The Dominion Pulse Read online

  Gioibniu was caught off guard by the tone of the question. “Why does it matter, Camulos?”

  Camulos’s eyes were cold, piercing. “It matters.”

  Gio shook his head. “No, I’ve said too much already.”

  Camulos’s hand moved swiftly as he drove a glowing blue blade into the forger’s midsection. “Don’t worry, Gioibniu, your work is finished.” His eyes were wild and he had a sickening grin that spoke of the pleasure he took in the deed. He pulled the blade free from his old friend and stood back as blood dripped to the stone floor. The forger stumbled and fell to one knee.

  “What did you do?” Gio choked out.

  Blood began to pour out of the wound, but Brendan stared agape when the red blood turned into an icy blue liquid. The liquid began to congeal and drip like sap from a maple tree. After a moment, it stopped. The blacksmith clutched at his chest. His skin was changing colors rapidly as some sort of reagent raced through his veins. Finally, Gioibniu toppled over and remained still on the cold floor, a blue jelly-like glob fell from his lips and bounced away from him.

  Camulos leaned down and wiped the blade clean on the fallen man’s body. “I bet you never crafted anything like this, old friend,” he said, holding the weapon above the dead body. “I bet you never made anything that could truly kill a god.”

  Did he just say god? Brendan asked himself. That’s when it hit him—he was in Otherworld and he had just witnessed the murder of an immortal.

  Camulos stood up and glanced around the workshop. Brendan saw a smile creep across his face when he spotted a long wooden table against the wall draped with a huge white cover. Camulos strode to the table and pulled the canvas away roughly, revealing a group of objects. Brendan moved in closer and looked over Camulos’s shoulder; he identified the three silver charms and the three stone coffers that had once imprisoned the Banshees, including Meghan who had so slyly tricked him.

  The young god touched the tip of his blade to the nearest charm. Instantly, the metal glowed like it was heating up just before it flashed over with an icy blue and settled back into its original shine. Camulos smiled as he did the same thing to the other charms and the coffers.

  “Luckily I already tainted the dagger,” he mumbled to himself before he sheathed his sword and recovered the table. “It would have been a challenge to try and take it from Arawn the Arrogant.”

  He walked back to Gioibniu’s body. Brendan followed him. Camulos reached into his pocket with a gloved hand and pulled out a few chips of some blue mineral. He ripped open Gioibniu’s shirt, placed the chips on the blacksmith’s icy chest, and then stood back. The chips sizzled and melted into the god’s body. The holes released tendrils of smoke before the body burst into flames. In a matter of seconds the only hint of the blacksmith’s body was a greasy blue stain on the floor.

  Camulos left the workshop whistling a Celtic tune leaving Brendan to linger a moment, lost in his thoughts, before he was pulled back to his own reality. He saw he was up against much more than giants and wizards and that was what truly worried him.

  …

  Brett and Vivian Blanch enjoyed a quiet cup of tea in Grayson’s Teapot Room in Leeds, England with a thin crowd of mostly empty tables and a staff that was preparing for the usual lunch crowd.

  “Bit of a nippy morning,” Vivian said with a little shake.

  “Quite,” Brett replied with a beaming smile. “Of course, you always warm my soul, my darling, so I feel just right.” The necromancers held hands across the table and sipped the last few drops from their glasses. “When was Garnash coming back?”

  Vivian checked her watch as she thought about it. “He should be arriving in a few hours. I’m really looking forward to seeing Brendan and Dorian and everyone else.” Brett nodded in agreement. “We have time to go for a stroll if you would like.”

  “That sounds delightful as long as we don’t cross paths with any Magogs,” Brett replied cheerfully in jest.

  A waitress approached the table with a bill in one hand and a pitcher of water in the other. She stopped and filled a trio’s glasses of water at a table near the door before making it back to Vivian and Brett.

  “Can I bring you anything else?” the waitress asked.

  The couple looked up at her. “No, this was delicious, but I think I’ve had my fill,” Brett answered.

  “I agree, it was… ” Vivian began to say before her voice failed her and a gurgling sound finished the sentence.

  The waitress pulled the ticket from her pad and laid it down on the table. “Miss, are you all right?” the waitress asked, looking down at Vivian.

  A circle of blood soiled Vivian’s blouse as she tried to clutch at the wound. Her hand moved only a few inches before she slumped down in her seat with her eyes still open.

  The waitress screamed and turned to the man, but he, too, was slumped over, unmoving with the same circle of blood staining his shirt.

  …

  D’Quall’s alphyn trotted back to him at his hiding place just under an overpass near the edge of the city. He rubbed the alphyn’s dragon hide appreciatively.

  “Did you take care of the treacherous witch and wizard?” he asked his pet.

  The alphyn’s metallic-like tongue slithered out of its mouth, tinged with blood, an answer to its master’s question.

  He pulled a dead animal out of his satchel and tossed it to the alphyn for a job well done. “Everyone of those lousy snots we fought against in Corways is going to die, even if we have to kill them one at a time.”

  Chapter 5

  Tokens

  Nuada’s charms dangled before Elathan’s face, shiny and silver, hypnotically swaying in his clutches. Conchar studied the Celtic knots as their chains twisted and spun them in an aerial ballet. The Three Sisters of Death were watching as well, waiting for their master to address them. Oscar stood motionless in the corner oblivious to his whereabouts and company.

  The golden god had begun to change since his arrival in Tech Duinn. Conchar could feel the power that Elathan had amassed since being in his dormant castle. It would not have surprised the wizard if Elathan were nearing full strength.

  Elathan continued to stare at the charms dancing on their chains. His eyes began to radiate with golden energy, alternating between their normal dark hue and gold. One by one, the charms were set alit, blazing in the golden god’s grasp.

  The Three Sisters of Death and Conchar stepped back instinctively and shielded their eyes. The charms’ fire intensified, turning the blinding white of burning magnesium from a welder’s torch. The fire traveled up the chains and into Elathan’s palm. He held his free hand out to catch the liquid metal of the charms and necklaces as they dripped. Soon there was a puddle of molten silver flecked with tiny bright blue particles in his hand, threatening to overflow but never doing so.

  Elathan’s eyes blazed again causing the puddle to start roiling as if it was boiling in a kiln. The golden god reached into the bubbling mass with his finger and thumb, his eyes still glowing, and pulled out a shiny silver and bright blue coin. He held the coin up for his followers to see.

  Elathan reached back into the silver puddle and produced another coin, then another, and another, until seven tokens were stacked in his palm and the puddle was drained of metal. He held the stack out for each of the witnesses to see. Conchar reached out and took one. He examined it with great interest, noticing the intricate details in the etching. One side of the coin had a portrait of Elathan complete with his cold, piercing eyes. The other side was a symbolized image of the niseag, Elathan’s chosen icon.

  The wizard replaced the coin into Elathan’s palm. The golden god squeezed his hand tightly around the collection. After a few moments his entire hand glowed a lustrous gold, holding the shine for a full five seconds before falling back into his normal pale skin tone. Elathan opened his palm again and revealed the golden veins that traced their way through the coins’ silver and blue-specked surfaces. The Bringer of Death’s lips twitched int
o a brief smile.

  He waved his hand above his followers’ heads and a shimmery image began to form. Small visages of the six realms of Otherworld appeared in a soft golden hue. They weren’t detailed images, but if the observers knew anything about the realms they would have been able to discern them.

  “Behold Otherworld,” Elathan said finally, gesturing grandly before moving the map over to the surface of the wall. “Since the beginning of time we gods and goddesses have presided over these lands, bickering and feuding over ownership, power, and control. Alliances have been formed and broken time and again realigning the power structure of the almighty immortals. In short, chaos has been the only true ruler. We’ve seen species spawned from the depths, numerous and unique, subjugated and free, used and abused, stuck in servitude to their superior masters.”

  Conchar listened intently to his master, understanding completely that he stood before an almighty immortal. Elathan glanced toward the wizard knowingly; Conchar swallowed hard. Elathan’s true power was great, of that Conchar was sure.

  “Up until a few thousand years ago, I fought and schemed like the rest of these fools, like unplanned, unruly children, but I grew wise.” He pulled the obsidian dagger out, now the length of a full-born sword, and held it out for them to see.

  It wasn’t pure black any longer; instead Conchar noticed the veins of gold and the blue flecks of some mineral. It had changed quite a bit since he had last bequeathed it to his sacrificial apprentice over a hundred years ago.

  “Little by little I learned of my nemesis’s plans for Earth and his pathetic line of protectors, and I knew that this was going to be my opportunity to separate myself from the others, especially Nuada. I formed fresh alliances with smarter gods who each had unique talents that I could use to my ends. Soon, they shall be given their ultimate purpose and just reward.”

  Elathan pointed to the images of the realms as they shimmered overhead. “These realms have been waiting for order, waiting for one to unite them as a common land, waiting for me.” He closed his eyes as the images began to pulse like a heartbeat, all of them on varying rhythms. “I can feel the realms’ souls crying out, urging me to find their very hearts, to find their dominion pulses. We gods have corrupted the lands, the seas, and the skies, but never the soul, never the pulse.” He paused and looked between his servants. “I intend to corrupt them to my purposes.”

  Conchar’s mind was trying to fathom the words and the plans, but he couldn’t see how it was going to be possible. How was Elathan going to find the pulses of entire realms? How was he going to corrupt them?

  Elathan tossed the tokens at the wall, directly into the images of the realms where they stuck. The maps gave a bright flash and then began to beat as one, like golden strobe lights each retaining a single token that stayed in the center of the images of the realms and rotated lazily.

  “That, Conchar, is how I intend to unite them.” Conchar and the others were speechless, but Elathan had more to say. “Finding the pulses is nearly impossible for beings of Otherworld, for none of us were meant to find them,” he said, looking towards Oscar. All of the followers looked towards the human as well. “But we have Nuada’s Seeker, and if you haven’t noticed, he’s not from around here.”

  …

  It was a sun-soaked day for the vacationers at Port Royal, Jamaica. The cafés and touristy sites were packed to capacity with the recent docking of a cruise ship. All of the passengers were excited to come to port and see the “City that Sank” or at least what was built nearby on solid land next to the submerged pirate city. The locals welcomed the business and the visitors with tales of pirates and earthquakes, two things that made Port Royal famous.

  While tourists listened to frightening tales on the shore, none of them knew that something more dangerous had just arrived to the old, submerged megalithic city.

  Camulos arrived in a flash in the middle of the sunken city’s ancient megalithic structures. The water around the megaliths sizzled as they fired up for the first time in millennia. The god of war opened his eyes and had to peer through the dancing beams of sunlight refracted by the water. He looked around and saw schools of tropical fish and crustaceans among the stone structures that had been perfectly preserved beneath the salt water.

  He pushed off of the sea floor and rocketed up to the surface, drawing in his first breath with a moderate gulp. Camulos spotted the shore and effortlessly swam towards it. There was a tour group listening to a guide right next to where Camulos came ashore. They were shocked to see a fully dressed man emerge from the sea wearing clothes that looked like they came off of a Hollywood production lot for a fantasy movie. Camulos strode right through their group, knocking a few of them aside as he went.

  “Bloody wanker!” a chubby Scotsman cursed the wet stranger. “Who do you think you are?” The man grabbed Camulos by the shoulder and attempted to spin him around, but instead he found an unmovable mass of muscles in his palm.

  The god of war turned his head slightly and flashed crystal blue eyes that glistened with delicious malevolence. The man pulled his hand away quickly and slunk away by sheer instinct. Camulos snarled but was content to keep moving, intent on finding the one being he sought.

  “Where are you, Tannus?” he mumbled to the sea air.

  …

  Two slices of deep dish and a diet soda were probably going to take their toll on Simmons’ waistline later, but he didn’t care. They were delicious. His wife was always on him about his diet, but he didn’t see the point. He was a product of great genetics and had the ability to eat whatever he wanted, work out now and again, and still have a chiseled physique.

  He had just finished wiping his hands on a napkin when he received an email. He pulled out his phone and looked at the message. It was from Edwards who had attached a video and a note that indicated the footage was from over a month ago—about the same time the megaliths had arrived.

  The vantage point was from the same short-eared owl nest, only this time the owl was sitting on her eggs. That didn’t last very long since a massive shadow overtook the scene. Simmons had no idea what he was looking at, but Edwards had the tech guys slow the footage down and freeze it with the shadow on the ground. It was large and could have been an airplane, but the shape reminded him more of something else, something that it couldn’t possibly be: a dragon!

  …

  “Are you sure you don’t need me on this?” Garnash asked, a hopeful hint in his voice.

  Dorian shook her head. “No, Brendan can take us through the tether, Garnash. You go tend to your people.”

  Garnash nodded. “Fine, but as soon as you get back, find me, because if this really is going to be a battle for the Earth, then I want to be a part of it. My whole clan will want to be a part of it. We have to.”

  “Of course,” Brendan said. “We’ll need the help, Garnash, without a doubt.” He looked sheepishly at Dorian.

  The Gnome king stepped into the midst of the black megaliths in the center of town. He turned around and looked back at his friends. “Godspeed.”

  Brendan put one arm around Dorian’s waist and waved to his friend with the other. Garnash uttered an ancient chant and left in a burst of light.

  “Do you know where to find Bibe, Brendan?” Dorian said as they walked back towards her house, arms around each other’s waists.

  Brendan thought about it briefly and then said, “I know we go north, but I’m not sure of exactly where. Perhaps Scotland.”

  “When do you want to go?”

  They reached the entrance of Dorian’s home and found Frank and Lizzie studying the trinkets they had uncovered at the O’Neal’s destroyed home with Rory and Biddy. “We leave at first light.”

  Lizzie stood up holding the bracelet. “Good. We’ve wasted enough time. Who knows, there may still be a chance to get Dad back.”

  The drumming of a softly beating heart reverberated through Brendan’s mind conjuring images of a dark mountain castle chiseled right into th
e granite of the behemoth. It was both hot and cold, hideous and beautiful, alluring and repulsive, all at the same time. This was Elathan’s home and Brendan could hear the cadence of a softly beating heart from somewhere behind those walls. Brendan just needed to learn how to lock in on that sound. That was the only way that he would be able to find his father. Hopefully, this was something Bibe could teach him.

  …

  The journey from Lir to Dewi took longer than Della had expected, and she certainly didn’t expect the dragon god’s reaction to be shooting a burst of flames toward her. Luckily for Della, she was able to duck down and avoid any third-degree burns. Once the messenger left she made her way to Warnach, the Druid Magog. Warnach was much more reserved in his response and sent the Puck on her way quickly. Della found herself plodding towards her last delivery when her sensitive nose picked up an all-too- familiar and frightening scent.

  The Puck dashed from the wooded path into the greenery when the hoof falls of Arawn’s horse grew louder and the Celtic warrior appeared from around a bend. The demigod didn’t seem to notice Della and charged on towards Argona’s prison at the edge of the forest.

  Della slipped out of her hiding spot and rejoined the path. She jogged along until she reached a clearing. There in the middle of the field was an arrangement of large white blocks of stone set up in a circle with trilithons creating the perimeter. Huge stone blocks comprised the legs of the trilithons and the lintel that sat atop the legs was thick and heavy. Every one of the gods and Warnach were being held in place by similar trilithons, though Della could never figure out how it worked. It wasn’t as though there was much more to the set of stones than the stacks. There was even spaces between them, but for whatever reason Argona and others were held in check.

  Arawn was standing on the outside of the circle engaged in a conversation that Della could not hear, but whatever the two powerful gods were discussing was getting heated. The messenger strained to listen, but they were too far away. The conversation ended, and the Celtic Warrior stomped back to his horse and raced away.