Chapter 10
After the relatively dim lighting inside the tent, the blazing sun overhead made me squint. Everything was too bright and vivid: the grass was greener than it should have been, the sky a deeper blue. Colors seem to have more substance in the Otherworld.
The air was noticeably warmer, as well. I wanted to shrug off my overcoat, but the protection it gave me as a declared member of the Arcanum was worth the discomfort. I was glad I was wearing just a T-shirt underneath.
The two detectives stepped through behind me, and I heard Detective Connors gasp. I guessed she’d seen the twenty-foot stone archway the door led through, reminiscent of its cousins on Salisbury Plain. Such structures weren’t the only gates into the Otherworld, but they were permanently bound and required a lot less energy to open and maintain compared to opening a portal. Someone like Aengus could open most any of them from anywhere on Earth, with no more effort than opening a physical door. I couldn’t make use of them as easily, but there were a few I knew well.
Looking around, I realized this wasn’t one of them. I didn’t recognize where we’d arrived, though the tree was familiar. Hawthorn. They grew in places where the boundary between our world and the Otherworld were thin, on both sides of the veil.
I heard the faint whisper of the gateway closing after Aengus stepped through.
“This isn’t Rath Nechtan,” I muttered. I’d expected we’d be heading to the great fortress of the High Kings of the Tuatha. I’d been there many times, but I wasn’t sure where Aengus had taken us instead.
“No,” Aengus replied from behind me. “It is Lughnasadh.”
That explained it. For me, at least.
“What’s Lughnasadh?” Detective Lajoie was looking around in wonder, much as he had when we’d first entered the Market.
“A festival celebrating the High King,” I explained. “Kind of like a month-long royal birthday party. And it means Lugh’s court isn’t at his fortress—the festival takes place in the Plain of Delight. One of the nicer parts of the Otherworld.”
Detective Connors was stubbornly silent as I looked over at her.
“Still don’t believe in magic?”
She shot another glare at me, the reaction I’d expected. But then something changed, a sudden realization struck her. I could practically see the acceptance of this new reality enter her eyes.
Adrienne Connors might be stubbornly cynical, but she couldn’t just dismiss what all her senses were telling her. Her expression transmuted into something almost heartbreaking, as I watched her struggle to accept the truth that the world she knew was, well, not exactly a lie, but certainly only a small part of the universe.
I felt almost ashamed at causing that pain. The Taxi, the Market, meeting Aengus, none of that had been enough to push her over that edge. She’d been able to tell herself it was an elaborate game, illusions, costumes, that there was a perfectly rational explanation for it all.
But this—stepping through a magical door into a world that couldn’t possibly exist—sent her tumbling into the wild, terrifying awareness that she was beyond the edge of the map. And the old cartographers had gotten it right: “Here there be monsters.”
She had to realize this more than most in modern society, as the tales her grandmother had told her were undoubtedly the real Faerie tales, the ones Walt Disney didn’t show. The stories of violence and betrayal, of great love and greater loss, of blood and whispers in the darkness, right alongside the songs of mighty heroes and their glorious deeds. She might not know exactly what the Otherworld held in store, but she had a good idea of how dangerous it could be.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen such a realization hit someone, but it was the first time with an adult. Children are more accepting of such a huge shift in their worldviews. They haven’t grown comfortable with the world as they know it yet. It was different with a grown woman. It was tragic.
But it was necessary. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
The whole process took a few seconds, but her eyes remained locked on mine the whole time. Before she could answer the question verbally, I just nodded. She looked away, at Aengus, her eyes growing wide as she realized he really was a Fae creature from her grandmother’s tales. For a few seconds I was afraid she would have a full-blown panic attack, as her breathing sped up and she looked off into the distance.
Then her partner put his hand on her shoulder and leaned in close, whispering to her. I could see her calm down, regain control. Her breathing returned to normal and she shut her eyes, rubbing her temples with both hands. After a moment she opened them again and met his concerned gaze, nodding and muttering that she was alright. That she would be alright.
I found I no longer needed an apology before I could forgive her most recent insult.
She took a deep breath and held it for a second, then looked over at me.
“Fuck,” she said quietly. “It’s all real?”
I nodded. “I’m afraid so, my dear. And there’s no going back now. Can you handle that?”
She looked away again, biting her lip.
Detective Lajoie nodded at me. “She’ll be okay. Just give her a few minutes to come to terms with it. In the meantime, we’ve got work to do.”
Aengus had seen the whole process and kept a respectful silence, letting it play out. He caught my eye and gave a sad smile. But he nodded at the big Haitian detective’s comment and began walking up the long, shallow grassy hill to our right, talking as he went. We followed, listening silently.
“A story you probably never heard from your grandmother, Detective Connors,” he began, “is how my parents met and how I was born. You may know that my father is the Dagda, as he was known among the people of Ireland after our conquest.”
His tone was matter of fact, as if she’d believed he was the Dagda’s son all along, instead of just coming to terms with that reality a minute before. That was kind of him.
“But what you may not know,” he continued, “is that another name for him is Eochaid Ollathair—it means ‘All-Father’ in English. Some human scholars suppose this just to be a common title for major deities. But the truth is simpler. The All-Father of the Celts is the same as the All-Father of the Norse. The Dagda is just another name for Odin.”
I could see the detectives listening intently, the look of wonder on Adrienne Connors’s face. It wasn’t every day that a being out of myth takes the time to explain the truth behind those myths for your edification. And now she recognized that he was in fact such a being, not some crazed occult enthusiast role-playing in an open-air art gallery. She was paying attention. How often do you get the chance to hear a Faerie tale from the lips of a Faerie?
“At that time, long before the rise of the Christians, the Tuatha Dé did not yet even exist. The various Fae peoples spread across the surface of the Earth, where they intermingled with humans, whom they considered their lessers, but still useful allies in their constant wars for territory and power. The humans, in turn, treated the Fae as the gods and protectors of their tribes.
“The Fir Bolg and Fomor lived in the Celtic isles. The territory of the Aesir and their cousins the Vanir stretched from Scandinavia through the Germanic forests of northern Europe. By the time Rome rose to prominence, the Olympians controlled everything around the Mediterranean Sea. And in Iberia and throughout the Alps were the people of Taranis and Danu.”
Aengus was simplifying a great deal, but it was still far more accurate than what either of them would know from the mythology they studied in school.
“You have heard, I am sure, that Odin wished above all else for wisdom, and gained it by giving up an eye for a chance to drink from the Well of Wisdom. Well,” he said with a wry smile, “that is not quite how it happened. The Well was owned by Nechtan, also called Nuada, a great warrior prince, leader of a tribe of the people of Taranis. His lands were in the north of Iberia, and were disputed with other tribes, but he managed to hold them through the power his Well gave him. He jealously guarded it, as any who drank from the waters would gain knowledge of the nature of time itself, one of the most powerful magics even among the Fae.
“Even Nuada’s wife was not permitted to drink of the well’s waters, and over time she grew to resent her husband over this. So when Odin came seeking a drink, she coupled with him—sex does not hold the same taboos among the Fae as among humans—and then snuck him past Nuada, where he drank from the well.
“Nuada knew what had happened as soon as Odin’s lips touched the water. Because the magic was so precious, Nuada could not risk its secrets spreading among the Fae, and he tried to kill the All-Father rather than let him leave in peace. Odin was dazed by the onset of his new wisdom, and Nuada got the better of him, cutting out his left eye. But before he could strike the killing blow, his wife rushed in and stayed his hand for the sake of the child she bore in her womb.
“Instead, he made the All-Father three times swear an oath to safeguard his newfound wisdom and not share its power with anyone, nor to reveal the location of the Well, and to always ally himself with Nuada when called upon to do so. In turn, Nuada would raise the child as his foster-son, train him in the ways of the warrior and the poet and lead him in war. Which is what he did, for I was that child.
“When I was a man, he called upon the All-Father to honor the final part of the oath, and together they went to war with their common enemies to carve out a kingdom for Nuada and his kin outside of the rule of Taranis. The Dagda helped him defeat his enemies, and he became king over the Isles.”
Aengus paused in his story, another sad smile on his face, this one of remembrance, of nostalgia. He had been there on the glorious day when Nuada of the Silver Hand had triumphed and won the crown.
“But he died in battle many years later.” Aengus added, with a melancholy hint to his voice. “My cousin Lugh was our war chief, and avenged Nuada’s death. He was acclaimed the new King of the Tuatha and has ruled since that day. But that is another tale for another time.”
The Faerie princeling lapsed back into silence. By now we were near the crest of the hill, and the final moments of the walk passed in reflection—Aengus in remembrance of days long past and the two detectives in consideration of what they had just heard.
It was a precious gift for one of the Fae to tell such a story without obligation. I hoped they appreciated how valuable such a thing was, and the import of the story. It was one of the least-known tales of the Fae even among sorcerers. I could only guess at Aengus’s motive in telling it now. As well as he and I got along, and as friendly as we were, I could never forget that he was an alien creature who had walked two worlds for thousands of years.
I found myself remembering how we’d met, at the Faerie Market in New York. It was my first trip to that city. It was already a bustling metropolis, the entrance for immigrants to the United States, which were then engaged in their Civil War. Thousands of Irish refugees were stepping on shore and immediately being pressed into service in the Union Army. But not all of those refugees were human.
The Treaty of Tara forbids Faeries from fighting in wars between human powers—humans are allowed to kill each other all they want, and Faeries are allowed to kill each other all they want, but no Faeries killing humans or vice versa. Aengus was in the city to make certain none of the local or newly arriving Fae were scooped into the Union war effort. He wasn’t an official representative of the Tuatha Dé, but as one of their princes he’d assumed responsibility for enforcing that Treaty provision.
I, on the other hand, had been formally dispatched by the Arcane Court to observe and ensure the Fae were keeping up their end of the bargain. Aengus and I had hit it off from the start. Of course, back then I’d been a lot friendlier. I didn’t know then what I knew now, hadn’t yet done any of the monstrous things I’d done since—my first atrocity was two full decades in the future. I was young and naïve, still shy of my first centennial.
Aengus and I hadn’t stayed close over the years, but we ran into each other every so often, usually at one of the Faerie Markets on the east coast. He’d witnessed my descent over the past decades into what I was today. Every time he saw me, he was the same, and I was further gone. Less cheerful, more withdrawn, more prone to anger. He was too polite to say it, but I knew he worried about me, about my drinking and my isolation. He remembered when I used to laugh.
Before I got further drawn into my own reminiscing and self-pity, we crested the hill and saw the Court of the High King of the Faeries spread out before us. It was a sight straight out of myth, a sprawling camp set up inside a great earthen ring, spiraling outward from a circular wooden hall at the center. I wasn’t familiar enough with court protocol to recognize from a distance how the camp was actually organized, but I could clearly see a crowded market, an open area for riding and games and competitions of skill, several vast piles of wood that could only be bonfires in the making, a stage of some sort, and tents of all colors and shapes. The gate into the ring was wide open, with Fae streaming in and out. It was a small city.
I had never seen so many Faeries at once. The detectives were staring in amazement, far more openly than they had at the Market. It had been an interesting day for the pair of them, I supposed, so I couldn’t begrudge them their bewilderment. They were well and truly through the looking glass.
“Detectives,” I addressed them quietly, “before we meet Lugh, you should have a basic understanding of some concepts Aengus and I have mentioned but haven’t really explained. First, where we are right now is called the Otherworld. Specifically, we’re at the edge of the Plain of Delight, which stands at the heart of Tír na nÓg, the territory ruled directly by Lugh. Around that is the rest of Sidhe, the region loyal to him as their High King.
“The word Faerie describes any being native to the Otherworld. This includes most of the ‘gods’ you’ve heard about in myths—most of the various historical pantheons are just different nations of the same Fae race, commonly called the High Fae. There are also the Low Fae, which includes the Djinn and various nature spirits, as well as much darker creatures: goblins, ghouls, trolls, giants, and many far lesser known things that stalk the Otherworld’s darker forests and caves. This is a dangerous place. Never forget that.”
I looked over at the detectives. Their faces were both solemn. Good. That suggested they took my warning seriously.
I looked over at Aengus, who was waiting patiently with a small smile. “Anything you want to add?”
He considered for a moment, then turned to the detectives. “We should speak about the consequences should you attempt to reveal the existence of the Otherworld, and the truth of magic, to humanity at large. Do you understand what would happen should you speak out to the human authorities about what you have seen here?”
“You mean apart from mandatory psychiatric evaluations?” Detective Connors asked.
Aengus scowled. “This is not a matter for jest.”
“I wasn’t joking,” she said, shaking her head. “If we tried to explain to the captain that we had spent the evening at a party with Faeries in the Otherworld, we’d be suspended pending psych evals.”
“That,” I growled, “would be the least of your problems. While I’m certain it’s enough deterrence, and I relied on it when your partner insisted you come with us this evening, Aengus is right. You should know what would happen if you revealed the existence of this world.” I paused.
“Should you pass those evals,” I continued, “and somehow manage to get yourselves taken seriously, it would be bad for everyone. First, the Arcane Court’s closest Rector would step in and do everything in her power—which is a lot—to ensure you were silenced and ignored. She’d probably also arrest the both of you, and you’d spend the rest of your lives in a prison you have no desire to be in. I might well be in prison alongside you, should the combined power of the Arcanum manage to take me against my will, for having brought you in the first place.
“The Treaty of Tara ended centuries of war between the Fae and humanity a thousand years ago, and no one wants to risk that peace falling apart. If word got out to the rest of the human race that there’s a whole other world out there, that’s almost certainly what would happen. Some people would panic and make stupid decisions. Others would try to take advantage of the magical community, which may well include efforts to enslave the Fae as happened in ages past. Both courses of action would likely lead to an all-out war between humanity and the magical races, with the Arcanum—the primary faction of human sorcerers—caught in the middle. A war which the magical world would lose, but it would be very messy in the process. Even if it weren’t enshrined in the Treaty of Tara, there’s general agreement in the magical underworld that it’s better we continue to live in the shadows.”
Detective Lajoie frowned. “If you’re all as powerful as legends would have us believe, there’s no way humans would win that war. I just don’t see it.”
“There are just too many humans,” I explained, “and the Fae have never been numerous, nor any of the other magical races. It doesn’t much matter if each of your warriors can kill a hundred men when you’re outnumbered by three times that ratio or more. And the odds have only gotten worse—there are a lot more people on Earth now than there were in the Dark Ages. Maybe the magical races could have won the Faerie Wars back then, but it would have required basically annihilating the entire human race, and the Arcanum was formed to ensure that didn’t happen. Nowadays, they couldn’t win even if we’d let them go that far: a Fae army is a dangerous threat, but not one equipped to defeat machine guns and tanks and close air support. Let alone nuclear weapons.” I paused for a second to contemplate that terrifying thought.
“I’m a very powerful sorcerer. Among the top few dozen most powerful magic-using humans on the planet. That’s not a brag; there’s a ranking system, and I’m near the top. Aengus here is at least as powerful, if not more so, and there are Faeries and demigods out there who make both of us look like children. But no one could possibly maintain a shield strong enough to stop an actual nuclear explosion. Humans can’t cross into the Otherworld without magic, so the Fae would be able to retreat to safety, but that doesn’t do much good for those magical beings who live on Earth. It’s better not to risk it, to live in the shadows and keep everyone thinking we’re just children’s stories.”
Apparently, the walk had been enough for Detective Connors to process and come to terms with all of this. She nodded thoughtfully.
“That makes sense, I guess. I wasn’t planning on even trying to explain this to someone who couldn’t see for themselves, but I understand the logic, too.”
“We’re here to do a job,” Detective Lajoie added, nodding in agreement. “We won’t try to expose anything to anyone. We just want to talk to a potentially relevant witness to our investigation and get back home in one piece. In our report, this will just be listed as a ‘private gathering of the occult community in an undisclosed location.’ You both have my word on that.”
I looked over at Aengus with an eyebrow raised. “Good enough?”
He looked silently at Detective Connors, and then her partner, for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. “Yes.”
I looked back at the two of them. “Any questions before we continue, then?”
“I thought the Faeries were supposed to be ruled by a queen,” Detective Lajoie mused.
Aengus snorted. “That was a poem, nothing more. It was an allegory for Queen Elizabeth. Edmund Spenser never met a Faerie in his life, to my knowledge.”
“And this Lugh is the King of the Faeries?”
He shook his head. “Many call him that, but it is not a true title. There are dozens of Fae nations, great and small. In days long past, they all vied for supremacy, competing in this world and in yours for territory and power. Now most keep to themselves in their respective parts of the Otherworld—the Olympians, for example, have not been seen off their mountain for centuries. Lugh rules the Tuatha Dé directly and is High King of the various tribes of the people called the Aes Sidhe. Between the warriors of Sidhe and his court’s ancient alliance with Odin, he is by far the most powerful ruler in the Otherworld.”
“But there are those who don’t recognize his authority?” Detective Connors asked.
“Many,” Aengus nodded. “But few who would dare challenge him directly.”
The detectives looked thoughtful.
“If there are no further questions…?” I asked after a moment.
Both of them shook their heads. I started walking down the hill.
“Then let’s go meet a Faerie king.”