The Legends That Remain

by Cecilia Randell

  Shar’s arms tightened around her and he made a sound of protest.

  “Now is not the time,” Dub said from behind them.

  Shar allowed her to slide to her feet.

  “Are there any more of the dream-guardian amulets left?” she asked, heading down the steps and toward the edge of the wards. What she was sensing was not the human himself, but a lost and buried piece of Balor’s soul. As she had suspected, it must have attached itself to an effigy and thus escaped being captured in the sword.

  This was not a new concept. The pharaohs had used this method for centuries to ensure the different aspects of their souls did not depart before they were united in the journey to the Land of Reeds. Bastet had even told her of a book she’d read where the villain utilized this very technique to hide away as he attempted a resurrection.

  Excitement filled her. This was the key, the advantage they needed. She stopped just on the edge of the wards—Shar right behind her—and bounced on her toes. The air was cool and fresh this early in the morning, and damp mist hung in the sky, waiting either to turn to rain or for the sun to burn it away. She offered Old Mike a smile, and a nod of gratitude. He’d done well, so well, in keeping this man alive and from the hands of Balor’s minions. “Thank you,” she told the wisp. “You may not know this yet, but what you have done… it may mean the difference between defeat and victory over Balor. So, thank you, Old Mike, wisp of County Sligo.”

  Dull lights flushed under his skin for a brief second and the wisp ducked his head.

  She turned her attention to the tourist. What had he said in their oh so brief conversation? That he was planning to do a tour of the country, and look for old tales.

  Was Balor one of those tales he had intended to find?

  “Daniel?” Her voice was sharp, but she needed this man’s attention.

  He groaned and his head swayed, but he did not lift it.

  “Here.” Mell approached from her right, one of the hawthorn-and-iron dream-guardian amulets held out in one hand.

  Taking it from Mell, she stepped over the wards and placed the amulet over the human’s head. “This may help,” she told him. She hoped it would. Having a shard of evil thrust inside you was extremely different from opening yourself to it in the first place. Much would depend on Daniel himself. Did he listen to the whispers, or did he fight them? That he was still with Old Mike was a good indication that he was fighting, at least for now.

  After a few seconds, Daniel’s shoulders drew up, jerked, then sagged. His head lifted and he blinked, his grey eyes sunken and bloodshot. He blinked again. “What?”

  This man was Balor’s key, what he needed to pry open the enchantments on the sword and break free. The pieces of a soul would always fight to be reunited. He needed the cauldron for life—and godhood—but he needed this little piece of spirit that had burrowed into Daniel Corous’s mind and attached itself.

  “Do you remember me?” She kept her voice even, steady. It would be no use to cause him to panic.

  He blinked again, then glanced over at Old Mike. “From the pub? And… we’ve been running. There were voices.” He shuddered. “There are still voices. What is happening to me?” The last was whispered in a desperate attempt at answers the man knew weren’t coming.

  Shar’s arms wrapped around her and he pressed his chest to her back. “A stor, we do not have time. Something is coming through the trees.”

  Daniel hunched in on himself with those words. “Yes, they are coming closer. I… feel them. Please…” He met her gaze with wide eyes, the panic clear. He did not want to be taken. Balor may have been using him as a vessel for this fragment of soul, but he did not have a full hold the human.

  Reaching out and laying her hand on his shoulder, she ignored her instinctive need to recoil from the coating of malicious intent that seemed to lay on the very surface of his skin, and gave Daniel a reassuring squeeze. “We will sort this out later, after we are away from this place.”

  She’d barely finished the words when Shar stepped back, taking her with him, and deposited her between Finn and Mell. The guardi captain had his phone pressed to his ear. “Get here now. We’re leaving in a few minutes.” A pause. “I don’t care. Finish it later. Just get here.” Finn disconnected and shook his head. “They’d planned to be here an hour from now. Won’t be long. Minutes.”

  Killer pressed against her leg. The other fae and immortals were gathered behind Ailis and Cuchi. Dub stood beside the brown-haired woman a few yards away, listening intently to whatever she conveyed. They exchanged a look, he handed her Bat’s pack and the harp, then gestured toward Bat before turning his attention to the tree line.

  Faolan stepped from the huddle of fae. “I will help guard,” he said as he passed her and took a position next to Dub.

  Shar looked between her and his brother. “I need to be up there, to hear the trees. Whatever is coming is close.” He leaned in, his lapis eye darkening to sapphire. Knowledge glittered there, something he seemed to know that she did not yet grasp. “Whatever happens, you need to get to Tir Hudi.” He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead, then stepped away and turned on his heel, joining his brother. Ari and Femi also ranged themselves along the line of the wards, on either side of Old Mike and Daniel.

  The brown-haired woman stopped before her and handed over the harp. The duffel she kept, slinging it over her own shoulder beside a second, smaller, bag. “I’m Saoirse. We’ll do longer introductions later, but let’s just say I’m yer guide for the next length of this grand adventure.” Without waiting for a response, Saoirse grinned, revealing teeth just a little too sharp, and glided into the huddle of fae.

  “We’re going to do this carefully, and quickly,” Finn said, addressing those gathered, his voice raised to carry to even the men at the ward-line. “As soon as the other guardi are here, I’m going to drop the wards. Everyone at the ward-line, you get to me as soon as they go down, no lingering, no stupidity, got it? Everyone else, stay together, as close as you can. We’ll be going to Londonderry in two stages. Do not scatter at the first stop or so help me you will be left behind.”

  “Not enough time. We need to go now,” Cuchi said as he took two strides away from the fae, his gaze locked on a twist of shadow under an old oak. “The tourist won’t make it otherwise.” Dawn was closer, but they were now in the half-light, when reality and fantasy melded and it was near impossible to distinguish light from darkness.

  Mell nodded. “Whatever is out there is hungry, and it is here, not just close. I’m not sure we have minutes.”

  Finn’s lips thinned then he nodded. “I’ll take us a short hop, then. When my men catch up, we’ll go the rest of the way.” He locked gazes with Cuchi, then Dub. “Now.”

  He dropped the wards.

  Chaos descended.

  Femi grabbed Daniel and Old Mike and headed for Bat and the others grouped together.

  Shadows darted from the underbrush, red eyes and yellowed fangs flashing from within. Tendrils of darkness reached for the human.

  Pixies darted in, flashing between the streams of shadow and striking them with tiny blades, distracting.

  Ari slipped into the place Old Mike and Daniel had stood, teeth bared, a des gripped in his right hand and razor claws spread wide with his left.

  There was a whoosh, and three figures rose into the air beyond the line of hawthorn and oak at the edge of the property, barely visible against the gray sky. They hovered, the heavy beats of their leather wings sounding with thunder in the still morning, like far-off drums of war, a prelude to death.

  Shadowed hounds continued to snap at Ari, and then Dub was there, his sword a flash of metal between teeth.

  Femi, Old Mike and Daniel were a few yards away.

  A shadow-hound slipped past Ari and Dub and headed for the trio as the figures in the sky dove, one minute thirty feet in the air and the next just above her grumpy not-man, their talons flashing dull gray in the lightening sky. Shar, an axe clutched tightly in hi
s right hand and a long sword in his right, engaged the one on the right, drawing it away from his brother. Dub fought, the steel of this sword a blur as he pulled upon his Strength to increase the speed of his attacks.

  The hound caught Femi’s heel, pulling the man of ba to the ground and sending Daniel to his knees. Faolan dove for the shadow-hound, his own shadows tangling around it and his claws digging into its dark flesh. It twisted, snapping at him, and Faolan spun. The sluagh bent his knees then jumped, taking to the air with the hound held tight, then flung it away.

  One of the flying beasts—other sluagh—cried out as Dub’s sword caught its left wing, and it tumbled from the air. Killer trembled at her side, and Bat reached down. She didn’t want her pup running into the fray. Already there were too many of her loved ones out there. They just needed everyone close enough they could activate the transport spell…

  Cuchi ran to the fallen human, pulling him to his feet and giving him a shove in the direction of the huddled fae. Bat wanted to enter the battle, to shout to her gathered allies that it was time to fight, that the enemy was here.

  But this wasn’t the only enemy, was in fact not even a fraction of them, and this was not the battle that she needed them for. It did not match the vision she’d had. This was a skirmish, a mere delay in getting to the next step in the war that had officially begun.

  Cuchi headed for Dub.

  There were five very capable warriors out there, guarding the gathered allies. It would take Dub, Shar, Ari, Faolan, and Cuchi a measly few minutes to dispatch this contingent of the enemy. The guardi would here by then.

  Old Mike reached them, slipping between two of the banshees. They stepped forward, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. One, her hair a bright red, opened her mouth, then shut it, a frown of frustration crossing her face.

  Dub turned on the second flying beast just as it pulled back, its wings working to take it back up into the air. It spun to face Faolan and hissed, tongue flicking in agitated rage.

  Femi had grabbed Daniel by the arm and continued to pull him along. Close, they were so close, and then the defenders could withdraw. Her heart pounded. They didn’t even need minutes. Seconds. They simply need a few more seconds…

  Dub cried out as three hounds descended on him. Two were thrown back, but one slipped below the swing of his sword and buried its teeth in his calf.

  Shar, his weapons weaving a deadly dance near as fast as Dub’s, deflected a swipe of a clawed foot with the sword, and swung his axe up to bury it under the ribs of the sluagh he fought. It spun away, deep ochre blood spraying out to spatter against the green grass.

  Daniel and Femi were two steps away. Cuchi reached Dub just as her not-man dislodged the shadow-hound and sent it tumbling end over end into the trees. The third enemy sluagh dove, its claws catching Cuchi’s forearm and slicing the skin open through his sweater.

  Armor. Where was the armor?

  Femi skimmed between her and Finn, Daniel behind him by a half second. That was it. They’d made it.

  “We’re leaving!” Mell’s voice rang out. “Get yer asses over here.”

  Faolan dove and landed beside the other sluagh that had come with him.

  Dub’s sword flashed and the last sluagh toppled to the ground, leg severed from its body. Shadow-hounds milled at the tree line, unwilling to attack without their masters.

  They were still out there, their defenders, nearly fifty feet away. The battle had drawn them farther from the huddled group. Why weren’t they coming back? The enemy sluagh had been taken care of. The human had made it to the allies.

  Why were Shar, Dub, Cuchi and Ari lingering in the open?

  Shar stepped back, his gaze still on the trees. He paused, head cocked as though listening to something. Then he twisted his head, meeting Bat’s eyes. He gave her a sweet smile that nearly broke her heart as words from two months ago came back to her. Even if you were our doom, we would embrace you.

  Her throat closed. “Wait.” Her words came out as a bare whisper. “Wait, Finn. Not yet.”

  A scream slashed through the morning air. It was deep, yet shrill, a million voices crying in pain—or crazed rage.

  Mell’s eyes slid closed. “Well fuck me.”

  Dub spun to face her, but he didn’t look to her. He locked his gaze to Finn’s, then nodded. Finn’s lips thinned and he took a breath.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her heart pounding.

  Finn ignored her. He raised his hands, palms down and fingers spread, then with a twist of his fingers, brought his palms together.

  Her last sight before appearing in a green field bathed in the soft glow of dawn: a horde of grotesque and squat men in ragged red coats and hats spilling from the brush and leaping from the limbs of trees, all heading with dripping teeth and rusted blades toward her defenders.

  The story Continues in The Final Melody…

  A Note From the Author

  As with the book before, I had way too much fun researching the background for this story.

  And, yes, I took more than a few liberties with the myths in this one.

  One of the things I found so fascinating, though, was the parallels I did find. While there was actually more than one cauldron in Celtic legend, there was one that could bring the dead to life. And one of the Egyptian creation myths was of an egg on an island that rose from a sea of chaos… When I read that, I instantly asked myself “what if?”

  This is another little detail, but again I found it so fascinating: the ancient Egyptian custom of wailing for the dead, and the legends of banshees…

  One last thing, though this has nothing to do with the mythology. It simply has to do with Bat, and her own, personal journey. As I wrote this book, I could not help but think it was too angsty, she was filled with such doubt and confusion, where in the first book she was not. It bothered me, but I could not see another way to write her.

  Then I realized I did not need to write her another way, for this was her journey. She had lived centuries with no hopes or goals, without examining her own past, without healing. And I have come to learn that in order to heal, you must face the pain, not ignore it. With pain comes confusion, and doubt, and changing your mind a million times.

  All of this was simply part of her journey. Hopefully it was not too frustrating…

  About the Author

  Cecilia Randell was born in Austin, Texas and grew up in a home with her very own Cheerful Bulldozer. After some brief adventures in various places such as California and Florida, she returned to her hometown and took up a career in drafting.

  A lifetime lover of words and stories, the transition to writing was two-fold: a comment from a relative and a short line from another author, saying to write what you want to read.

  And thus the new adventure was born.

  Now she can be found most days curled up in a comfy chair and creating new tales to share with others.

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  https://ceciliarandell.com

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