The Dominion Pulse Page 17

  Lizzie cleared her throat from the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation with your reflection, but why are you talking to yourself?”

  “Bibe left a sort of interactive memory in this mirror for me to find in case something happened to her.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lizzie replied, looking at the reflective surface.

  “And she was just telling me that I was going to need a lot of help.”

  “Well, fortunately for you and the Earth, you have all of us.” Lizzie pointed back to where the others were sitting.

  “One thing you can’t do is stay here,” Bibe relayed. “Those gods tainted the sanctity of this place. Our methods won’t work here.”

  “What’s going on?” Dorian asked, entering the room with Frank and Garnash.

  “Seriously. These new people are nice, but they’re a little odd,” Garnash said.

  Brendan explained about the image of Bibe and the challenge to relocate the training.

  “I’m not sure traveling with that huge mirror is going to work so well,” Frank said, eyeing the mirror suspiciously, trying to spot the goddess.

  Bibe hopped up and down. “My image is held in this liquid, Brendan, not the mirror itself. If we had something to hold it, something with magical abilities, then we’d be set.”

  Brendan turned back to the others and relayed the message. “Any ideas?”

  Dorian’s eyes popped wide with an idea. “How about this?” She pulled out the flask that Oscar had found and stashed in his house and handed it to Brendan.

  “Where did she get the Flask of Airmid?” Bibe’s mouth hung open in shock.

  “Who cares, will it work?” he asked.

  “Aye. Place its brim against my surface,” she prompted. “Wait. To get me out simply pour the liquid into a surface with a lip or a frame, something that can give my liquid form a stable footing.”

  Brendan nodded. “It’s time for you to return to Corways, Bibe.” The liquid flowed into the flask, and in a matter of minutes Brendan was looking at his own image in the glass.

  “What’s the plan?” Dorian asked, touching his arm.

  “That’s what we need to figure out.” He was gaining so much knowledge about Otherworld through his heart visions but still nothing was clear about how to get his father back. And getting him back was going to be important—deep down Brendan knew that. Brendan looked at the others and took a breath to calm his thoughts. He had help, and they were Earth’s best hope.

  Chapter 13

  Hidden Thoughts

  Arawn awoke with a start at the sound of the most pitiful moan that he had ever heard. The sound was almost comical to him since it sounded like a herd of cows that he once owned back on Earth. He blinked his eyes over and over again trying to clear his vision enough to see who was making that awful noise, but he found that he was the only one in the cell. He hurt all over—especially in his midsection—and made a weak effort to sit up. He got as far as his elbows before he fell face-first back onto the hard stone floor. A fit of coughing slammed his injured abdomen and caused him to vomit. He barely managed to roll his head away from the pool of sickness, though he wasn’t sure his hair was entirely vomit-free.

  He moaned again and laid his head back on the cool stone and coughed again, bubbles forming on his lips. He closed his eyes for a long time, falling in and out of consciousness. It must have been hours or perhaps days later when he heard someone shuffling around in his prison cell.

  “Who?” Arawn managed to say, though it was more like a stunted whisper.

  There was no reply, only firm hands that gripped him under his armpits and lifted him onto a stone bench. His head wobbled and turned; he saw that a human was standing over him with a wet rag and a bowl of water.

  “Relax, friend,” the human said, patting the rag against Arawn’s forehead. “My name is Oscar. I’ll take care of you.”

  …

  The Leprechauns and Gnomes in Corways were freaking out, but Brendan couldn’t blame them. If he had just watched two giants step through the obsidian megaliths in Corways after what had happened the last time the Magogs appeared, he probably would have had a conniption fit as well. Thankfully, Dorian calmed them down and clarified Tevis’s and Fergus’s reasons for being in Corways.

  Rory laughed nervously as he and Biddy joined the group that just arrived. “Sorry about that, fellas. I hope you can understand our confusion.”

  Tevis was still rubbing his freshly darted nose. He eyed Biddy warily. “No problem.”

  Biddy shrugged. “Really, Tevis, I’m sorry.”

  Garnash led the giants and Rohl away to the Gnome camp within Corways. Frank and Lizzie followed Dorian through the village, checking on the residents and showing a united front of calm and control. That left Brendan, Sinead, and Fynn to debrief Rory and Biddy.

  “So what’s with the entourage, Brendan?” Rory asked with a grin.

  “Bibe made it clear to me that I can’t do this alone,” he answered, gesturing towards the large group of friends that he had gathered. “So, I found some more volunteers.”

  “Where is Bibe?” Biddy asked, looking around, trying to pinpoint the goddess.

  Brendan held up the Flask of Airmid for them to see. “Unfortunately the real Bibe is missing, but she was smart enough to leave a version of herself to help us.”

  “Goddess of wisdom,” Sinead said proudly. “I do hope she’s fine.”

  Fynn looked up at her with doleful eyes. “Don’t worry, dear, Bibe is a tough old bird; she’ll be fine.”

  “We’ll do all we can to find her.” Brendan wanted to believe his own words. He wanted to have faith in his ability to save her or locate her, but he also knew whom he was dealing with in Camulos. The guy was a god killer, Brendan had already seen that. What that meant for Bibe was something that he didn’t want to think about.

  “I’m a bit confused,” admitted Biddy.

  “Right, what do you mean by a version of herself?” Rory agreed.

  Brendan explained the situation to his friends, even the fact that he was the only one who could see her.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Rory wanted to know.

  “After Dorian and the others make their rounds, we’re going to find out.” Brendan looked down at the flask. “Hopefully she’s thought of something by now.”

  …

  “What is a human doing in Otherworld?” Arawn asked, his words stretched by his gasping and haggard breathing.

  “Otherworld?” Oscar asked. “You must be hallucinating, buddy. Otherworld is just a myth.” Wasn’t it? That little voice in his head told him it was, but why would a stranger bring up something so random?

  Arawn began to laugh, but the fiery pain that surged into his midsection cut it short so his laugh came out as a single Ha! “Myth? You must be in a nightmare, friend.”

  The comment caught Oscar off guard. He looked around the room and realized for the first time that he was in a cell, although it wasn’t like any prison he had seen before. This cell was spacious with trilithons encompassing the area. Each of the stones was carved with intricate symbols, some he recognized and some he did not. The odd thing was how they seemed to light up randomly in blue and golden light. The whole scene reminded him of something, but he couldn’t remember what.

  “How did you get in here?” Arawn asked.

  Oscar shook his head. “I’m not sure, and to be honest about it, I have no idea who you are or where on Earth we are.”

  “I am Arawn, and we’re not on Earth. We are in a prison in Tech Duinn.”

  “Tech Duinn?” Oscar repeated with a scoff. “The Realm of the Dead? How does that make any sense, Arawn?”

  Arawn shrugged and closed his eyes. His whole body felt heavy, and his head was cloudy. It was hard to think and even harder not to think. Either way a headache threatened to pop his eyes from their sockets.

  “That’s good, Arawn. Rest up. Build your strength back,” encouraged Oscar, dabbing at the large man’s forehead
with the cloth.

  “You’re mistaken,” Camulos said, entering the prison from behind Oscar. “There is no rest for the weary.”

  Arawn opened his eyes and saw Camulos toss Oscar across the room. The human skidded right into Argona’s clutches where she tossed him over her shoulder. She stood for just a moment, lingering inside the cell with her eyes locked on the Celtic warrior before she exited with Oscar in hand.

  “Where are you taking him?” Arawn demanded.

  “I wouldn’t concern myself with the human, Arawn,” Camulos said, his face turning over with an evil expression. “You and I need to have a conversation, old friend.”

  The last thing Oscar remembered before blacking out was the cries of agony that resounded from Arawn’s prison. The screams followed Oscar into the darkness.

  …

  “How are you holding up, Lizzie?” Frank said with a squeeze of her shoulders.

  She smiled meekly and put her hand on his. They had been waiting on Dorian, Brendan, and the others to join them at Dorian’s house. After a quick run-through of the village to visit with the Leprechauns and Gnomes, the young couple stole a few private moments to walk and chat. There was so little time anymore to just hang out like normal teens, so they were happy to have even the briefest moment of normalcy. Eventually their walk led them to Dorian’s since they figured that’s where everyone would gather.

  “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I miss Dad. I just want him back, but I don’t know if he’s even alive.”

  Frank shook his head. “You can’t think like that. You have to believe he’s out there right now, hanging on, waiting on us to rescue him. He’s not giving up, so you better not either.”

  She wanted to reply, but it was more likely that tears would fall if she did. Thankfully, the others began to arrive.

  Brendan, Dorian, Rory, and Biddy walked in and took their places around the table. It appeared to Lizzie that everyone always went to the same spots to sit or stand. Creatures of habit, she noted.

  “Don’t worry, I’m here. We can begin preparing for the end of the world,” Rohl announced, entering just ahead of Garnash, Sinead, and Fynn.

  “Oh, can it, Rohl!” Sinead ordered. “I want to hear what the plan is.”

  Brendan nodded and asked Dorian if she had a pan with edges. She fetched one from the cupboard and placed it on the table. Brendan poured the glossy liquid from the Flask of Airmid into the pan and waited.

  “Liquid mirror?” Rory asked. “I’m not getting it.”

  Biddy poked him in the side. “Shhh! Let the man work, dear.”

  “Hopefully, Bibe’s image will appear here and then we can figure things out,” Brendan said.

  “But what if she doesn’t?” Fynn asked, his face tense with anxiety.

  “Tell Fynn to shut it. I’m here.” Bibe’s image was blurry and struggled to settle into a clear picture in the unorthodox frame. “Does the nitwit think it’s easy to swim around in that bottle and then pop right out and look presentable?”

  Brendan stared down at her and shrugged.

  “Well, ask him!” Bibe demanded.

  “Look, let’s just get right to the task at hand, Bibe. What’s our plan?”

  Brendan looked up and caught the odd looks on all of their faces. “She’s there, but I’m the only one who can hear or see her, remember. She, on the other hand, can hear and see all of us.”

  “Header,” Rohl chirped from behind the back of his hand.

  “No, wait,” Sinead said as she leaned forward to examine the silvery liquid in the pan. “I’ve never seen it done quite to this scale, but there were times that I’d walk in the kitchen and see her face in the shine of the spoons or a glass, always barking some order at me to do this or that.”

  “Basically a recorded message?” Lizzie offered.

  “Sort of,” Brendan replied. “Only I’m thinking of it like A.I.”

  “A.I.?” Rory asked.

  “Artificial Intelligence, like robots or computer programs,” Frank offered.

  “So I guess all humans are headers!” Rohl said.

  “Why is he here?” Garnash asked. “If all he’s going to do is crack jokes, then he should leave.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Rohl said, holding his hands up like an innocent Púca. “Sorry for all of the wisecracks, but I’m here because I can be a big help.”

  “I doubt that,” Garnash snipped.

  “Focus,” Brendan demanded.

  “Good, Brendan,” encouraged Bibe. “Enough of this hogwash; we need to find a new location to train, one that is a proven haven for magicks.”

  Brendan relayed what Bibe had said. “Can anyone think of a place like that?”

  “What are magical places that anyone’s been to?” Dorian added.

  “Disney Wor… sorry,” Rohl said before finishing his joke.

  “Let’s take stock of where we’ve been and what we’ve done,” Brendan suggested.

  “Corways,” Dorian said. “Obviously it has been and continues to be a safe haven for magicks.”

  “If we think like that, then we could list Flumshire and the Magog’s village as well,” Garnash added.

  “Morna’s castle,” Lizzie said.

  Brendan, Dorian, Rory, and Biddy all looked at her with knowing eyes. That was a trying time that would bind them together for the rest of their lives.

  “Right, all of those places are as such, but none of them offers the connection to Otherworld that we’re going to need,” Bibe pointed out.

  “She said that the location would need to have a connection to Otherworld.” Brendan looked around at the others for some suggestions.

  Lizzie stood up with excitement on her face, but it quickly faded as she looked at her big brother. “I think I know a place, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Where?” Brendan prompted, but before she answered he already knew what she was going to say.

  Lizzie read his expression. “Can you think of a better place to start?”

  “Can we stop being so cryptic for a moment? What are you talking about?” Fynn wanted to know.

  “We’ve got to go back to the Wampanoag site at Sam’s Creek,” Lizzie said, turning to face the others. “That was where our last stand against Elathan was. That’s where we let him open up the tether to Otherworld and take our father away from us.”

  “Correction, Liz,” Brendan said, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. “That was where we took our first stand, and you can bet that it won’t be our last.”

  …

  Argona had placed the Seeker down on a thin cushion near a wall in the main chamber. That was the most action the room had seen in hours. Elathan was content to meditate, reaching his mind out fruitlessly for Caoranach while Lir, Tannus, and Conchar sat or stood in silence not wanting to interrupt their contemptuous master’s concentration. Argona, on the other hand, was growing restless.

  She slipped away down the long corridor that lead back to Arawn’s prison cell. She heard strike after strike being levied on Arawn by Camulos as she approached.

  “Where is Caoranach?” Camulos shouted.

  Crack!

  Bam!

  Smack!

  “Where is the mother of demons?”

  Slap!

  Bang!

  Thwack!

  Argona peered out from behind the first set of trilithons and looked in on Camulos. Sweat dripped from the god’s body, drenching his clothing and causing his hair to glisten. Arawn was sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the bench, his hands and feet bound. He was bloodied and bruised and looked too weak to be conscious, but somehow he was.

  Camulos reared back and drove his gloved fist into the side of the Celtic warrior’s head, finally knocking him over. Camulos reached up and ran his hand through his hair to clear his vision. He was breathing hard, but he was seething at Arawn’s refusal to talk.

  “What keeps you going Arawn?” Camulos said in a soft, almost comforting voice. “This can a
ll be over. Tell me what I want to know and I will let your suffering end.” He produced a few blue crystals in a clear glass vial and clanged them together.

  Arawn closed his eyes for a moment, appearing like he was going to slip away into death’s embrace—if that was still even possible for him since he was a demigod—but a deep breath revitalized him slightly.

  “Is it her?” Camulos asked. “Does your love for Argona spur you on, Arawn?”

  Argona found herself listening more intently than she would have imagined. She hated Arawn. He had betrayed her all those years ago and then held her in a prison for his puppet master. She had no feelings for him, yet a nervousness about his possible response fluttered around in her gut.

  “Because if that’s it, then you are a fool. She left you millennia ago, leaving you to carrly all that responsibility on your capable shoulders.” Camulos knelt down to get closer to eye level with the beaten demigod. “She broke your heart and yet here you are pining for her still. Pathetic.”

  “You don’t understand love, Camulos,” Arawn said feebly. “Your heart is too black for that.”

  “I understand that love is for the weak, an understanding that you once shared.” Camulos began walking toward the barrier, but before he reached it he turned around. “I find it funny that all the torture in the world affects you less than your miserable, broken heart. Take the human’s advice and get your rest. I want you well for a fresh round or torture in the morning.”

  Argona ducked back into a shadow and went unnoticed by Camulos as he stomped away, trying to shake the soreness from his hands. She waited until the tapping of his boot heels had faded away before she stepped out into the light in the hallway.

  She was numb. In a matter of moments and one hushed confession, she found her world flipped upside-down. But it shouldn’t matter, should it? After all, she hated Arawn—didn’t she?

  …

  Elathan’s eyes snapped open and he looked at the others in the chamber. A dim sneer curled his lips, but he said nothing. Information was always important and could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

  Argona entered the chamber, flustered, but the golden god remained placid. He knew her secrets—her deepest, darkest, thoughts—and that gave him all the power. Even she didn’t really know what her feelings were telling her, but Elathan did. Argona was his servant, willing or not.