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Chapter 11

We humans got some strange looks as we entered the camp, and I got a few polite nods of welcome from Faeries who noticed the overcoat marking my station, but no one spoke to us. Aengus, on the other hand, was a favorite son of the Tuatha Dé, and acknowledged cheerful greetings from his kin and friends as we walked along the spiraling path from the gate toward the central hall—he rarely visited Tír na nÓg these days. He wasn’t here to make small talk, however, and we continued down the path, the bustling fair atmosphere quieting down and growing more orderly as we approached the royal seat.

Then a woman stepped from a tent up ahead of us, and my heart skipped a beat as I recognized her.

Her pale skin contrasted with her jet-black feathered hair, while her gray dress matched her granite eyes. She towered over me, as tall as Aengus and Detective Lajoie. And she was stunning, with that unearthly beauty that can only be found among the Fae, that ensnared even the worldliest man’s mind and inspired him to write bad poetry. Unlike that of the Tylwyth Teg, however, hers was clearly a dangerous beauty—like a great wild cat, she could be appreciated from a safe distance, but the terror of being close to her far outweighed the chance to bask in her glory.

Despite it being a bright, sunny day, in a land where most everything seemed to exude its own light to supplement that of the sun above, this creature absorbed the ambient light around her, wreathing her in a tiny space of darkness. She smiled in warm greeting, but the coldness of her presence prompted the opposite reflex—to run and hide. I forced that instinct down.

“My favorite cousin, and his pet sorcerer! The prodigal son returns to us, at the hour of our celebration!” She spoke in the old Fae language of High Taranic, which in human throats had over the centuries become the Celtic tongues of ancient Europe. Her voice was melodious and intoxicating, totally at odds with her reputation as the original banshee, whose wailing marked the death of warriors on the field of battle.

Aengus’s matching smile was wide and genuine.

“Old Crow!” he replied in the same language, before switching to English for the detectives’ sake. “It has been too long. But you dishonor my friend,” he reproached. “The Sorcerer Quinn is no one’s pet, even in jest.”

Her smile didn’t even flicker at the rebuke or the change of language. “Of course not, as I well know,” she replied, then turned to address me. “Accept my humble apologies, Sorcerer. My words were only teasing and meant no offense.”

I nodded, my face solemn. “And none was taken, Lady Badb. No apology is needed.”

“That is well,” she nodded acceptance. “And who are your friends?”

I hesitated. Telling Aengus what was going on was one thing. But this was Badb. One of the three sisters who comprised the Morrigan, the three-faced war goddess of ancient Ireland. The Battle-Crow of the Tuatha Dé, a death-prophet and a warrior upon whom the ancient Celtic tribesmen called for aid on the field of battle. She reveled in fear and death and blood, in the glory of combat. She was no insane monster like the Avartagh, but she was also no one to take lightly—her legendary wrath made that of Achilles look like a child’s tantrum. Fortunately, Aengus had a lot more experience dealing with her, and he stepped in.

“These are colleagues of the Sorcerer Quinn in a task for which he sought my aid, and in pursuit of which we now seek audience with Lugh. They are under his protection and have my countenance, but they are also warriors of their people, sworn to protect the innocent from those who would do them harm.”

“Truly?” Her predatory smile widened. “It is rare I meet honest warriors in this era.” She turned to directly address the two detectives. “To whom are you sworn to protect, warriors?”

They seemed put off in the presence of Badb. That was understandable, especially for people who had only met real Fae for the first time an hour ago.

“We serve the people of the city of Philadelphia,” Detective Lajoie answered, humbly and quietly.

“Bah,” she replied. “I prefer my warriors with more pride and boastfulness. But few enough are willing to fight for their people in your world, in this age. That alone inclines me toward you.”

Both nodded, and Detective Connors replied, “We are honored, Lady Badb.”

I heard a catch in her voice. She had heard the tales of Badb and the Morrigan. She knew what kind of creature she was addressing. But Badb either didn’t hear it or, more likely given her long history of terrifying even the most hardened human warriors, chose politely to ignore it.

She turned her attention back to me.

“You, Sorcerer, have been absent from our world for quite some time. What has kept you so busy these past many years?”

I shrugged. “I’m retired, I suppose. Since Canada.”

“But you were superb in Canada.” She frowned. “So much potential. I had my eye on you. And you are yet young. Why would you step back just as you were coming into your own?”

“That’s personal, Badb.” I closed my eyes as memories I had no desire to revisit rose to the forefront of my mind. Fire. Screams. Blood. I fought them back down like bile in my throat. “I didn’t want to be a soldier anymore. I run a bookstore now.”

She looked as confused as the detectives, although for a different reason. They had no clue what we were talking about. Badb just couldn’t grasp the idea of anyone not enjoying war.

But before she could pursue it further, Aengus interrupted.

“Is Lugh in the hall, cousin?”

She looked back at him with an expression of mild irritation at the intrusion, which softened after a second.

“Lugh? Our King is not Nuada, spending all his time in a cold chair while others entertain him. You will likely find him riding in the field or showing off with his spear, or possibly reciting poetry.”

Aengus chuckled. “Thank you, cousin. We must be on our way, for our task is of pressing importance.”

She inclined her head. “I shall bid you farewell, then. Do come visit us more often, cousin. We miss your wit around the Court.”

She then turned to me. “Sorcerer, I do not understand your race. But I have long watched it, and I warn you against rejecting your potential and turning your back on your way. What is meant to be shall be, whether we wish it or not, and our doom is far more painful when we fight what we are.”

With that she turned on her heel and walked toward the central hall.

My human companions were visibly relieved at her departure.

In a very small voice, Detective Connors asked, “That was Badb? The Crow?”

Aengus nodded. “Aye, she is. One of the three sisters of the Morrigan. We shall meet her sister Nemain as well, should Lugh grant the permission we seek. She is warden at the Dún Dubh.”

I considered her for a moment, my expression pitying. “You’re down the rabbit-hole, Alice,” I told her softly. “Try not to get lost.”

Her partner looked confused, but Detective Connors looked almost desperate.

“Don’t lose that bracelet,” I told her, “and don’t do anything without asking me first, and you’ll come out of this just fine.”

I saw her clutch her wrist as if to reassure herself the bracelet was still there.

I turned to Aengus. “The riding field?”

He smiled slightly and nodded his head to the left. I followed where he led, and the detectives continued to trail behind. We followed the spiraling pathway around to the far side of the camp to a broad clearing amid the tents, where we spotted the King of the Faeries.

He didn’t look very royal. The four of us joined a quiet crowd of observers ringed around the field. Three Faeries of the Tuatha Dé stood armed with spears near the edge of the circular space about fifty feet to our left; a target made of canvas mounted on a wicker frame stood by in the open about fifty feet to our right. I had met Lugh before, so I recognized him even from a distance—the tallest of the three spear throwers, with wavy golden hair falling to his shoulders. He wore no crown or regalia; his clothing, in several shades of blue, wasn’t markedly different from what any of the other Tuatha Dé were wearing. But even from this distance the intensity of his alien beauty stood out from the rest. In more ancient days, he had been worshipped as a sun god by the Celts, and it wasn’t difficult to see why.

One of the Faeries with him, a black-haired woman almost as tall as he, lifted her spear to her shoulder, took aim, and gracefully let fly with a step toward the target. It silently sailed through the air and struck the man-shaped wicker target with a crack, quivering through the center of its breast. There was a round of polite applause from the crowd, like one might hear at a golf tournament.

The next competitor was a shorter, broadly muscled Faerie with a neatly trimmed red beard. He squinted an eye, stepped forward, and hurled his spear with a great deal more force than his compatriot. It thudded home in the left side of the target’s breast, where its heart would be were it a living man. He stepped back and grinned, his arms open wide as he faced the applauding crowd. The woman who had gone before him scowled, but she nodded curtly in acknowledgement of the superior throw.

Even before the applause had quieted, Lugh stepped forward and lightly, almost nonchalantly, tossed his spear, then turned to chat with his fellow competitors while it was still in flight. The sharp crack of the impact brought everyone’s gaze to the target, where Lugh’s spear protruded through its head, precisely where its left eye would be in life. The watching crowd went wild. The two Faeries who had competed with their King laughed and clapped him on the back; obviously neither had actually expected to prevail against Lugh’s prowess.

This was competition merely for the sake of competition, rather than for the glory of victory. It was Lughnasadh, a time of celebration, and while many Faerie contests could end in bloodshed and anger, especially among the proud Tuatha Dé, such behavior was taboo in this camp. Besides, Lugh’s skills with a spear were renowned among all the races of the magical world, along with his talents with a sword, a sling, a harp, and many others. He was called Ildánach, “skilled in many arts,” and he’d won that title fair and square long before he’d won the throne.

As the contest broke up with laughs and smiles, and the audience milled into the open area between the contestants and their target, Aengus led us toward the High King.

Lugh saw our approach and turned to face us, the good humor fading from his fair face and his eyebrows rising in interest.

“Friend cousin,” he called out to Aengus in an even tone, speaking High Taranic, “you return to our court after all these centuries of absence?”

“Aye, my King,” Aengus replied with a slight nod of his head. The Tuatha Dé do not bow to anyone. “But only briefly, on an errand which requires your assent.”

A puzzled look crossed Lugh’s features, but before he could speak Aengus continued in English.

“You have previously met my companion, the Sorcerer Quinn, in the ruins of the forest where he and his comrades battled the Last Dragon. He came to me for assistance on behalf of these two,” he gestured at the detectives, who looked relieved the conversation had switched to a language they could understand, “and the people they are sworn to protect.”

There was a long pause while Lugh absorbed this statement.

“Welcome,” he said after a moment, nodding to my companions in turn. He faced me and smiled faintly. “Sorcerer Quinn, son of William and Bridget. It has been some time since you have graced my Court with your presence. Not quite as long as some,” he paused, glancing at Aengus, “but a long time for a human. What is this pressing errand that could compel you and my cousin to bring human warriors to Lughnasadh?”

“You are not angry that I’ve brought fellow humans to your realm without your leave?”

“Whatever your reason is,” he answered, shaking his head, “which I am sure you will explain momentarily, it was enough to bring Aengus Óg back through the veil after all this time away. That tells me it is no trifling matter.”

I relaxed a bit. Lugh was no fool. He couldn’t have ruled the Aes Sidhe for millennia had he been. This might not be the uphill battle I’d feared.

“Lord Lugh,” I began, “two days ago, Detectives Connors and Lajoie here brought to my attention a murder within the city of Philadelphia…” I summarized the details of the two crime scenes and what I’d found in the residual energy—the ambush spells, and the traces of Fae magic.

Lugh’s eyes widened, then narrowed, his nostrils flared as he sharply sucked in a breath. “The Tamesis rites.”

Aengus nodded. “That is what the glyphs spoke of, and I know of the Avartagh’s rituals well enough to recognize this is the same working, but I am unfamiliar with this Tamesis.”

“You would be,” his king replied. “You were newly gone from our ranks during the Avartagh’s rampage.” He paused, as if thinking, then his eyes narrowed. “You are here to speak with him, to learn what you can of the ritual and why another would imitate his efforts, to determine their future course of action. Yes?”

I nodded. “Yes, exactly. If we can learn what the ritual is and what the next steps are, we may be able to stop the culprit before there are further killings. Also, I am certain one of the Fae took part in this ritual, and the Avartagh may know who it was.”

“But you need my consent to speak with a prisoner in the Dún Dubh.” That wasn’t a question; I recognized he was just working through the implications rather than asking clarification. “And time is of the essence. Which is why you and Aengus Óg thought it sufficiently important to break ancient standing custom and bring human lawkeepers to Lughnasadh without my leave or the consent of King and Council.” He paused again.

Lugh looked directly into my eyes. For a long moment, I saw the depth of him, the ancient and terrible knowledge of a Faerie warrior king, a being who had walked the Earth before the founding of Troy. It was not the first time I had been reminded of the awesome power of the Fae, but the impact never lessened. I felt drained from that contact, that awareness, though the moment couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. This was a creature worshipped as a god for millennia, with good reason.

Finally, Lugh looked away. “Sorcerer, I will grant leave for you and your companions to enter the Dún Dubh and speak with the creature known as the Avartagh. But it will cost you a favor, to be collected at any time in the future that I deem fit. Agreed?”

I sighed. Of course. This was the Otherworld. Everything had its price. Everything. I bit my lip and thought it over.

“So long as nothing you ask of me conflicts with my loyalty to King and Court, nor to any oath I have sworn or obligation I have undertaken prior to your redeeming of the favor, and is not likely to result in my own death or dismemberment, I will agree.”

“I accept the stipulations.” Lugh smiled warmly. “The favor I ask in return for granting your audience with the Avartagh will not in any way require you to be disloyal to King and Court, nor break any oath nor forswear any obligation freely undertaken before I collect, nor will it knowingly require the sacrifice of your life or health. This I swear, and I swear again, and I swear a third time.” He held out his hand. “As is the custom of your people, let us grasp hands and seal our bargain.”

I hesitated. I thought it over deeply, making sure I hadn’t missed anything in the wording of his oath. It’s a myth that the Fae can only tell the truth—they can lie all they like unless they’re under a geas, a powerful enchantment that binds them to obey specific terms under pain of severe magical consequences. There were only two ways to impose such an enchantment: invoking a true name, which they really don’t like, and having them swear an oath three times. If we shook on his thrice-sworn oath and then Lugh went back on his word, he would suffer serious ill-effects, from physical pain to losing much of his power, potentially even his own death. And only the person who imposes a geas can lift it, meaning I could trust he’d keep to his promises. But only in the exact wording of the oath, so I was trying to spot loopholes in his phrasing. Faeries don’t recognize anything like the “spirit of the law.” They’re worse than lawyers when it comes to wording.

Not seeing any, I shrugged and took his hand.

Aengus chuckled. I glanced, irritated, in his direction.

“What’s so funny?”

He smiled a toothy grin. “You just agreed to owe a favor to a Faerie King, my friend. I know not what Lugh will ask of you, but I guarantee it will not involve reading books in the backroom of a dusty old shop.”

I sighed again. He was right, and I’d known that before I shook Lugh’s hand. But I’d had to do it. It was a low price for the prize gained, and we needed that permission. At least Lugh wasn’t grinning or laughing. He was merely smiling serenely, much like a wolf might gaze at a passing fawn when it wasn’t hungry, as if to say, “Your time will come soon, little one.”

I shrugged. “What’s done is done. We have business elsewhere.”

Aengus nodded, more soberly. “I can take you to the Fortress. The way is not far. By the King’s leave?” He looked at Lugh, who merely nodded and waved a hand, granting permission to depart his presence.

We walked out of the clearing, leaving Lugh to laugh and be merry with his friends and retainers as we continued our mission to meet the monster who had terrorized the humans of Brittany centuries ago, and of Ireland before that. As we followed the spiral path out of the camp, I was deep in thought about the favor I now owed Lugh and what it might mean for my future. The detectives trailed just behind me, in silence, presumably processing everything they’d been through so far this evening.

Aengus led the way out of the encampment and up the hill to the west, opposite the direction we had come from. Just over the crest of the hill, there was a single large standing stone covered in worn carvings of stylized animals, spirals, and rows of short straight lines that looked reminiscent of Ogham stones I had seen in Ireland. I tried to read them as we approached, but they were too faded to be legible without close study. Time takes its toll even in the Otherworld. Aengus stopped by the stone and waited for we three humans to catch up.

When we were all gathered around the standing stone, Aengus had us all hold hands, then touched a spiral carving. Without fanfare, the scenery changed.


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