’s head explode by channeling the essential energy of the universe, but I couldn’t wield the spear in that moment to save my life. Not like this. Not like her.

  “Now!” she bellowed.

  “Oh,” I said, my chest tightening. “Okay.”

  I settled into the first formation Grainne had taught me. Up. Down. Side. Side. Thrust.

  With a satisfied exhale, I flashed her a grin.

  Her frown remained, and she leaned on her spear as if it could transport her to some other place.

  “Again,” she said.

  I lunged, repeating the formation.

  “Again.”

  Swallowing an exasperated sigh, I moved through the steps again.

  “Again.”

  We did this a dozen times. A hundred times. Scáthach never moved. The wind picked up, but it didn’t disturb a hair on her blond head. Hot sweat beaded on my forehead, and I gritted my teeth, wanting nothing more than to peel away my cloak. But I didn’t dare stray from Scáthach’s orders, her steely gaze. I wanted to prove myself to her, to show her I could do this formation, take orders. I didn’t know why her approval mattered, why I needed that frown to disappear from her formidable face made so frightening because there was no denying how beautiful she was. Like a true warrior goddess. She possessed a beauty outside of time, outside of definitions and labels. The kind of beauty that made you dance, made you perform, made you throw everything away for the promise to become new again. I did my forms, and with each thrust of my staff, I found greater precision, a kind of strength I had never known. And that was why I didn’t even register the clip on my chin that sent me sprawling on my ass.

  “Jesus!” I gingerly grasped at my jaw. “What the hell?”

  I barely had time to parry before she attacked again, and I pounced to my feet, moving through my formation. The strength of her blows sent shockwaves through my arms, but I met her with all the force I had, finding a way to absorb her brute power to send it back to her. It felt as smooth and even as poetry. The slam-thunk-slam-swipe-thunk-slam of her spear against mine. The rhythm moved through me, and I breathed it in, her power, her beautiful assault.

  Crack.

  Blood filled my mouth, and before I could scream, she swept me off my feet with the slightest of movements so effortlessly, it only took the gentle morning breeze to send me slamming against the ground. I let out a throaty moan as all the air escaped my lungs, and I opened my eyes just in time to find the glinting point of her spear in my face.

  “Your teacher taught you well, witch,” she said. “But you lack discipline.”

  Discipline. Patience. Clear pores. The list of things I lack goes on…

  I inched away from Scáthach’s spear. “Funny, my teacher said the same thing.”

  Scáthach twirled her weapon, clutching it by her side. “And what do you do? Make jokes? Do you find death funny?”

  Heat blazed in my face. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know a fool evades. Hides. Escapes.” She pointed a long finger at me. “You want to learn to fight, then you show up for the pain.”

  I slammed my fist into the ground. “The fuck you know about pain?”

  Scáthach smiled, her gaze glancing up to the sky, now a brilliant white. “Enough.” She turned to me, stretching out a hand. “Enough to know it will find you. Always.”

  I glanced at her hand, her calluses clear as dazzling light burned through the hardened skin.

  I thought of Morven. That Red Druid always had a greater plan. He was one of the original creators of the Veil, and he understood how to orchestrate a million different threads, weave the world to his own making. He’d brought me here for a reason. Not just to find Bel, but to be here. Actually be here. It was the reason he’d given me that pistol back in the London Underground—the other one. He wanted to make a warrior out of me. Or perhaps he knew the warrior I would need to become. He sent me here to change history, to change the present, because he knew I wasn’t ready.

  I grasped her hand, and she lifted me to my feet with effortless strength.

  “Will you teach me that move?” I asked, spitting out a glob of blood.

  She nodded, letting me go and picking up my staff. She threw it at me, and I caught it, sinking into first position.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  Scáthach picked up her spear. “Here’s the first thing you need to know…”

  She proceeded to explain it to me in clipped terms, guiding my arms and showing me how to sweep in such a way my enemy wouldn’t know what hit him. We practiced like that for hours, until the sun drifted high in the sky and my body was drenched in sweat.

  Finally, after I almost swept Scáthach off her feet, she took hold of my staff and twisted my wrist in such a way I couldn’t do anything but release it from my grip. It fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

  “That’s enough for today,” she said. “The Queen will be awake by now. We’ll need to sort out our attack.”

  “Make sure we have enough rose petals, you
mean?” I kept my face smooth and blinked slowly.

  Scáthach snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips before her usual taciturn frown replaced it. “Something like that.”

  …

  We trained like that for several days, escaping from the tedium of camp life whenever we could to sneak in practice. Every morning I asked Scáthach if the Queen was ready, and every morning the reply was the same. A short grunt and a small shake of her head. Scáthach’s training regimen left me black and blue and aching all over, but I immersed myself in the rhythm of it, the constant demands she made on my body, making me forget for a moment the urgency of my own time and the warm arms of Finn waiting for me.

  After one particularly grueling session, we sauntered back into the camp. As soon as we stepped to the perimeter of the tents, I knew the mood had shifted. Soldiers practically danced through the camp, wide smiles plastered across their faces. A burly warrior pushed a wine goblet in Scáthach’s hands, his eyes sparkling from deep in a bushy beard and scraggly hair.

  “The Druids did it!” he exclaimed.

  Scáthach paused for a moment, and then she threw the wine in the air with a wild whoop before bolting through the maze of tents. I rushed to follow her, darting through the dancing and staggering soldiers, drinking and bellowing lewd songs. When I finally caught up to Scáthach, she was standing beside Maeve at the edge of the camp, staring down at Conchobar’s army below. My lungs ached as I stumbled up the cliff, huffing and gasping for air. What had been a roaring wall of humanity on the plains below now lay silent as the grave. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, endless piles of them as far as the horizon.

  “Are they dead?” I said, blinking against the dazzling sunlight.

  Meave laughed. “No, just asleep.”

  I shook my head, recalling the details of the legend. In the Táin Bó Cúailnge, Maeve’s Druids had inflicted a powerful sleeping spell on Conchobar’s soldiers. I always thought it was preposterous. A sleeping spell! It was straight out of a B movie, but there they lay. Thousands of Conchobar’s men sprawled out and snoring.