The Legends That Remain Page 4

  He nodded, and again waved his too-many-jointed fingers at the Fomoiri brothers. “These three were not yet there either,” he switched to Egyptian. “But we travelled with their people. They left the red lands as well, charged with taking us to this new land. They were supposed to return to Seth, to continue the fight against Isfet, but they did not.” Ari’s lips pulled back from his needle teeth in a sneer. “They remained safe on their ships even as the waters rose. But it mattered not, our Seth and the others prevailed, and Isfet did not find the vessel.”

  “The vessel?” A sense of memory swept over her, of having had just this type of conversation before, in this very room. Déjà vu. It is called déjà vu. Did deities experience such a thing?

  Ari gazed at her with a grave expression. “Half of egg of creation,” he said, switching back to English. “The giver of life. They call it cauldron, but it is not that. It is… creation. Life.”

  Shar pushed a stool under her just as her knees gave out. Even gods had their myths, and the egg of creation was one such. The egg that appeared on an island risen from the chaos waters of Nun, from which was born the first god. And these men of ba had been guarding it for centuries in an obscure forest on a northern island…

  Awe filled her, crowding out the anger and frustration.

  Bat looked to Dub, who shrugged. “As he said, we were not yet born. I have heard tales of that time, but they do not speak of the bomen—ba men, or the cauldron—vessel. And there is a much… different interpretation of the events that led us to leave the red lands.”

  Mell let out a laugh devoid of humor, and resentment wrapped its barbed tendrils around her. “And you really think our father would tell us the truth of it?”

  Shar slid a steaming cup of tea in front of her. “He was not there either.”

  “There are only a handful of Fomoiri left who are old enough to speak of that time,” Dub said, his tone carefully even. “The rest have fallen to the soul blades or chosen to move on.”

  Bat folded her hands around the teacup, allowing the warmth to seep into her fingers, and wished that one of her powers was that of emotion, like Mell. What was her grumpy Fomoiri thinking, feeling? What about Shar? Mell was a mess of dark and twisted anger and resentment, though she didn’t think it was directed at her.

  This was finally too much, too fast, and she needed a moment—just a moment—to think these things through. Meeting Ari’s gaze, she tilted her head. “Will you allow me a minute, old friend? I am sure there is more to your tale, but I must gather my thoughts. Then we will continue?” She waited until the man of ba gave a hesitant nod—and what exactly was his nature, that he was a man of ba?—then she turned to the others gathered at the island. “I am going into the garden. I will be back shortly.” She was careful to keep her voice steady and calm, even if her mind was anything but.

  Leaving the steaming tea at the island, she rose and turned for the rear door. Shar silently handed her Killer’s leash and she forced a small smile of appreciation, and reassurance. It must not have worked, because her giant’s expression was pinched, his eyes filled with worry. No one stopped her as she opened the back door, not even the annoying bald man. No one protested as she walked down the steps. She drew even with the garden’s gate and a small thought came to her. If I were to keep walking, would no one protest then?

  She unhitched the latch and allowed Killer to pass her. They headed for the far corner, where red and pink blooms sat across from the dark leaves and bright red of strawberry bushes that were always in fruit.

  Chapter Four

  DUB O’LOINSIGH

  His hands curled into fists that he was careful to keep away from the island top. It would be a true inconvenience to have to replace it right now. Not that the island top was the most important thing at the moment.

  How many things could go wrong? He glared at the bomen—no, the man of ba—then switched his ire to Cu Chulainn—who wore the uniform of a Ceilte Guardi Captain. And who was also now apparently stationed in Sligo.

  Which Finn had neglected to mention. Dub’s lips tightened as he suppressed a growl of displeasure.

  Finn shifted beside him and stretched his head up, straining to see through the window over the sink. Bat passed in and out of their view, her dark hair swaying. Dub’s chest tightened and he forced his lungs to draw in a breath. He wanted to rush out, to take her away from what had tumbled into their lives today. The farking cauldron. And bomen. And messengers from deities who always had their own agendas.

  Agendas that seemed to be focused on his goddess.

  You are not blameless. The thought echoed in his mind as gold leaf and heavy parchment mocked him from the island top. Part of him wanted to ignore this invitation, though the summons—for that was what it was in truth—was something he himself had set in motion—hell, it was something he needed to have happen if his plans for the brooch were to move forward. He’d only anticipated three names being on the invitation, though, and this one held four…

  Their own clan. He grasped onto the idea. This was the goal he and his brothers had talked of for centuries, but only in the last couple of decades had it seemed they could achieve such a thing. It started with a rumor of the Crane clan’s brooch being sighted in a little shop all the way down in Cork. Dano had agreed to investigate, in return for a set of spelled cobbler’s tools.

  Then he’d been killed just a few days before Dub would have finished them. The tools were still tucked away in his workshop—Ciara hadn’t wanted them.

  The last two months had been the best of Dub’s long life. He’d finally been… content. He’d been so sure he could get past this final barrier to their freedom without involving her, that he could negotiate around his father and keep Bat out of the damned politics. She was a simple tenant, after all. None of them had taken the relationship further than those first kisses, and everyone knew the restrictions laid down by the Morrigan. He couldn’t do anything about the fact that she was playing the Uaithne, but they’d all been careful not to talk out in the open about Bat staying on permanently in Ireland. He’d also reinforced the wards after Scath had shown up at Dano’s wake.

  He’d done everything he could short of sending her back to Egypt—and there was no way he’d allow that to happen. All they’d needed to do was keep up the act another few weeks. Just another few weeks. That’s all he would have needed. And then nothing his father did would touch them, or her.

  That fourth name proved his strategies for the lies they were. He should have expected it—of course his father would investigate a newly arrived Egyptian goddess that Scath had seen in the pub with his own eyes.

  Idiot. You’ve lived centuries and you’re blind to the most basic strategies. His father was telling them that he knew Bat was important to his sons, despite how they’d attempted to disguise things. And that he would use that fact any way he could, whether she attended the gathering or not.

  It’s not as if you’ve done all that much to push her away. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it, not after Mell’s words to them that night. The most he’d managed was to keep his physical distance—and the last few secrets that, if she knew, would have burst the bubble on simple contentment she’d built around herself working at the pub and getting to know the patrons.

  But, what just happened here in the kitchen? The words the man of ba had so casually uttered? The words she had heard the brothers utter themselves? Those had finally burst the bubble, and possibly broken something within her—the very thing he’d been trying to avoid. Even Dub, as dense as he knew he could be, was able to see the flash of betrayal she’d felt.

  “Mell?” His voice came out tighter than he would like, especially with Cu Chulainn right there. The other immortal was definitely the type to pick up on weaknesses—and the goddess was one such, no matter how he continued to deny it to himself—and exploit them for his own sake.

  Mell glanced at Cuchi and then shook his head. “Later, brother. We should deal with the
more immediate, umm, issues. One thing at a time.”

  Right. They could decide what to do with the summons later, and they could try to fix their bungling efforts with Bat when she was done sorting her thoughts, but they could not neglect what the man of ba had just told them. The lost cauldron…

  It had sustained the various clans through wars, and been a prize fought over not just for the prestige it offered, but the power as well. At one point, before the soul blades were confiscated and prevented from being used in the wars, the cauldron had been able to revive a lost immortal. It provided the ultimate advantage, and whoever held it held dominion over Ireland…

  Then it was lost—or, hidden, he now suspected. Many of the old treasures had also disappeared after the second battle of Moy Tura and the Fomoiri had been driven out by the Tuatha de Danann. That time.

  Dub turned his attention to the man of ba, Ari. What other lies had the elder Fomoiri told? What other secrets were still being kept? Am I really one to get angry over kept secrets?

  The small immortal’s red eyes met his gaze, and Ari bared his teeth. “I will not talk of this with you, sea man. I owe you nothing, and I will not fix your ignorance. It is for the goddess to decide what you know.”

  Dub raised his hands in surrender. The words were not ones he could argue against, despite the gathering tension in his shoulders that begged to be released with a good punch at the nearest asshole.

  Cu Chulainn stepped forward, his chin set in an arrogant tilt that invited Dub to relieve his frustrations against it. “The cauldron will, of course, be returned to its rightful owners.”

  More needle teeth appeared in Ari’s brown face. “I do not doubt that, sidhe.”

  Why had the Morrigan ever thought it would be a good idea to send the oaf here? The reputation he’d built for himself was formidable, yes, but most was formed from half-truths and boasts. What did that goddess hope to gain from shoving this particular immortal in the O’Loinsighs’ faces?

  Dub braced himself and met Cu Chulainn’s cool gray gaze. He waited for the tightening of his stomach and the familiar sour taste of resentment.

  It didn’t come. There was the all too familiar anger, but the sick twist in his chest that thoughts of Cu Chulainn and Derbforgaill had brought for centuries was no longer there. Even the vague ache of her loss had faded.

  Something new had taken their place. Star-filled eyes and round warmth. The comfort of a teasing smile and a soft melody on the harp. And the image of a sharp knife held to a uniformed chest as Bat threatened to chop off a man’s pinky.

  The snort escaped before he could keep in it. “I wonder what koldala tastes like. It must not be a very large dish, what with only using a pinky and one eye.” Dub bared his teeth in a savage smile. Part of him hoped Bat hadn’t actually been joking. Not that he wanted to eat Cuchi…

  Ari bobbed his head. “It is a delicacy.” The ba man’s red eyes sparked, but Dub wasn’t sure if it was in mirth or anticipation.

  Shar fingered the delicate teacup Bat had left behind, then met Dub’s gaze. The message was clear. We fucked up. Mell had warned them. They had known they needed to sort their emotions and settle things with her. That they would need to tell her—eventually—about the fumoir’s history, about how Egyptian deities were regarded by most of the immortals in Ireland. It was Dub who’d insisted they needed to resolve things with their father first, to get that straightened out so that Alatrom wouldn’t be able to have any sort of leverage or grip on their goddess—and wouldn’t have any influence or right of the brothers themselves.

  He hadn’t wanted her to hurt. The patrons at the pub were different from the Fomoiri and the other older immortals. They had welcomed her, and he’d wanted to keep her safe in that sphere of acceptance and warmth. Just her, the three of them, the pup, the pub, and warmth and laughter and music.

  It was a pretty fiction.

  Finn, who hadn’t taken his attention from the window, started for the back door. “I’m just going to check on her.” He shook his head and mumbled as he pulled the door open, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her what was going on. Ya knew the invitation was coming, and ya had to know she’d be on it. And ta have this other thrown at her like this…” The words trailed off as he pulled the door closed behind him.

  Dub flinched at the quiet snick of the latch and met Mell’s gaze, even as remorse kept his feet glued in place.

  FINN

  His fingers beat an unsteady rhythm against his jean-clad legs as he paused at the gate to Shar’s garden. Bat stood at the far end, Killer at her heels, gazing at the strawberry bushes. She stood partially turned away, and he couldn’t make out her expression, but there was a slump to her shoulders he didn’t like.

  Over the last couple months, he’d studied her. When the pub regulars told their stories, her smile grew. When she played her harp—and it was hers, he didn’t think it would respond to even the Dagda now—she smiled. When the Fomoiri brothers touched her, or showed her a kindness, she smiled the widest.

  Sometimes she even smiled at him.

  And when had a goddess’s smile become a prize worth fighting for?

  Earlier, when Mell had denied a growing connection to her, he’d seen the struggle in her. Yes, she had denied it first, but Finn suspected that if the brothers—any of them—gave her the slightest indication that they would welcome a deeper relationship, she would respond with that same glorious smile, and open her arms in welcome.

  Finn suspected something more was going on other than the brothers’ ignorance and stupidity, but he wasn’t sure what. It was suspicious that they’d given her the pup. Then the time for her to return to Egypt had come and gone, with no words spoken of an extended rental agreement. Her occasional assistance in the pub had grown until most patrons looked for her rather than the brothers.

  She was truly making herself a home here. And the most suspicious thing was the fact the Morrigan hadn’t come to kick her out. Had, in fact, just today sent a damn representative.

  He’d known the gods were up to something ever since the Morrigan involved herself in the hunt for a leprechaun’s murderer, but neither he, Oisin or his team had been able to figure out just what it was, or what was coming. And it seemed the brothers and Bat were just as clueless.

  Anticipation thrilled through him. A battle was coming, and the warrior in him was eager.

  Bat sighed, bringing him back to the present and his most immediate concern. Finn’s lips tightened. The lack of respect the brothers had shown… He understood wanting to protect her, she elicited the impulse in him as well, but this was not how you went about protecting a goddess. In fact, goddesses protected themselves, and they went where they willed. You simply supported them, and obeyed them, or you got out of their way and avoided them.

  She stretched, her light jumper pulling tight against the outline of her shape, and his heart gave one hard pound. So different from Grainne, and yet beautiful. Bat twisted to face him and their gazes met. Silver flashed in her eyes, then faded back to deep brown. What did she see in that instant?

  He unlatched the gate and stepped through. When he reached her side, he pulled in a deep breath, unable to resist, and tasted a mixture of heat, crisp air, the subtle bite of pepper and the light fragrance of cornflowers. Below that was the tang of magic, a note particular to deities.

  It was her unique scent, what he had first sensed on the day he’d come to inspect Dano’s body. It grew when she felt something intensely, or exerted her power. Right now it nearly overwhelmed the natural flowers of Shar’s garden.

  “Are ya all right, then?” He kept his tone even. His hand rose and landed on her shoulder, the fingers squeezing gently. He stared at it, wondering when he’d become so forward with a goddess.

  Or maybe it’s just this one.

  She shrugged, pulled in a breath, and let it out in a carefully released exhalation. “I do not know. Did they send you out thinking I would be less angry with you?”

  “N
o.” He wanted to add that he’d simply wanted to comfort her, but the words stuck in his throat. She’d seen him at his worst, had called him out as the coward he was. What comfort would she want from him?

  “I am not angry, exactly,” she said. “Or, not at them, not really. Imagine, the egg of creation is real, and has been here all this time.” She stretched out a hand and ran a gentle finger over a leaf of the strawberry bush. The damned thing waved at her. “They didn’t say anything when I first came here. We were in the kitchen, speaking of soul blades and immortals and gods. They never mentioned they’d originally come from my homeland. Maybe they assumed I knew and was playing at ignorance?” She faced him then, eyes wide.

  He licked his lips. How was he supposed to respond to that? “I… don’t think they would play at such a thing with you. And I can guarantee none of us knew our cauldron was this vessel-egg thing. The bomen—men of ba… well, many things can be lost to the stretches of time.”

  A muscle in her cheek ticked. “Seth knew.” There was anger in those two words. “The older gods of my land knew.” She paused. “Your gods would have known.”

  He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “The gods do not confide in me.”

  “Not even your Morrigan?”

  He nearly snorted, but he had not lost all his sense. “Not even my Morrigan. It is true she heads the guardi, but I doubt any but those who directly serve the Tribunal know even a fraction of her secrets.”

  Bat’s gaze roved over him, and his spine stiffened. Then she lowered her eyes. “I knew there were things the brothers kept from me. I assumed they would tell me when they were ready, that these secrets were things of the past that no longer mattered. This… I do not know what to think, and therefore do not know if I am all right, as you asked. Do—” there was a small hitch to her voice and Finn suppressed the urge to storm back into the kitchen and beat Mell silly. He should have known better at least. “Do you think they didn’t trust me, to not tell me these things?”