When the Stars Threw Down Their Spears: The Goblin Wars, Book Three (11 page)

His sword prompt and sharp
,

And he was gay when he held the sword
,

Sad when he held the harp
.

For the great Gaels of Ireland

Are the men that God made mad
,

For all their wars are merry
,

And all their songs are sad
.

He kept the Roman order
,

He made the Christian sign;

But his eyes grew often blind and bright
,

And the sea that rose in the rocks at night

Rose to his head like wine
.

He made the sign of the cross of God
,

He knew the Roman prayer
,

But he had unreason in his heart

Because of the gods that were
.

Even they that walked on the high cliffs
,

High as the clouds were then
,

Gods of unbearable beauty
,

That broke the hearts of men.”

Teagan met Seamus’s eye. It was perfectly clear by his expression that this was the part of the story he felt
she
fit. Finn might think she was unbearably beautiful, but she wasn’t a god
or
a heartbreaker. Everyone else in the room was held transfixed by Mr. Wylltson’s voice:

“And whether in seat or saddle
,

Whether with frown or smile
,

Whether at feast or fight was he
,

He heard the noise of a nameless sea

On an undiscovered isle.”

“I hear that,” Aiden whispered. “It’s inside me all the time.”

“We all hear it, pratie.” Mamieo put her hand on his shoulder. “And isn’t that nameless sea the waters the Almighty parted when he set the worlds in place? It rushes and roars in the darkness all around Mag Mell.”

“What happened to Colan?” Aiden asked.

Mr. Wylltson hesitated.

“Dad, what happened to him?”

“He died bravely in the battle. It’s just a poem, son.”

“Was he awesome?”

“Extremely. Because of Colan, Alfred won the war.”

“Alfred won the war,” Aiden said, and then nodded. “Colan’s part was the Irish story. He couldn’t have a happy ending. Not the kind he
wanted
. Thanks, Dad.”

“Son?” Mr. Wylltson asked as Aiden walked away. “Are you sad?”

“I’m just thinking about Mom,” Aiden said as he sat down and picked up his Popsicle sticks. “She used to help me make really good traps. But we didn’t have a trap to stop the shadow. It just came.”

“Speaking of traps, what was Doirich up to? Why did the stone children close the gate?” Finn asked. “It makes no sense.”

“They didn’t close it,” Teagan said. “Raynor did. He stepped aside and let the fire of creation through.”

Raynor nodded.

“
You
burned up our park?” Mr. Wylltson demanded. “Raynor, why? Those trees were older than the library!”

“Because of what Doirich was sending out into Chicago. They weren’t stone children, John. They were constructs molded from the ashes of those who died the last time they walked this earth. You call them plague and pestilence, and they last stepped into Ireland in the year 683.”

“The children’s plague!” Mamieo crossed herself. “Lord preserve us.”

“If I had let them weep their ashes into the air, people”—the angel pointedly avoided looking at Aiden—“would have started dying.”

“Don’t worry, Raynor.” Aiden’s head was down again. “I already know I’m in an Irish story. I’m going to be awesome like Colan so Tea can win the war. Then I’ll go see Mom.”

Nine

T
EAGAN
took a step toward her brother, but Finn reached him first. He knelt beside Aiden’s chair.

“You’re not going to have to fight like Colan, boyo. Just let me handle it. I’m Irish enough for the both of us.”

“Nope.” Aiden looked up, and there were tears on his lashes. “I’ve got to help Teagan. That’s why I need to make traps.”

Mr. Wylltson put his hand on Finn’s shoulder. Finn nodded, let John Wylltson take his place, and came back to Tea’s side.

“Traps? I’m not following you, son,” Mr. Wylltson said.

“They’re to keep Lennie safe when I’m not here anymore. He’s scared. I shouldn’t have sung him my song.” The contraption in Aiden’s hands came apart, sending rubber bands and Popsicle sticks flying everywhere.

“Song?” Seamus asked, but Mamieo shushed him.

“When did the song start?” Raynor asked, pulling a rubber band from his hair.

“After Tea went to school. After she came back from Mag Mell.”

“God, I hate war,” Raynor said.

The tilt
. The ripples Teagan had felt when she’d thrown the knife at Isabeau had spread farther than the walls of the cafeteria. They’d reached Aiden.

The stench of burning rubber filled the room.

“Crap,” Finn said, snatching the remains of a rubber band from the hot burner where the teakettle had been.

“Language, Mr. Mac Cumhaill,” John Wylltson said.

“Apologies, John.” Finn tossed the remains of the rubber band in the sink and ran water over it, then pushed the kitchen window open to let the smoke out while Teagan started to pick up the rest of the mess.

Mr. Wylltson pursed his lips. “Son, are
you
scared because of the song you’re hearing?”

“No,” Aiden said fiercely. Another tear trembled on his eyelashes. This one rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away. “I’m
not
scared. Good guys don’t get scared. They’re awesome. The traps are to keep Lennie safe. Lennie and Lucy.”

“But not you?” Mr. Wylltson asked. Aiden shook his head. “Good guys get scared sometimes, and do you know what they do then?”

“Tell their sidekick, then go to the base to make plans,” Aiden said. “That’s why I sang my song to Lennie. He crossed his heart, hoped to die he wouldn’t tell anybody. Then we hid under my bed and made more traps, but it didn’t help.” Raynor held out his hand, and Teagan dropped the Popsicle sticks she had gathered into it.

Gil had pulled himself up by his fingertips to peer through the open window. Finn pointed threateningly, and he dropped back out of sight.

“Aiden,” Mr. Wylltson said. “Last night, when your sister was going to the park, she had a scary song. And you changed it, didn’t you?”

“Song?” Seamus asked again.

“Shhh,” Teagan said.

“I’ve been trying to change this song, too, but I’m not
big
enough,” Aiden said. “I want to talk to Zoë. Because it’s important.”

“She’ll be here on Monday for your appointment,” Mr. Wylltson said. “Can you wait until then? Or do you want to call her now?”

Teagan’s eyes went to Finn. He gave a tiny shake of his head.

The night before, they’d seen Zoë Giordano, Aiden’s state-appointed therapist, rocking a dying baby phooka on her lap in Mag Mell. Apparently she’d been lost in the dream Mag Mell casts over those without second sight, believing the baby was a client and that she was on the job. There had been no way to bring Zoë out with them. No way to save her.

“I need to talk to her
now
,” Aiden insisted.

Mr. Wylltson opened a drawer and rooted through the papers. “Ha!” He held up the card she had given them on her last visit.

Teagan handed her father the phone.

“Is she there?” Aiden asked after his father dialed.

Mr. Wylltson shook his head. “Hi, Ms. Giordano. This is John Wylltson. My son needs to talk to you. Could you call back as soon as you get this message?” He handed the phone back to Tea, and she hung it up.

Aiden put his hands to his head, as if he thought it might explode.

Mr. Wylltson tipped his own head, studying his son. “How about this. Would you let me keep your song for you for a little while?”

“You can’t do that,” Aiden said. “People’s songs are
stuck
to them.”

Teagan was suddenly aware of Seamus, leaning against the wall. Watching with the strangest look on his face.

“How do you know I can’t?” Mr. Wylltson asked. “I sing the monsters away before you go to sleep, don’t I?”

“Dad. You always said those aren’t real. You said it was a game.”

“Ah, but I sang the shadow men away in Mag Mell. And I didn’t let them come into the park. Just ask Raynor.”

The angel nodded. “It’s true. His song kept them away until I could do my job.”

“Being awesome is hard work, son,” Mr. Wylltson said. “You’re going to need to focus on that if you’re going to help your sister. Just whisper the name of the song in my ear.” Mr. Wylltson squatted down beside him. “And I’ll try to keep it stuck to me instead.”

“You can’t, Dad. Then bad things would happen to you.”

“What if I promise to give it back? I’ll just keep it until you have time to talk to Zoë.”

The phone rang, and Teagan answered.

“Hi, Teagan.” The therapist sounded out of breath. “Sorry I didn’t pick up earlier. I was in the garden with mud all over my hands. Is Aiden there?”

Finn’s eyebrows went up as Teagan handed the phone to her brother. Mr. Wylltson had once wandered in and out of Mag Mell on his own—he’d thought he’d taken a nap in the park, but he’d lost four hours. Zoë must have wandered out of Mag Mell while everyone was distracted. Just walked out past them and gone about her business unaware, while the shadows gathered and the gateway burned.

Aiden turned his back to them all and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Zoë,” he whispered, “I need you. I’m hearing a bad song.” He listened, his curly head nodding. He looked over his shoulder at his father. “Yeah. He wants to take it . . . Okay. See ya.” He handed the phone back to Teagan. “Zoë said she’ll come see me tomorrow after school. She said it was okay if you wanted to take the song.”

“Good,” Mr. Wylltson said. “Let’s try it.”

Aiden hesitated. “Promise you won’t tell
anybody?
Because I don’t want them to cry like Lennie.”

“Cross my heart.” Mr. Wylltson did so as he spoke. “And hope to die.”

Aiden leaned forward, his lips almost against his father’s ear, and whispered. Mr. Wylltson closed his eyes, then stood up and nodded solemnly.

He started humming, so softly Teagan couldn’t catch the tune, then pretended to snatch something out of the air. “Got it,” he said. “You walk over there”—he pointed at Teagan—”and see if it follows you.”

Aiden walked across the room, and his eyes widened.

“You did it! It stayed with you.”

“Well!” Mr. Wylltson looked very pleased with himself. “I guess you never know what you can do until you try. I hope you learned something today, son.”

Aiden nodded. “Rubber bands smell worse than cabbage when you cook them.”

“No,” Mr. Wylltson said. “That you can ask for help when things scare you.”

“Yeah.” Aiden looked up at him, suddenly serious again. “Good guys keep their promises, right?”

“And we’re good guys,” Mr. Wylltson agreed. “Good guys also clean up their messes before they go play.” Her brother smiled for the first time since Teagan had come home.

“Tea already did.”

“Now you owe me,” Teagan said.

“Okay,” Aiden agreed. “Can I go to Lennie’s? Mrs. Santini is going to ask me to stay for dinner.”

“Are you psychic as well as musical and militaristic?” Seamus asked.

“No.” Aiden gave him a disgusted look. “Lennie’s mom always asks me to stay for dinner. She thinks I’m huggable.”

“Sophia Santini is a good soul,” Mr. Wylltson said to Seamus, then turned back to Aiden. “But I don’t think that you should leave this house.”

“He is in no more danger at the moment than he was yesterday or the day before,” Mamieo said. “Not yet. Sure, there are
cat-sídhe
in the alleys,
sluagh
in the sewers, and cars on the street. But there always have been.”

“What about the Dump Dogs?” Mr. Wylltson asked. “They’re new.”

“The man has a point, Mamieo,” Finn said.

“I’ll walk him across the street, then, if you’ll allow it, John Paul. Maybe take the
lhiannon-sídhe
with me for a look around. We’ll peep in nooks and crannies, and see if there’s anyplace Mag Mell might be drawn to.”

“All right,” Mr. Wylltson agreed. “So long as you understand that you cannot come back by yourself, Aiden. You have to wait for someone to come and get you. I don’t want you and Lennie playing outside, either.”

“Can I take my light saber? We’re not allowed to make traps at Lennie’s house.”

“Yes, you may take your light saber, but ask Sophia if it’s all right to use it in her house before you two start swinging it around.”

Aiden pulled open the door to the maid’s stairs and forgot to close it behind him as he ran up to get his light saber from its holder over his bed. Lucy had abandoned watching at the window and did one last reconnaissance of the room before she followed him up the stairs.

“So . . . you’re keeping . . . a song . . . for him?” Seamus asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not surprised,” Mr. Wylltson said. “I’m a dad. The job description boggles even me sometimes.”

“Ah,” Seamus said. “That is one subject I don’t know much about.”

“One of those things you learn by doing,” Mr. Wylltson assured him. “All it takes is loving them more than you can imagine.”

Aiden’s voice echoed through the laundry chute—
“Aiden Is the Hero,”
his own made-up lyric over the
Star Wars
theme.

“No, I meant
songs
,” Seamus said.