The Screaming Stone: The Otherworld Series Book 2 (15 page)

“Francis,” whispered a meeker member of the group.  “That’s not very nice,” she admonished.

“Yeah, besides, Fran-cis,” returned another.  “That’s what Viagra is for!”

All the ladies snickered, some more lady-like than others before the embarrassed guide pushed the group on and away from Duncan and Annie.

“What is Viagra?” he asked.

“Um, I’m not sure you will ever,” she said with a quick glance down, “need that.”

“So it works like mandrake root then?” he asked in an attempt to clarify her mysterious words.  But judging from where her eyes drifted he got the point.

“I am not answering that,” she replied as her face reddened.  “Come on we haven’t got much time left before we need to find our way back to the church and meet up with the others.  Besides I want to see the Mound of Hostages.”

The Mound of the Hostages was barred and closed.  Apparently the site was so old that no one was allowed entrance except during the winter solstice, and even then only thirty people were allowed to enter and they were chosen from tens of thousands who petitioned for entry to see a single ray of light pierce the ancient burial chamber.  The history buff in her sighed in disappointment.  Honestly Tara was not living up to her expectations.  She had hoped for more jaw dropping historical significance.  Instead she found her eyes focused on the ground in an attempt to sidestep any landmines the wandering sheep had left.  The sheep had surprised her.  She had not expected that livestock would be granted permission to wander freely upon such a historical site.

Shortly after moving to Salem she had waded, a bit too far, out into the ocean at the Wharf and had been told by a stern, but polite, National Park Ranger that there was no wading and absolutely no swimming allowed at the Wharf.  When she tried to argue the point, after all there were no signs prohibiting swimming, he simple informed her that it was a national monument, the first in the country as a matter of fact, he had tried to impress upon her the significance of the site hoping that his brief history lecture was enough for her to get the point.  It was and she quickly evacuated the water.  You couldn’t even wander into the water at a national site in America, but it seemed just fine to have sheep be the grounds keepers for Ireland’s biggest nationally protected site.

“I wish we could go in,” she said as she pressed her face between the bars that gated the entrance into the Mound of Hostages.  “I would love to get a better look at that stone,” she said pointing at a rather large boulder that sat just to the left of the entryway and that had been inscribed with strange symbols.

“It’s a map,” Duncan informed her barely glancing at it.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked as she tilted her head to the side attempting to get a better look at it.  Duncan shrugged his shoulders seemingly unable to answer her question with words.

He seemed preoccupied with the larger mound that sat to the south of the Mound of Hostages, the spot where the
Lia Fáils
remained hidden just out of sight.  She had tried since they had stepped onto the ancient sight to think of anything but that stone.  She had been assured that Robert was fine, if not impatiently awaiting his rescue from and his imprisonment.  His hero crush was quickly waning as Finn had begun to heal and tell tales of his exploits with the ladies.  Whether because of his ancestor’s past relationship with Finn or because Robert just wasn’t interested in the ladies, he had grown tired, rather quickly of Finn’s past conquests.  Shortly before the rest of the group had embarked upon their rescue mission Rian had been allowed to make one trip to visit the two men and inform them of the night’s plan, and because Annie and Kat had insisted on knowing that they were still alright. 

Annie had little else to worry about once she was assured that Robert, although bored, was fine.  She had only one thing now that occupied the fore front of her mind; whether or not she would survive stepping on the
Lia Fáils
.

The
Lia Fáils
had been brought with the Tuatha de Danann from their ancient cities; cities that if legend was to be believed predated man on earth.  It was the kingmaker.  It sung out the long (or in some cases the short) line of the future ruler.  It could crown glory upon those that deserved it or, just as easily take it away.  Duncan seemed to believe that as she was only half royal she could be and would be destroyed.  She wasn’t going to lie to herself, the thought of suddenly not existing terrified her more than she would ever admit to anyone; but she had to at least try.  The goddess inside of her was testing the restraints of her mortal cage, checking for weaknesses in the enchantment that had bound the two of them together.  When Annie’s anger showed itself the goddess seemed to be able to gain control and power.  She could not go through the rest of her life living in fear of her own anger like she was some big green rage machine.  Besides if the goddess did not return to her world, the Otherworld, the world Annie called home was doomed anyways.  Not having a choice made choosing her path easy, but that did mean she was comfortable with the only option available to her.

Annie glanced down at her watch, checking the time, yet again.  She did not want to be caught, stuck in nerd mode as she sucked up all the history that surrounded her and hence lose track of time.  Time was running away, moving fast and swift, and it was just about time to meet up with the others.

“It’s time,” she informed Duncan who nodded in sullen agreement.

He had been quiet since his dream confession.  He seemed lost in his own mind as he glanced around him trying to solve the mystery of his own dreams.  She had few answers to offer him.  She had theories, but that was it.  After all they had been through she did not want to lure him in deeper with theories.  She had heard her father and Finn speaking in hushed tones about a prophecy, a telling they had referred to it.  That the true king of the Sidhe would return, and her alter ego Áine was the prize, the lost king’s future queen.  That shut Duncan out.  She understood how he could feel so used, understood why he had constantly asked her to run with him.  Better to have the small piece of the love of his life, heck of many life times, than to be used and left heartbroken without her.  She felt for him, well because she understood exactly how he felt.  She could never be Áine, could never be the spark of life that inspired a legion of Seelie to fight for her.  She was just Annie.  For what it was worth she was happy with that, she had her own merry little band of followers, in the end they were all she needed.

“Come on,” he said taking her hand gently.  “We’ll go find the others.”

When her fingers wrapped around his hand she thought about running away with him like he had asked her so many times before.  She wanted in that moment to run and never let go of him.

Chapter Fourteen

Stranger  Danger

Duncan stared up at the statue before him.  The face looked familiar and he wondered where he had seen it before.  Since his trip to the natural world he had seen many faces and images including the strange bronze statue of a full sized woman sitting on a crescent moon in Salem.  Although her face had not been familiar to him he had stared at it for a long while, as he tried to determine which goddess she represented to the people of this strange New World.  This statue was different, older and held more importance than the woman who had been “bewitched” into a statue.

“That’s St. Patrick,” Kat informed him.  “He converted the Celts to the new religion by challenging their old gods and ridding the country of snakes.”

“That’s Patrick?” Duncan exclaimed astonished.  “That is not really what he looked like.  He never wore clothes like that,” he said pointing to the strange robes.  “An’ that hat, what function would it possibly serve?”

“You knew Patrick?” Kat asked skeptically.  Her fists rested firmly on her hips and a doubtful look was painted on her face. 

Duncan leaned down close to her so that his voice would carry only to her ears.  “Aye,” he said with confident smile.  “Tis the monk I told my story ta when I first came lookin’ for her,” he said tilting his head in Annie’s direction.  Duncan continued to stare at Annie who was talking to a tour guide.  Duncan snickered when Kat gasped in shock.  Annie turned in their direction barely listening to the guide and Duncan winked playfully at her.  He watched as her eyes found the statue behind them and having realized what they must be discussing, hid a smile behind her hand before turning her attention back to the young guide.

  “He was a bit full o’ himself; I guess that explains the fancy garb.  Snakes in Ireland,” Duncan muttered as he straightened up and walked towards Annie shaking his head. 

Kat wasted no time rushing to Griffin and relating the latest bit of gossip to him.  Duncan was astonished.  These people so readily bought that Annie was a goddess, that they were witches, that they all held the ability to wield magick, yet they balked over the fact that Duncan had talked to a man who actually existed in history.  Maybe it was the theory of time they had a hard time accepting. 

Time shifted and moved differently in the Otherworld, it was not bound by the same rules as in the natural world.  The earth needed a clock to tell things when to grow and when to die; the Otherworld needed no such timer.  That was why when people did fall through a hole in the veil time moved on without them.  Once they were removed from the time keeper that ruled over earth, time held no control over them and, hence, that was why they never aged. 

Duncan wandered closer to Annie all the while keeping an eye out for the tiniest Fae members of their group, hoping that Rian and Autie were well hidden, if not hiding with Finn and Robert.  Knackers had met them, alone, outside the doors of the great stone church that seemed out of place on the ancient grounds of Tara.    Fiona came along with Kat and Griffin and although people occasionally stared at her when they thought no one was looking, Annie had assured him that little people existed in this world, Fiona was unusual yes, but not that unusual.  Annie was talking to one of the men who ran the short film production inside the now non-functioning church.  When the young man saw Duncan approach his eyes widened slightly, he nodded abruptly at Annie and quickly disappeared.  Annie was left alone and looked slightly confused.

“Guessin’ he said all he needed ta then,” Duncan said announcing his presence.

Annie spun around and frowned up at him.  “Not really,” she admitted.  “All I got out of him was that the last showing of the short film is starting in about twenty minutes.  I was just beginning to ask him about the construction of the church, to see if there is a basement and where it would be, but he ran off before I could get anything out of him.”

“Might be able ta help ye there lass,” said an old wheezy sounding voice.

Duncan and Annie turned in unison tracking the sound of the voice.  Sitting on the aging stone wall was an equally bent and aging old man with scattered wisps of white hair clinging desperately to his balding scalp.  He smiled up at them revealing his teeth which were following the same pattern of disappearance as the hair on his head.  His brown eyes were glassy, whether from age or drink Duncan could not tell.  Cautiously Duncan inhaled; he was relieved when no offending odor permeated his nostrils.  For a moment he was afraid that Pete or one of his fellow Fir Darrigs had followed them from Salem and brought with him the unique perfume of the Fir Darrigs.  The man’s scent told him nothing he did not already know, he was, for the time being, just an old man.

“An’ how will ye be helpin’ us?” questioned a condescending Knackers, who had snuck up behind Duncan, guarding his shadow as he always did. 

Duncan glanced over his shoulder and realized that their small army stood ready and waiting at their backs.  Kat and Griffin held hands, which to any casual onlooker seemed harmless, unless you knew that the two were skilled witches who worked best when in tandem.  Knackers, who had spoken out first had one of his hands buried into one of the many pockets of his pants, clutching what Duncan hoped was his dirk.  Fiona stood just to the side of Knackers clutching her walking stick with such fierceness that her tiny hands were beginning to turn white.  All stood ready and waiting to protect Annie at any sign of treachery.  The old man seemed aware of the peril he was facing, yet he remained unfazed and wheezed out a cackle that was more frightening than jolly.

“Got yerself a nice little army then eh?” he said as he spat brown goo onto the ground at his feet.

“What of it old mon?” Duncan challenged beginning to understand everyone’s unease.  Danger sometimes came wrapped in an unassuming package.

The old man raised one bony shoulder in a nonchalant gesture.  Failinis growled menacingly at the stranger as Duncan carefully stepped in front of Annie.  The old man needed to speak quickly or else the few late day tourists would have more to talk about then the setting sun.  Duncan was eager to pull out Answerer but held himself in check, although just barely.  The ancient man cackled again, this time at Failinis, and winked down at the dog.  “Good breed,” he said eying the dog over.  “Irish wolfhound, if I no’ be mistaken.  Yours?” he asked trying to look at Annie past Duncan’s large shielding frame.

“Mine,” Duncan said drawing the man’s attention back to him.

The man tilted his head and clenched his left eye shut as he pursed his lips and stared silently up at Duncan.  Everyone tensed slightly and Duncan could feel the air around them start to shift as he began to feel safe and well protected. Griffin stood solidly behind him muttering a few words just below his hearing level.  Again Duncan was struck by the feeling that he knew this man squinting up at him, or at least he had known him in the past.  A strange thought struck him and he quickly glanced over his shoulder at the statue he had been studying just moments ago before swinging his attention back to the old man sitting on the wall.

“Patrick?”

The old man nodded.  “Oisin,” he returned.  The group gasped and the air shifted yet again as Griffin released the protection spell he had been weaving.

“You’ve aged,” Duncan said.

“Aye an’ ye’ve not,” returned Patrick.  “Maybe I should have taken up yer offer ta visit yer Otherworld.  Might have saved me the pain o’ gout,” he muttered as he absently began rubbing his swollen knees.  “But that be neither here nor there,” he said waving a dismissive hand in front of his deeply lined face as if an invisible fly was pestering him.

“Is he really here or we all just hallucinating?” Kat asked in a hushed tone.  No one answered immediately.  

“I visit all of me sites from time ta time, especially when trouble be brewin’,” Patrick answered as he leaned sideways to better look upon his inquisitor.  “Why should we be any different than the pagan gods of ol’?  Where there be belief there be power.  We come when called.  Well usually,” he added as a quiet afterthought ending his tiny speech with the shrug of one bony shoulder.

“Why are ye hear Patrick?” Duncan asked drawing the old saint’s attention back onto him.  When Duncan had first met Patrick he had liked the man.  He held within his wiry frame the power of ancient druids.  It had been breed into him.  But the new growing religion that had started to take root in the east had drawn on and used Patrick’s power converting him just as he had converted the Celts.  Had he not held such an ancient power within him he would never have been able to defeat some of the monsters that had roamed the wilds of Ireland in the not too distant past.  At the time Ireland was still largely uninhabited, the Unseelie felt safer here than in the Otherworld where they were constantly pursued and hunted.  Where the Unseelie were the nasties followed.  Patrick had done a good job helping the Seelie clean up; but snakes?

“Ta help ye course,” the old saint replied spitting on the ground again.  “Oisin, there be monsters out there again waiting in the darkness to eat yer goddess whole.  One bite,” he said dramatically chopping his mouth closed.

“This news is no’ new information,” he informed the strange saint who held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Ye always were difficult ta converse with Oisin.”

“Duncan!” Annie hollered finally joining the conversation.  “Call him by his name not by that lie you told about him!”

“I see ye’ve finally found her,” he said tilting his head to the side as his age worn eyes studied her.   “I can understand why ye were so desperate an’ in love.  She be a catch,” he said winking creepily at her.

Annie cringed and Duncan pushed her behind him again and turned back to face the saint he had once thought of as friend.  “We’re done here ol’ mon.  Unless ye’ve come ta offer aide?”

“There be another way out of the trap yer walking into!” Patrick hollered as Duncan began herding everyone away from the mad monk.  Duncan froze.

“Where?” he asked, refusing to turn around.

“There be a name inscribed in stone.  An ancient family that stands alone.  In the boneyard ye find yer clue.  Tis a name that only Cernunnos knew.”

“Riddles and rhymes…why is it always riddles and rhymes?” Duncan muttered.  He turned to face the mad old monk but the space he had occupied only moments before was now vacant.  “Riddles and rhymes be damned!” he cursed.

They had fifteen minutes to decipher Patrick’s strange clue.  Duncan was quickly growing impatient.  The crazy old monk could be leading them astray but Duncan doubted it.  Patrick was truthful, at least truthful enough not to let anyone be harmed by his words.  His god had a strict code of conduct.  For once he would have appreciated a straight forward destination.  Oh, I know what you’re looking for and it’s right there ten steps left and eleven to the right.  Nope, skulls and dead monks had a lot in common; they liked to confuse the living.

“He said Cernunnos right?” Kat asked the group.

Duncan thought they looked ridiculous standing in a tight circle everyone had and arm draped over the person to either side of them in what Kat called a ‘huddle’, in the middle of a decaying graveyard.  The boneyard part of the rhyming clue had been the first and easiest to decipher as everyone knew what was being referred to.  The graveyard yielded no immediate clues and was barely older than the one in Salem, which meant it was remarkably young for such and ancient country.  The names and dates listed on the aging stones were of seemingly little help.  

“Yes, he said Cernunnos, the ancient Celtic god of fertility.  Does that mean anything to anyone?” Griffin asked.  Duncan and the rest of the group shook their heads, Duncan had never heard of Cernunnos.