The Obsidian Dagger (8 page)

Biddy and Rory leapt to her shoulders and tried to comfort her.

Rory pursed his lips. “Don't lose heart, Dorian. The Sidhes gave us a direction to start with at least.”

“We'll find him,” promised Biddy.

Brendan pushed the gas pedal and somehow found a road going in the same direction as the Sidhes were flying. The car grew silent as the sun abandoned them.

…

Morna spied the flock of Sidhes as they drew closer to her castle. She noted that their numbers were thin and their faces, though distorted to her liking, appeared frightened and shell-shocked.

The feather thief landed on the balcony first, followed closely behind by the fifty or so survivors. It stumbled forward, cradling the feather in its boney hands, and on trembling legs handed the prize over to the witch.

Morna, pleased with the mayhem her little slaves no doubt inflicted, took the feather and held it aloft. She had always enjoyed the dark, rich shadows the moon cast within the tower. The griffin stepped out of the shadows with its eyes as burning slits. Many of the Sidhes took to the air to avoid being in the same area as the fearsome predator. Morna turned the feather over in her fingers. When she did release it, the feather angled directly for its place on the griffin's right wing just behind the shoulder.

Morna turned her attention back to the group of Sidhe's on her ledge. “And what of the search party?”

She knew by the behavior that the little fools had failed in killing them. She knew that they had betrayed her in their failure. She lashed out and swatted the unfortunate few that were within arm's reach, scattering the remaining Sidhe's to the air.

Morna howled in anger and spun on her heels to rest against the stone rails of the balcony. “It appears that Duncan's daughter is more formidable than I thought. I'll need to send in Dullahan.”

At the mention of his name, lightning struck the air and lit up the sky around the castle, thunder rolled, crying out in fear, and the mighty griffin slinked back into the shadows. Morna looked into the distance and could hear the approaching hooves of her champion's horse. Dullahan was on his way.

 

 

Chapter 8

Visions

It was in the wide-open plains of Ireland that Brendan found himself enjoying a nice breeze and the smell of a stew boiling over the fire. He realized that his eyes were closed and he slowly opened them, but the sun was bright and unbearable and forced them to shut tight. He could feel them beginning to water in response. He used his sleeve to push the tears away. He turned the opposite direction and blinked his lids open.

Once the stinging subsided, he looked around. He noted that he had never seen this place before, but somehow it was familiar. It was natural for him to be here. He didn't know why, but he could sense it.

There were aspens, sessile oaks, silver birch, and black alders among other groves of trees; nothing uncommon for the area. A small stream trickled by some thirty feet to the south and a family of fallow deer was bathing. Being from New York City, the closest he had been to nature was Central Park. The deer were amazing and they absolutely ignored him. He slowly walked towards them and they never budged. He managed to step within mere feet of them before they finally looked up in alarm.

“Whoa, I won't hurt you,” he soothed. The deer must not have believed him because they sprinted away leaving no trace.

Brendan wiped his eyes again and then knelt down to the stream. He cupped his hands and tried to draw up water to splash his face. He tried, but found that he couldn't touch the water. His hands passed right through the stream without actually making any contact! They weren't even damp.

“Whoa!” he said aloud.

Small voices called out from the direction he had just come and he looked up expecting to see Biddy and Rory. Two little people waved and beckoned him to their campsite. He remembered the stew and began to follow the call. He kept thinking about the strangeness of the situation. When did Biddy and Rory start making stew? Where were Dorian and Lizzie? He didn't remember parking the car here. Hey, where was the car?

The closer he got to the small campsite the clearer it became that he didn't know these Leprechauns. They were both men with scraggly beards and shabby clothing. Now, Leprechauns normally dressed weird, but these two didn't wear anything close to what today's styles were. Brendan just assumed that they were backwoods Leprechauns, so he let the observation go unsaid.

“Hello,” he greeted the men. They nodded. “Have you seen an ugly, rusted out, piece-of-junk car anywhere around here?”

Neither of the men replied. One stirred the pot while the other lit his long wooden pipe. As he stood there, waiting on the rude little men to respond, a third little man emerged from between his feet and joined the others at the fireside.

“Hello,” Brendan repeated. “I'm talking to you.”

They ignored him again. Instead, they addressed the newcomer.

“Evening, Cletus.”

“How to do, Clive?” replied Cletus. “And you, Sean?” The little guy pulled up a stone and made himself comfortable.

Sean was stirring the stew and shrugged in response before he pulled the spoon out to test it. He smacked his lips and pulled out a couple of bowls. “Want some stew, Cletus?”

“I don't mind if I do.”

The bowls were filled and the three sat in silence slurping soup and annoying Brendan. It was obvious to him now that the little guys couldn't see him or just didn't want to see him.

“What word hear ye?” asked Sean.

Cletus wiped his mouth and frowned. “It ain't looking good, boys. I've got to be blunt,” he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully before continuing. “I think that we may be headed for war.”

“No!” gasped Clive.

“But I thought the Council was formed to prevent such a thing,” added Sean.

“It was, but the wizards and witches will hear none of it,” Cletus said. “They don't like the terms from what I hear.”

“What terms would that be?” Sean shoved another heaping spoonful of mushroom stew into his gaping maw.

“The one about leaving the humans be. Conchar is a bad wizard with vengeance in his heart, I say.”

Brendan listened to the conversation with peaked attention, but for some reason the words became hard to hear. He stuck his fingers in his ears to clear out the wax, but soon enough his lack of hearing turned into a lack of vision as well. The forest faded and everything went black. It was some time before his senses returned to him.

Shaking his head clear, Brendan found that he was on the ground with his back to a thick, bumpy trunk. His senses were sharp in contrast to the strange anesthetized mode he was trapped in moments before. He looked around and noticed that the winter snow was beginning to fall and the ground was just beginning to look frosted. Large flakes were gently floating down and Brendan looked up at them. The branches were bare and he had a pretty nice view of the cloudy sky. At that point, he wasn't sure where he was in the world, at least not judging by the surroundings, but his gut told him that he was still in Ireland. Maybe it was his gut, or just some innate sense of knowing, or maybe it was the two fairies that were perched on a low hanging bough.

“These winter days are so lovely,” said the petite female Sidhe.

“Aye,” agreed the older male with a short cropped beard. “Tis the last we'll see that will begin with peace, for some time, that is.”

“Are things that bad?”

“They are, Orilla.”

“Why can't the spellbinders just leave well enough alone, Bartamus?” she pleaded.

Bartamus shook his head sadly. “I think the spellbinders, like Conchar, hate the idea of not being the dominant ones. The humans are a different breed to be sure, but to try and wipe them out…” the Sidhe shuttered at the thought. “It's not right.”

“Why isn't it?” Orilla frowned and stared into the distance, seemingly ashamed of the suggestion. “Isn't it better to have the wizards and witches killing them instead of killing us?”

Bartamus put his hand on the younger Sidhe's shoulder. “Easier, perhaps for a time. The question would be: Why would they stop there?” Orilla turned back to face the older fairy. “The humans are going to have their time in dominion, as our kind has, and it isn't for us to allow another to suffer. No, we will defend them because we can and we, the Sidhe, are a proud race that always tries to do what's right. Do you understand?”

Brendan observed the female's features and knew right off that she was very frightened. He also noticed how beautiful she was, nothing like the hideous flying uglies that attacked them earlier. Thoughts of Nerverland did enter his mind.

“I do understand,” Orilla acknowledged. “But, Bartamus, the humans are cruel and vile creatures. They don't care for the Earth or its animals and plants! They don't even care for each other!”

“We magicks weren't any different, Orilla. We had our time to learn and to develop our race. They need that chance as well.”

“Which side will the Merrows be on, Bartamus? And the Leprechauns?” The young Sidhe looked despairingly at her elder and waited.

“The Leprechauns are our cousins and they will side with us, but the Merrows are too self absorbed to recognize that their time is done. They will side with the spellbinders.”

“And the spirits?” asked Orilla.

“I fear that the spirits will follow the wind,” conceded Bartamus. “Their connections to this world depends on emotional beings, so their stake in this is only threatened if we all are destroyed.”

Brendan looked up at the pair as they fluttered off into the air still conversing about the coming war. What did this all mean? Was he dreaming or was this something more? He didn't have too much time to ponder the thought since the snow began to fall as if an avalanche had just erupted. He tried to move, but he became buried and could no longer move. He grew so cold that time itself slowed and the light faded out.

The darkness was so cold. His breath was shallow and the freezing air burned his lungs. Was he really breathing? Is that what he felt, or was it something else? Spotty lights started to twinkle around him, but his vision was blurry and the lights were gingerly encompassed by halos. It was like looking through a pain of glass at the streetlights in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Little by little Brendan began to force his eyes into focus. It was hard to do and it took an enormous amount of will power, but he somehow managed it. It was still dark and though he knew his vision had returned, what he saw didn't make sense. The world was wavy and distorted. The sun's light was sparse and seemed far away. Shadows moved about him in unnatural ways.

“What is going on?” he yelled, only he could barely make out his own voice. It was like screaming in the pool.

One large shadow was sliding in his direction and the realization of his location sent an elephantine amount of fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. The shadow moved fast and smoothly and had a long tail complete with fins. Brendan pulled at the water around him, but managed to go nowhere. The creature moved closer and closer and Brendan turned his back and closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. When the figure moved past him he let out a breath.

At that moment a new panic hit him. He clutched at the water and slowly worked his way towards the surface. He had to get oxygen. He had to get oxygen fast…only he didn't have to get oxygen. He relaxed and realized that he didn't need it currently.

“Huh?” he said to himself. “No gillyweed for me, Mr. Longbottom. This guy can breath underwater!”

He spun and tugged on the water and found that when his mind was put to it, he could not only breath like a fish underwater, he could swim like one too! Another shadow appeared in the distance and then another. Soon he was in the midst of a swarm of large, blurry, black figures. They all swam with purpose in a single direction and Brendan felt the need to follow.

When the swim had ended, Brendan found himself floating amongst the shadows before a beautiful mermaid. All the shadows gave her their full attention and he decided to do so as well.

“As you all know, a war is coming that will threaten the Merrow way of life,” the Queen Merrow began. “A new menace from the land has risen to prominence and they have their hearts set on conquering our seas, on ruining our traditions, and on plundering our inheritance.”

Brendan could feel the anger brewing in the shadows. There was no noise of movement, but the water around him was growing warm, fueled by purpose and self-preservation.

“There are magicks who are to side with these heathens from the dry. Our kin who will work against us under false pretenses chortling with the enemy contriving for our end, our destruction, our extinction.”

Brendan looked on the beautiful queen whose eyes were gray. He considered the contrast between her anger and her appearance. The heat around him grew until it became unbearable and he closed his eyes. The next thing he heard was the water around him coming to a boil.

The heat was intense and he had a sudden need to breath. He pulled down hard and made a path for the surface. He found it much faster than he imagined and sprang forth from the heated fluid to a hard surface. It took him a second to clear his eyes, but once he caught sight of where he was he wanted to close them again. The world was fuzzy once more and made him feel like he was hallucinating. He told himself that he probably already was.

Bang! Bang! Someone was hammering hard on wood. That was off in the distance, though, and too far for him to see. The sound was deafening anyway and he covered his ears with his hands. He chanced a look and stared up at another strange being and sighed. “Should I be surprised?” he mused aloud at the sight of a full-on, transparent, haunted house-looking ghost.

The ghost peered down at him. Brendan was taken aback. No one else had been able to see him. The ghost held one of its fingers to its see-through lips. Brendan took the hint and turned to spot another ghost across the room with a gavel levitating in its ghoulish grasp. The world apparently was now visible again so Brendan just rolled with it. His senses had been turned on and off so much he was left with no other option but to just go with it.

“Please be reasonable, Conchar,” pleaded the ghost.

“There is no reason in the situation, Kleig!” argued a man in dark clothing.

That guy, Brendan thought was a bad individual to be around. Conchar oozed darkness. He wore dark clothes, had dark hair and fingernails. Even the whites of his eyes were darker than normal humans. Only his skin was white and it was such an unnatural white that Brendan guessed the man had been a shut-in for the last three-hundred years.

“Magicks are not going to be pushed around by mankind!” Conchar continued. “The very thought defies reason!”

“We have had our time,” argued a Leprechaun. “Why can't you just go and exist in peace?”

“Perhaps you are ready to roll over and die but the necromancers will not!” Conchar's voice was raised and his tone dripped with venom. “Humans are not the next dominant species, my fellow magicks. No, I can promise you that their time will never come.” The dark wizard looked around at the others gathered and so did the diminutive Brendan. He spotted a Leprechaun, a Merrow, a Sidhe, the two ghosts, and this one angery sorcerer.