Awen Storm

by O J Barré

  Emily was alive. In the Bahamas. With the dragons.

  Dragons.

  Horrified, he let go of Cu’s paws and rounded on Hope. “She said the dragons caused the earthquake, then magicked her to the Bahamas. Should we be worried?”

  “Possibly,” Hope yawned. “But I think it is a good thing. We know she’s alive and we know her whereabouts. We also know the dragons won’t hurt her. They are bound to the Awen, as are the rest of the Elders. They must protect and serve.”

  “She did say the dragons are completing her training,” Lugh remembered. “That’s how she knew to find me in the Otherworld. Mom and dad visit me on occasion from there, but they’re both dead. I didn’t realize it was an actual place, or that the living could enter and leave.”

  The cat growled ominously. “It is not as simple as that, young priest. The Otherworld is a dangerous realm. Most of its inhabitants are not there by choice, and some never escape, much less rest in peace. It is a land of limbo—an in-between land—neither here, nor there. Do not try venturing in by yourself. Not even I enter often, nor linger when I do. What else did she say?”

  “That she talked to Hamilton. When Cu got hit by that boulder, Ham shifted to Brian’s body.” Cu whined and yipped. “I know, boy.” Lugh ruffled his head. “I didn’t like that either. Emily said Brian was captured by reptilian aliens, then rescued by a female Fomorian. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Hope yowled. “This is good news, Lugh. The gods are looking out for Brian and Hamilton. Long ago, the Fomore were defeated by the Tuatha Dé Danaan and driven underground. That was well before Awen’s tryst with William the Conqueror. Did she say anything else?”

  “Just that Brian and Ham are searching for a way out, and that I shouldn’t tell anyone but you and Cu that Emily is alive and we talked. Oh, and the dragons are taking her to Beli to call the dragon-meet.” Something inside Lugh unfurled. For the first time since Emily and Brian had disappeared, hope sprang alive in his heart.

  “Good, this is good.” Hope stretched in front of the crackling fire. “We don’t have to find the dragons. The dragons have found our girl. Yes, yes, this is good. Now all that’s left is to find Awen’s jewels, and get to Beli. Wait!” the cat yowled. “Did you say Emily is in the Bahamas? What are the dragons doing there?”

  Lugh searched his memory. “Emily was injured, so they carried her to some shaman. But they are taking her to Beli. Hope, we’ve got to get there first!” He leapt from the sofa. Fear of the dragons was suddenly replaced by anticipation. He would see Emily again. And maybe Jake, who’d called him from Wales the night before he disappeared.

  “You love her, don’t you, Lughnasadh?” Hope purred. He hesitated, and she meowed long and low. “Dear priest, you are meant to be with her. Never has the Awen faced evil alone. Always her William was by her side. Now, it is up to you to fulfill his role.”

  “What?” Lugh gasped, startled by Hope’s revelation. But deep in his bones, he knew it to be true.

  “When Awen faces Earth-threatening situations, William also incarnates. He must come through you. You must allow this.”

  The acrid taste of aluminum filled Lugh’s mouth. The vision he’d had after the blizzard when he and Emily were on the sofa in the carriage house came to mind. “William the Conqueror? Wants to come through me?”

  “Yes, William’s blood runs strong in your family. And now, you must allow him to incarnate through you.”

  Lugh paced the library, brain ajumble. He stopped to stare at the painting above the fireplace. Awen’s fiery hair blew about her in a brisk wind; her cheeks rosy, her lips parted and full. Her eyes sparkled, twin jade stones in a sea of alabaster. At her side were Cu and Hope, as regal and wild as she. Awen’s right hand rested on a wand adorned with the emerald that had been set in the ring Aóme, and three other stones the druids had yet to retrieve. Her left hand was lifted to the heavens, palm skyward.

  Turning to the cat, Lugh probed, “Are you sure? William is not in this picture. Or in any of our druid literature. Why would you say such a thing?”

  Contorting to scratch her shoulder with a hind leg, Hope growled. “Because you are ready. Search your heart, Lughnasadh. All your life you have sought to deny your greatness. But like it or not, you are a descendent of William the Redeemer, the man who helped Awen divert disaster, and went on to unite Europe. I, along with the other Elders, believe you to be William’s chosen heir.” The cat dipped her head to lick her chest, silent again.

  Cu laid his chin on Lugh’s shoulder. Jaw slack, Lugh scratched the wolfhound’s wiry hair and stared at the cat. He had grown fond of Hope over the past months and had no reason to doubt her. His family had migrated to the new world from Italy. But long before that, they had originated in Normandy. Despite this, Lugh had not known of his link to William. It filled him with pride and something else—glee, gratitude, excitement even.

  Then his heart sank. “Emily is also descended from William. That makes us kin.”

  Hope’s throaty chuckle filled the library. “In the way that all humans are kin, yes. But the bloodlines are so diluted any relation is negligible. No, Lugh, a liaison between you and Emily would not be considered incest.”

  He kneeled and threw his arms around the Scottish Wildcat. “Thank you, Hope. For everything. But mostly, for believing in me and Emily. We owe you big.”

  The Way

  It took some explaining, including fessing up about his druid history and his hitchhiker, but Brian finally convinced Ethnui and himself to return to Reptilian territory. Losgann the Frog Elder had insisted it was the fastest and most direct route out of UnderEarth.

  They left the ocean and made their way to the caverns. After a long day’s walk, they finally neared the outpost Losgann had foretold. It was indeed in the middle of nowhere and stank of sulfur and old death. Brian gagged and covered his mouth, wishing he had a handkerchief to tie around his head. Or one of his mother’s sweet-scented essential oils to rub under his nose.

  Ethnui pushed past a pile of skeletons and wailed softly. “These are mostly Fomorian,” she choked out. “No wonder we couldn’t find my kin. They’ve been massacred by Draco scum.”

  While Ethnui blessed the fallen, Brian bowed his head respectfully and tried to ignore the dried blood and guts covering the trail beneath his feet. When she was done, they skirted the pile, picking their way over scattered bones and desiccated remains. He disturbed a particularly gruesome carcass and spewed his breakfast all over the hem of Ethnui’s robe.

  “Dude!” she squealed. “Seriously? Turn the other way.”

  Brian leered and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You look pretty green yourself, Ethnui. Get us out of here.”

  She grimaced and resumed the journey, long legs eating up the distance. A fine mist settled upon them, dampening his jacket and shrouding them in an eerie softness. His lashes were wet when Brian spied the structure. He wiped them dry and hurried to join Ethnui.

  “It’s the terminal,” she crowed. “It has to be!”

  But the inside was as disgusting as the outpost. Dried blood and guts covered everything, this time mostly Draconian.

  “What do you think happened here?”

  “Who knows,” Ethnui snorted. “The Dracos live to kill. They fight constantly, and not just other species. They are a particularly warlike and arrogant race that thrives on conflict and prides itself in feeling no compassion or other good emotion. They hate any race with a soul. They believe us weak. And thus, inferior.”

  Brian shuddered. “You mean they don’t...” He lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced around. “They don’t have souls?”

  Her eyes were pools of anguished hate. “Do you really think someone or something with a soul would do this? Or that?” She pointed back toward the remains of her kin.

  Dumbfounded, Brian stared. “Are you serious? It happens all the time up there.” He pointed toward the sky. “Whole civilizations, millions and billions and gazillions of people, have
been wiped out by humans who supposedly have souls.”

  “Not very good ones,” she scoffed. “We were subject to one of those cleanses. That’s why the original Fomore migrated down here. But they didn’t expect to find an even worse species.” Bitterness twisted her fine features.

  She turned toward the station. As Losgann had predicted, it appeared to be abandoned. Several cars loomed rusty and empty, lined up one after the other. They approached cautiously, peering through the dirty windows of each. They reached the one in front, and the door slid open with a sucking noise.

  The unexpected motion had them leaping into each other’s arms. Heat shot through Brian. He released the Fomorian a little too vehemently, propelling her across the threshold. The automatic door slid shut, and he squeezed through, finding himself nose to nose with Ethnui again.

  This time, it was she who recoiled. Wishing he hadn’t shoved her before, Brian joined her at the map in the front of the car. She pointed to the station farthest north of their position.

  “According to your frog, we should take the chute to this station.”

  “That should work,” Hamilton Hester said.

  “Who’s there?” she squeaked, drawing her weapon.

  Brian grinned. “My hitchhiker. The master druid.”

  “That’s true?” Ethnui eyed him up and down.

  Brian collapsed on one of the metal benches, rubbing his face with both hands. “Seriously? You think I’d be crazy enough to lie about that?”

  The pretty Fomorian had the grace to blush. “You must admit it sounds farfetched.”

  “Doo doo, doo doo,” Brian intoned, pointing his finger at his temple and twirling. “Everything we have encountered on this journey has been Jules Verne bizarro. You said so yourself.”

  “Point taken.” She holstered the weapon and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hitchhiker. My name is Ethnui.”

  Ham swept Brian forward in a bow. “My name is Hamilton. Hamilton Hester. The pleasure is all mine.”

  “Now that you’ve officially met,” Brian groaned, “can we get the heck out of here? This place gives me the creeps.” He stood to circle the abandoned car. It was dirty and rusty, but at least the dried gore was limited to spattered and smeared blood.

  Suddenly there was a guttural bark. They crouched low and extinguished their lights.

  “What was that?” Brian hissed.

  “A Draco.” Ethnui’s fingers flew over the keypad of her handheld, and she gasped. “They’re in another part of the caves, but too close for comfort. Let’s get out of here.”

  Choosing a button on the panel, Ethnui pressed. There was a whooshing noise, then a slurping one. The overhead lights blinked on and an electronic voice guttered something in reptile-speak. The car vibrated but remained in place.

  They eyed one another.

  “Try again,” Hamilton said with urgency.

  This time there was a whirring and a loud clanking as the gears engaged. The car lurched once, then shuddered mightily. Lurching again, it jerked forward and slowly picked up speed, rusty wheels squealing on grime-covered rails.

  Eerie shapes loomed in the murky darkness outside the windows, then disappeared. Ethnui settled on the uncomfortable bench beside Brian and pulled her cap down over her eyes. He glanced sideways and realized she had already fallen asleep.

  The interior of the car was remarkably similar to that of human trains. Rows of seats faced forward, interspersed with long-ways benches on the sides. The walls were chrome or some similar material; the floor, a porous substance that had a bit of a spring. How many reptilians had ridden in the car before it’d been abandoned? Countless, Brian figured.

  They picked up speed and the rusty squeal quieted to a whine. The only other sounds were a whirring hum and the occasional clanking thud as they crossed intersecting rails. Soon, the monotony lulled Brian to sleep. In his dreams, he was in AboveEarth watching soul-less men and women rip each other to shreds.

  Good Riddance

  The rain started in earnest, pummeling the windshield of the cab.

  “Hold up for a minute,” Shalane instructed the driver. The wipers beat furiously as she watched Patty enter the airport. Part of her was sad to see the girl go. But the relief was stronger.

  As it turned out, Patrika Tolbert was an energy-sucking vampire, both needy and standoffish at the same time. She’d been an expensive hobby, twenty grand for the boob job, and an untold amount for her hair, face, and wardrobe. But there had been moments of tenderness, moments when the artifice fell away, and Patty was the girl to whom Shalane had been attracted.

  “Airport Security is waving me off, ma’am. We gotta go. Where to?”

  Jolted from her reverie, Shalane replied, “To the park by Ryman Auditorium. Where you picked me up.”

  The rain stopped again, and the sun beat down. Shalane donned her sunglasses and turned the vent toward her face. Though it was only April, a merciless heatwave had settled on Nashville and all of the South. She was grateful, not for the first time, for air conditioning.

  Pain shot through her eye socket. Shalane moaned and pressed it with her thumb.

  “You okay, ma’am?” the aging driver asked, gawking at her in the rearview mirror. Shalane nodded. “You look familiar. Are you famous?”

  Her head shot up. He was the first person in the south to ask that question. “A bit, I suppose. I’m Reverend Shalane Carpenter.”

  Shock and awe stretched the lined features. “I knew it!” he crowed. “Could I get your autograph?”

  Groaning inwardly, Shalane smiled sweetly. “Sure. What would you like me to sign?”

  Gnarled fingers passed a small, wire-bound notebook over the top of the seat. She removed the pen clipped to the cover. “Do you want it personalized? Or just my signature?”

  He pointed to the nav screen where his name was displayed. “Could you write ‘To Saloman, the best cab driver in the world’?”

  Shalane chuckled and scribbled, “To Saloman, the best cab driver in the world. Best wishes, Reverend Shalane Carpenter” and handed the book back over the top of the seat.

  “Thank ‘e, ma’am. Here’s your stop.”

  Adding a substantial tip, Shalane paid him and exited the cab.

  **

  With her first-class ticket, Patty breezed through the security line at Nashville International Airport. She gathered her carry-on and purse from the bins and made a beeline to the bathroom to freshen her makeup. With plenty of time before her flight, she hoped to see a famous musician or movie star. Nashville was known to be swarming with them, but up until now, she hadn’t met one.

  She showed her ticket to the Sky Club attendant, who waved her in. The room was smaller than Patty had expected, and though it was clean and nicely appointed in beiges and salmons and grays, she doubted any celebrities were hanging out here. Many of the single seats were occupied, as were the small tables. Most of the travelers had their noses glued to a book, laptop, or smartphone.

  In the far corner, a ravishing woman who appeared vaguely familiar spoke quietly into a Bluetooth device. Patty rolled her carry-on to the seat opposite the woman and settled in. Extracting her cell phone, she posed for a couple of selfies and posted the best to her social media accounts, hashtag “#freeatlast”.

  She messaged a couple of friends in California to let them know she was heading home, then sent her mother a quick email. She had no intention of going back to La Quinta and planned to stay in L.A. with her old roommate until she found something better.

  At a sharp intake of breath, Patty glanced up to find the woman staring. At her.

  Patty tried to say hello, but it came out somewhere between a grunt and a burp. Mortified, she covered her mouth and jerked up straight, face blazing.

  The woman’s eyes crinkled as she suppressed a laugh. “Do I know you?”

  Patty looked around to make sure she wasn’t talking to someone else.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m Patrika Tolbert.”
>
  “Hi, Patrika. I’m Latoya Cloud.”

  The woman’s sultry voice was like spun honey. Nervous, Patty fiddled with her hair. She knew that name from somewhere.

  “Are you famous?” she asked, embarrassed when her voice cracked again, making her sound like a country hick. In spite of that, the woman seemed genuinely interested.

  “I’ve done a few movies. But I wouldn’t say I’m famous.”

  So she was in the movies. She didn’t appear to be starving, either. Which meant she was at least modestly successful. And had money, from the looks of her designer luggage, purse, and shoes. But did Latoya like women?

  Patty glanced around the room. A couple of nosy travelers looked away quickly like they’d been listening to their exchange.

  She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Would I have seen any of them?”

  Latoya’s laugh bubbled up like water from a fountain, and Patty’s insides went gooey. She fumbled in her purse and pulled a Kleenex from the package Shalane made her keep and dabbed at her nose. The darn thing had been dripping since arriving in the South.

  “Maybe. They’re mostly R-rated, so maybe not. How old are you?” There was a glint in Latoya’s eye that hadn’t been there before.

  “Eighteen. But I’m old for my age. Or so Shalane said.”

  “Shalane?” The narrow eyebrows launched toward the ceiling. “Shalane Carpenter? The witch turned evangelist?”

  Patty nodded, wary at the mention of Shalane being a witch. “Do you know her?” She held her breath, waiting for the answer.

  “No. But that’s why you look familiar. I just saw your picture in the L.A. Times.” Latoya reached into her bag and drew out her phone. She opened it and swiped the screen a few times, then turned it around and handed it to Patty.

  The title read: IS AMERICA READY FOR A CHILD-MOLESTING EVANGELIST?