The Legends That Remain

by Cecilia Randell

  Dub lay the completed spear across the kitchen table. The sun had yet to rise, but the sky was lighting to a dull silver in the window over the sink. The eldest brother had dark circles under his eyes, just as he had the night before, and soot streaked across his forearms and knuckles.

  “It’s done,” he said, then stepped back. Mell, Shar, Finn, and Cuchi crowded in next to her around the table to study the weapon.

  Bat took a last sip of her tea and set the cup in its saucer. One more thing done. In another hour the sun would be up and it would be time to head for Londonderry and the Crane clan of the Fomoiri—and the brothers’ father.

  The spear matched her earlier vision perfectly—a simple wooden shaft and leather bindings, while steel had been carefully molded around the restored shard. A faint glow played along the length, lending it a quiet air of near divinity.

  Flash. The spear, a gray hand clutching it as blood ran down the shaft. Soft lights played under the skin of that hand.

  Flash. A pair of large brown eyes widened in pain.

  Flash. Mell, the spear held before him in a two-handed grip, sparring with a silver-haired man wielding the golden spear.

  Bat looked to the middle brother. “You will be the spear’s keeper, at least at first.” She wasn’t sure yet what the other visions were seeking to tell her, but they would come clear soon enough. And she had received another clue. The man in her first vision of the golden spear had been dark haired. She focused on the pale porcelain of the teacup. Had she missed any other details? Or was this a newcomer? “Is there a fae with silver hair? He is the one who wields the golden spear.”

  Silence greeted her words and she worked up the courage to look up. Cuchi looked at the ceiling, his lips pressed together. Finn and Dub wore matching frowns, their brows lowered and eyes narrowed on her. Shar stared at her with lips parted and eyes wide.

  Mell pulled out the seat to her left and dropped into it. “Well, now, that would have been good to know. Could have saved us a bit of trouble.” He paused. “I thought the one who held it had dark hair.”

  She bit her lip. “He did.”

  Surprisingly, it was Cuchi who finally answered her and put her mind at ease. “It’s probably Quinn, from the Hound clan. But, there is more than one silver-haired immortal running around Ireland.”

  “True,” Dub said, his tone brusque. “It still would have only cast suspicion on the Hound clan, not confirmed anything.”

  Finn sighed. “It does at least confirm some of the reports of their activity. But, we already knew at least some of the Fomoiri were involved, if not the clan leaders. Quinn is Cichol’s second in command, much as Scath is for Alatrom of the Crane clan. If Balor has swayed two of such high rank, then we can expect his forces to be formidable.”

  Bat nodded. She had already assumed as much. It would only make sense, after all. Balor had been their leader for millennia.

  “It would’ve only been surprising if the Fomoiri didn’t follow him,” Shar said, echoing her thoughts.

  Dub snorted. “Da’s grown to love his wealth too much. We’re not the only Fomoiri to settle into a less barbaric existence.”

  From his tone, Bat suspected these were words that had once been thrown in his face. Perhaps by the woman who abandoned him? Bat still wanted to know what happened to this woman, and maybe lay a curse of spotted skin or thinning hair upon her.

  “Regardless, we know Scath is up to more than a bit of spying for da,” Mell interjected. “No reason not to be smart in our assumptions.”

  “And none of this changes anything about what we must now do,” Finn said, bringing the conversation back to the point. “The sun will be fully risen in an hour, and we have to set out.”

  “I’m off to shower.” Dub paused long enough to drop a kiss on her head and then he was gone.

  “You have everything packed up?” Shar asked her, taking the seat to her right. His hand landed on her thigh.

  Remembered heat of just a few hours ago swept up her chest and into her cheeks. “Just a small bag, but yes.” She sent a confirming glance at the bundle sitting beside the front door. A duffle and the harp case. She’d not pulled out the instrument except the once since it had been recovered from the pub.

  Killer slipped into the kitchen, his nails clicking on the wood floor. He squeezed between her and Shar’s chairs, and pressed his head to her thigh, dislodging Shar’s hand. She dug her fingers into the fur of his ruff, then up to scratch just behind his ears, in the spot he liked.

  “I’m going to go check on the fairy and the rabble,” Cuchi said, striding for the front door.

  More fae had arrived during the night. First, there were a few more pixies. Then a leprechaun, an old friend of Dano’s, had shown up around midnight. An hour later it was three of the trooping fae, dripping with pointed laughter to match their sharp looks and swimming in glamour. And more continued to trickle in as the moon rose and the night passed.

  Camped just inside the wards, they had remained the night through, putting up only a token protest when informed that the men of ba would be “peering into their souls to see if they were going to be wankers,” as Ailis put it.

  Bat wanted to spend the remainder of the time before their departure out there, speaking with those who had gathered to help. But something nagged at her. Something she felt she should have figured out by now. A connection she should have drawn…

  Flash. Isis waded in the reed-covered banks of the Nile, her gown gathered up and tucked between her legs. Her slender limbs glimmered with the light of the stars above. Behind her, straddling the line between the fertile black lands and the red lands of the desert, stood Seth, blood dripping from the curved blade of his sword.

  Isis bent, her hand disappearing into the waters. A moment later she straightened, a carved and decorated puzzle box held in her hand. In it was the final piece of Osiris, the key to his resurrection as the Lord of the Dead, and the ruler of the Land of Reeds.

  The air stirred until a storm rose, disturbing the sands of the desert beyond. Seth nodded, his duty done, and turned away, disappearing alone into those sands.

  Moisture welled in Bat’s eyes and she blinked, freeing a lone tear. Though it had not been the purpose of the vision, it had reminded her of how lonely Seth had always been, just as she was, and for a moment she wished she could have been the one to relieve that loneliness.

  But she was certain now—that had never been her fate. And despite her earlier confessions of how she’d been the one to leave him first, she suspected that in some ways Seth was destined to always be the one forced to walk away.

  I hope he finds someone who will follow after him.

  Shaking off the thoughts, she focused on the vision once more. This one had been of the past, not the future. What did she need to know from it? She’d just witnessed the final piece of Osiris’s resurrection, yes, but what did that have to do with Balor?

  She stood. “I need to call someone. It will be fast.” A new urgency stirred in her. They were running out of time. “And we may need to leave sooner than an hour.”

  That urgency clarified into an uneasiness she had sensed before, just over two months ago. Evil was approaching, a point of chaotic malevolence. Stronger than what she’d sensed within the treacherous men of ba, this was truly wicked.

  “A stor?” Shar rose with her, his arm brushing her shoulder as Killer paced a small path just behind her.

  Mell stood as well, and Finn was staring at her intently. She locked her gaze on his. “Get them ready. Get them all ready to depart as soon as I’m done with this call. Something is coming, and it is worse than Grainne.”

  Finn’s hazel eyes darkened and he nodded. Without a word, he strode out of the kitchen and through the living room, following Cuchi’s path to the front door and beyond.

  “I’ll tell Dub,” Mell offered. “And make sure everything else is gathered.”

  “If it is not prepared by the time I am done, it will be left behind,” she w
arned.

  Mell dashed away.

  “I’m staying with you.” Shar crossed his arms.

  Already her mind was turning to the vision and the upcoming conversation. Pulling out her phone, she scrolled through the contacts until she found the name she needed.

  Osiris. And the likelihood of reaching him was as slim as Bastet giving up coffee.

  She hit the green dial button.

  “Hello.”

  She nearly dropped the phone. “You answered.”

  “Is it so shocking?”

  “Well, yes.” In all of her existence, she had seen Osiris a handful of times, and talked to him even less.

  “Our paths have not had much of a reason to cross before this.”

  Her lips trembled. His voice was smooth, low, and comforting. He sounded like… Urgency warred with the need to keep hearing that voice.

  She grabbed Shar’s hand with her free one, and warmth filled her, steadying her. “No, I suppose there has not been much of a reason.” Suddenly she was grateful for that fact. While Osiris was not a deity aligned with chaos, there was nevertheless something eerie about him. “I am going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer me, please.” She was not going to bother explaining about Balor. No doubt Osiris had already heard. “What was in the puzzle-box that Isis found on the banks of the Nile?”

  He sucked in a breath. “And why would you need to know that, young one?”

  Her heart pounded in anger and her eyes narrowed. “Answer me.”

  Silence, so long she suspected he hung up.

  She did not have time for this. She opened her mouth to say just that, and he finally spoke. “The heart of a god. The final piece to bring me back. Not many know this, but I was truly gone.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath. This was not the story as she had heard it.

  “And this is information you would do well to keep to yourself, Bat of the two faces. Some things are not meant to be told. It is not simply a matter of trust, or an issue of information falling into the wrong hands. It is both those things, yes, but some things… well, they corrupt simply by the hearing of them.”

  “And you will tell me this thing?”

  “Have you not already chosen your nature, she who has been saved not once, but twice now?”

  Bat’s heart gave one last pound then settled. “Yes.”

  “Then you need not fear this. The box contained a seed. A seed of creation that was birthed from the vessel at the same time Atum came into being. And that seed was hidden and locked away, saved for the time it would be needed for my resurrection. My fate was decided from the moment of creation. As you know already, the vessel holds much more creation in her than simply one being, as great as Atum was.”

  “Then…”

  “If you were a being corrupted by chaos, and you knew the vessel was capable of creating the seeds of godhood—not just life—what would you do?”

  The fingers holding her phone went numb, and her lips would not move. She swayed.

  Balor did not simply seek new life. He sought something so much bigger than that.

  He sought true eternity.

  And if he attained it, he could tip the balance in Chaos’s favor.

  The world would descend into ruin. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but it was a real possibility.

  “I will destroy the vessel before I allow such a thing to happen,” she heard herself say.

  “And you may have to. But conceive of this for a moment. You would be destroying what remains of the original creation.” The words were rote, as though he lectured on a not-too-original topic. “Remember, you may not tell any of this, not even to the other deities. I know of no weapon but Seth’s sword that has ever brought down a god, and it was designed wholly for me. We… tested it once. It did not work on the other. Again, it may have simply been my own fate to have died at Seth’s hand, but what would happen if other deities began to fear they were vulnerable to true death?”

  They would strike at their enemies first. The tenuous treaties and stalemates that had been struck around the world would crumble, as those who had never had to face death were confronted with the possibility.

  And, again, the world would descend into ruin.

  The weight of the information she had just received settled over her.

  “I understand,” she said, and hit the disconnect button. She bent her head, shutting out Killer and Shar, whose eye had narrowed in concern and whose hand gripped hers in a hold just short of pain. She studied her feet, and the boots encasing them. The blue embroidery was as vibrant as the day she’d received them, a bit of kindness from a small red-haired man who played the fiddle.

  She focused on the smooth brown leather, and the care that had gone into the stitches. They were the first gift she’d received in this new land.

  Faced with the enormity of the consequences should they fail in stopping Balor, she concentrated on this one small thing—on the offering that had given her a new purpose in this land of green and damp. She’d decided the day she received them that she would fight for the balance inherent in her small slice of life, and for order and justice.

  That small slice had now grown from a pub in a town in County Sligo, to something much, much larger.

  “What happened?” Mell asked, standing in the kitchen doorway. Dub stood behind him, his hair damp and ever-present scowl firmly in place.

  “I—” She couldn’t tell them. She wanted to. She wanted to tell her not-men exactly what Osiris had told her, but the warning was fresh in her mind.

  “Storeen.”

  She tried again. “I cannot tell you.”

  Shar’s grip tightened on her hand, and she met his lapis-eye. She shook her head. The words were there, waiting to be spilled. She knew she could trust them, but as Osiris had said, it was not only a matter of trust. This would not corrupt her not-men, but there was also the matter of the information making it to ears it should not, and she had already seen first hand how quickly information traveled amongst the fae.

  “Goddess.” Dub shoved Mell aside and took a stance in front of her. “Tell me.” His tone was hard as the steel he forged.

  “Dub.” Mell laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Let this one go.”

  She nearly broke then, nearly told them. Shar’s pleading wouldn’t have done it, nor would Dub’s stubbornness. But Mell’s understanding would have been her undoing—except Cuchi chose that moment to burst back into the house, pixies swirling about his head.

  “Ye’d best get out here. Trouble’s arrived.”

  “The shadows‘re close, goddess,” Daire said, zipping up next to her.

  A dark purple pixie she had not yet met, drooping between Maire and Taire, nodded. “We barely got ‘em to ya. And the human’s no in good shape.”

  Human? Why would a human have been brought to us?

  “Let’s move.” Dub gestured to Shar, who scooped her into his arms. Mell double checked the locks on the back door as they all headed for the front door. Grabbing her pack and the harp from near the front door, Dub waited for the middle brother to finish his check and snatch up the spear. With a few flicks of his fingers, Mell had the spear hidden away in the between-space the brothers used to stash their weapons, and had caught up, Killer at his heels.

  Seconds after Cuchi interrupted them, Bat, Dub, Shar, and Mell were on the front porch.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bastie,

  Help.

  Please.

  Though I now know you cannot answer for some reason, or you would have already. If you are able to, please send help.

  - Bat, the goddess who is officially in over her head

  BAT

  The fae and other immortals were up and waiting, their packs and weapons—which ranged from slingshots to daggers to staffs to bows—shouldered and strapped on. In addition to the pixies, leprechauns and trooping fae, there were banshees, sluagh, wisps and a half dozen others she couldn’t identify. There was Meera, a
nd Neall the Far Gorta—the hungry man. Faolan was there as well, and the sluagh waved to her. She lifted a hand, hampered by Shar’s hold, and waved back.

  Ari, standing on the edge of the wards, caught her attention. He gazed at a figure half-hidden by a brown-haired and curvy woman. The woman looked up from where she talked with a squat gray-haired lady and grinned, the expression reminding Bat of the seal’s wink from her vision. Then the woman stepped forward, and Bat had a clear view of just what hovered on the edge of the wards.

  Old Mike, his pants tattered at the hems and mud-splattered, stood with thin shoulders sagging under the bulk of another figure. Her sense of chaos—that inner radar that told her when true evil was near—increased in volume as she stared at the blond-haired man being supported by the wisp.

  “They can’t cross,” Ailis said, ascending the steps to stand beside Shar on the front porch. “It’s the human, and Old Mike refuses to leave him. Says the shadows are after the man, been after them since leaving the pub that day.”

  That would have been… three days? Nearly four. Had it really only been three days since she’d learned of Balor and the vessel had been taken?

  “He’s the point of chaos,” she whispered. “The human. It is the tourist, I think. But… he was not like this at the pub. He did look ill, but I had thought it was because of his travels. I did not peer into him, though.” She should have. Looking back on it, she had wondered if this particular human deserved a closer look.

  She would not be second-guessing her instincts from now on.

  Flash. A small stone figurine in a glass case upon a marble pedestal. It was squat and broad, bearing three eyes, one larger and in the center of the forehead. People passed it on all sides, some pausing briefly before moving on. One man paused, took a step, then went back to the figurine. It was Daniel. His eyes flared with a deep green light, then faded to their normal gray.

  “We need him,” she said. “Put me down.”