Awen Storm Page 18

  There was a commotion outside the cave. They scrambled to attention. Finger to her lips, Ethnui drew her weapon and crept closer to the opening.

  “What’s out there?” Brian whispered, making her jump.

  She hadn’t realized he’d moved with her. His graze heightened Ethnui’s senses. She peered out carefully to search for the source of the disturbance.

  “Stay here.” She stepped from the cave, weapon drawn. A pair of cygnets bathed in the surf, wings flapping. Seeing nothing else, she rejoined Brian at the hidden entrance.

  “Just a pair of swans. But we must remain watchful for the Dracos and stay ahead of the scum.”

  The human’s eyes widened. “That’s your plan? Stay ahead of those beasts? After what they’ve done to you and your people? We’ve got to do more than that, Ethnui. We have to stop them. If we can get back to my world, we can warn the druids. Let them know what’s going on.” Brian pointed toward skyward. “But to do that, we have to get up there.”

  Chills ran down Ethnui’s spine. Escaping UnderEarth scared the daylights out of her. Not that life down here had been so great. But, she wasn’t sure she wanted to help Brian leave. Or how to go about it, even if she did.

  A Gathering of Druids

  April had set upon Atlanta with a vengeance. Sheets of rain pounded the tin roof at Wren’s Roost, where seventy-plus druids crowded the great room and spilled over into the dining room and hall. Lugh MacBrayer stood in front of the grand fireplace looking out at the druids. He knew each by name, most since childhood.

  The time for silence was over. Hope and Cu stood beside Lugh, pressed against his legs. Many had commented about Cu’s incredible return. It was time to share what that meant.

  Lugh cleared his throat and announced, “You all know that Cu was killed in the earthquake that took our Grand Druid and my nephew. Yet, he stands beside me, as does Hope.” A murmur passed through the room.

  “We know only a fraction of what the druids knew in the days of the Tuatha and Fomore peoples. And even less of what the Ancient Ones knew. We do know they gave us the druid way of life and seeded other peacekeeping tribes around the world. As young druids, we studied these sister-cultures.”

  Heads nodded around the packed room.

  “Most of these cultures share commonalities, including ancestors who could shift into animal form, and animal Elders with magical powers. We of the Awen Order were taught that Cu and Hope,” he pointed to each, “completed the original Awen’s training, and reincarnate with her when the world’s existence is threatened.”

  “That’s true?” Francine Walters shouted from the back, ever a skeptic.

  “Yes,” Lugh assured. Her expression remained doubtful. Beside him, Hope twisted to lick her already-pristine coat. “I, too, believed this to be a myth. But Hope and Cu have been around a thousand years, maybe more.”

  A collective groan went up from the room.

  “I know, I know,” Lugh hurried to say. “I had trouble with this, too. But regardless of what we all believe, these two,” Lugh glanced at each of the Elders, “reincarnate with every new Awen. When Emily came home to Wren’s Roost, they reappeared.”

  The cat meowed and Cu yipped. Lugh stood back to let them speak.

  “’ello, my fine friends.” Hope’s French accent was heavier than usual. “What your priest says is true. A couple of months ago, after being gone for decades, I found myself at Wren’s Roost. I was called ‘ere by zee Awen’s presence. Since zen, I have supervised Emily’s training. Some of you already knew zis.” Druid heads nodded.

  “I am still ‘ere and have not, what you call, expired. Because of zis, I know Emily Bridget to be alive, as well.” Cu barked, and Hope continued. “Zee day of zee earthquake, Cu was struck in zee ‘ead and died. But ‘e returned last night to Lughnasadh’s home, where ‘e ‘ad been living before zee quake.”

  Bedlam ensued. Lugh’s raised hand had little effect. “That’s impossible,” someone yelled over the din. “No, it’s not,” another answered, and the decibel level rose. “Reincarnation is real, and magic makes all things possible,” someone else hollered.

  The acting Grand Druid, Arthur Creeley, stood to bring them back to order. When the room quieted, he said, “Please continue, Hope. You have the floor.”

  “Yes, yes,” Hope hissed. “Be not so quick to doubt, dear ones. As one of you said, with magic and belief, anything is possible. And since I am alive, and Cu ‘as returned, we know Emily Bridget also lives.” The ticking of the grandmother clock filled the room.

  “Are you saying that Emily Bridget is alive?” Sheba Black, whose family was originally from Johannesburg, stood. “If she survived the quake, where is she?”

  “Yes, where is she?” the druids yelled.

  Arthur drew to full height. “That we do not know.”

  “Then how do we know she’s not dead?” The question came from Milo Stroud, an Aussie from Queensland, in Atlanta on a temporary assignment.

  “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” Arthur groaned. “The animals’ lives are bound to that of the Awen. We know Emily is alive because Hope and Cu are both alive. When the Awen incarnates, so do they. When the Awen dies, they die; only to return when the Awen returns.”

  Sean Hester shouldered through the crowd and stopped in front of Arthur. “So it’s not a myth.”

  “No, Sean. It’s true.”

  A loud whoop went up from the druids and a brief, but vocal, celebration ensued. When the room quieted again, the acting Grand Druid cleared his throat.

  “Now that you all understand, it is imperative we find Emily and Brian. Who here is willing to help Morgan’s crew?”

  After more discussion and explanation, Arthur divided the druids into groups according to individual strengths. Tasks were assigned, ranging from electronic surveillance to combing through the wreckage. Those prolific in location charms and telepathy were also put to work.

  When the meeting adjourned, the head of security, Morgan Foster, requested to speak with Lugh in private. They climbed the stairs to the library. He settled on the sofa; she sank into an upholstered chair.

  Lugh leaned toward her. “You have news about Ham’s murder?”

  “I have news, yes. But no evidence of a homicide. The hospital found no trace of poison, and the medical examiner’s autopsy revealed nothing suspicious.” The patrician eyebrows arched. “Tell me again why you think Mitchell Wainwright killed my brother.”

  Lugh hesitated. He had promised not to tell anyone Ham was alive. Or his spirit, anyway. “Ham mentioned it before he passed.”

  “My brother was in a coma, Lugh.”

  “Yes. He was. But he communicated with me, nonetheless. He told Emily the same thing. And he was adamant.”

  “Did he say he had proof?”

  Lugh wagged his head. “No. Just that he knew it somehow.”

  “Well, that’s not enough. We can’t charge the man on suspicion, Lugh, much less get a conviction. I’m closing the investigation. Bring me proof, and I will reopen the case.”

  Lugh exhaled, relieved. As annoying as Mitch was, he hadn’t wanted to believe that his once-friend could’ve killed the head of their Order. “What about Awen’s gems? Any clues yet to their whereabouts?”

  “No. We’re working down the list Emily provided of Alexis’s addresses, but we’re not even sure it was she who stole them. I have two of my best agents searching for clues. If anything pops, I will let you know.” Morgan rose from the chair and stared up at the portrait of Awen and the Elders.

  Lugh cradled his head in his hands, and a whimper escaped. Morgan wheeled toward him.

  “You okay, Lugh?”

  “Not really. My head is killing me.” He struggled to stand and sank back down.

  “You don’t look so good. Why don’t you lay on the couch and rest? I’ll send Mary up on my way out.”

  “I think I just might,” he groaned.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  �
�Not unless you can conjure a glass of water.”

  He dumped two of the pain pills in his palm while Morgan glided to a compact refrigerator hiding in one corner. She brought him a bottle, cracked the top, and handed it to him.

  He nodded thanks, popped the pills in his mouth, and chased them down.

  Extracting a throw blanket from a closet, Morgan brought it to him. “Here. This will keep you comfy. Can I get you anything else?”

  “A new head?” He held his up with his hands.

  Morgan feathered her hand lightly through his hair. “Oh, but this one is so handsome.” She grinned, then a faraway look darkened her features.

  “Morgan?”

  She blinked and her focus returned. “Shall I turn the lights off?”

  “That’d be awesome.” Lugh closed his eyes and heard her move to the door. “Bye, Morgan. And thanks.”

  He shucked off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa as Cu bounded into the library. He licked Lugh’s hand and flopped to the rug. Hope joined them and curled at Lugh’s feet.

  Feeling weary deep down to his bones, Lugh gazed up at the portrait of Awen and the Elders. The play of light upon the priestess’s face made him feel a bit better. Or maybe the pain pills had started to work.

  Surprise Encounter

  Blinded by the spotlight, Nergal shoved Magdalena behind him. He dropped the pack and whipped his weapon from his cloak as two hooded forms emerged from a burned-out building. The bark of a familiar voice stayed his claw on the trigger.

  “Nergal, it is I, Ishkur. We are here to help.”

  The smaller Draconian stepped forward and struck her chest in salute. Nergal recoiled when he recognized the familiar features marred by poorly-healing cuts.

  “Draca, you have caused me enough grief. Be gone with you,” he spat.

  The black silhouettes hovered motionless against a blacker night. The male lowered his hood. “General Nergal, it is I. Vice-Major Ishkur.”

  Nergal stiffened and pointed his weapon. Ishkur was likely here to arrest Nergal. But the genius behind Nergal's Human Domination project struck his chest in salute.

  Nergal relaxed, but only a little. “Why are you not in Xibalba IX? Who is supervising our project? And what are you doing with this deceiver?”

  “There is a pub nearby. Let’s get off the street and I will explain all.” Ishkur peered to his right and left before twisting to check the dark street behind him. “Come,” he barked.

  Nergal’s mouth watered. He could use a drink. And bar food. The animals Magdalena trapped left much to be desired. But he was a wanted Draco. “I dare not. There is a bounty on my head.”

  Ishkur’s bobbed. “Yes, but despite reports to the contrary, Shibboleth believes you dead. He sent me to Agartha to investigate the rumors. And to find you, should they happen to be true—”

  Inanna interrupted, “I, too, am on the run from Shibboleth.”

  Nergal lunged, but the doctora grabbed him from behind. “Wait, Nergal. Hear her out.”

  Inanna nodded gratefully. “The residents of Agartha despise Shibboleth and remain sympathetic to you, Nergal, as do I. His minions forced me to set you up, then left me for dead.” Inanna struck her chest with a closed fist. “I made a vow to bring vengeance upon our attackers. Should you choose to grant me pardon, I shall declare my allegiance to you as my commanding general.”

  “I, for one, would be glad for your assistance.” The doctora moved forward to stand abreast of Nergal. “We found a few medical supplies, though my office was destroyed in the quake.” She reached up to lift Inanna’s hood. “Your wounds need tending.”

  Turning to Nergal, she continued. “I could use a good, stiff drink. I vote we go to the pub. You can leave your hood up. If you feel we are in danger of being discovered, we will all leave.”

  Too tired to argue, Nergal shifted the uncomfortably-heavy pack. Waving them on, he followed Ishkur, Inanna, and the petite doctora with the violet eyes as they waded through the wreckage, skirting charred remains of buildings and smoldering fetid carcasses. A merciful wind rose, blowing the worst of the stench the opposite way.

  Nergal’s back throbbed, and the gash on his face burned. But worse was his sense of impending doom. They approached the pub, and he changed his mind. He would not go in. The others prodded and cajoled, then agreed it was for the best. Nergal’s presence could bring death to them all.

  They filed into the pub, and he squatted in the shadows, pressing his aching back against the sturdy wall. From this vantage point, Nergal could see the alley in both directions, plus keep an eye on the open doorway.

  The encounter with Ishkur might prove fortuitous. When he wasn’t gambling or drunk, the Draco was a genius. He had designed the Human Domination project based on Nergal’s idea and earned a promotion to Vice-Major, even though Ishkur was a half-breed.

  The wind whistled through the alleyway. Nergal shifted positions and drew the hood tight around his face. A minute or two later, several beings poured out of the pub. They wobbled down the alley, arm in arm. But it was the rich aroma of meat cooking that got Nergal’s attention. The doctora had introduced him to the pleasure of roasted-versus-raw, and Nergal was hungry.

  The longer he squatted, the more agonizing it became. Fatigue set in and threatened to take over; a side-effect he hoped would be short-lived. The doctora had been noncommittal on the subject.

  A stocky Cerulean appeared in the doorway and exited the pub. Nergal shrank into his cloak and lowered his eyelids so no reflection of light would give him away. The Ceruleans were paid brutes, likely for Shibboleth. Striding a short way in the opposite direction, the mercenary leaned against the wall to relieve his bladder.

  Nergal suspected the ones from the dive in Irkalla had delivered his near-fatal beating. Inanna had just said as much. Not about the Ceruleans, but the set-up. Despite her part, Nergal found his animosity toward the Draca dwindling. But her litter-father Shibboleth made his blood boil.

  A curt, guttural voice shredded the silence. Nergal jerked to attention. The Cerulean was speaking into his handheld. Nergal heard enough to discern the mercenary’s intention. He was there to capture Inanna for the bounty.

  Not on Nergal’s watch.

  Hate for the warlord burned in his chest. Until Shibboleth had come out of retirement, making proclamations and commandeering his army, Nergal had been in charge. Now Nergal skulked in a burnt-out city that he used to command, cowering in the shadows. He straightened with supreme effort and bit his lip to keep from moaning.

  The Cerulean strode back to the pub. When he hesitated in the doorway, Nergal leapt from his hiding place and slashed the blue giant’s midsection with a scavenged dagger. Blood spurted. The Cerulean roared and fought back. Nergal feinted retreat, then drove the blade deep into the blue chest and twisted hard. The merc gasped and coughed blood, eyes widening when he recognized Nergal. Then his life-force ebbed and the eyes went dark.

  Ignoring the pain ravaging his own body, Nergal dragged him to the shadows. He quickly removed holster and weapons, fastened them around his waist, and covered the body with charred planks. He thought of chowing down on an arm. But Ceruleans tended to run in pairs. His partner was likely inside the pub. Which meant they were all in danger—including the doctora.

  Holding his hood close, Nergal peered inside. A dense smoke haze shrouded beings of every species, but nowhere did he see Magdalena or the other Cerulean. Nergal entered and shouldered his way through the crowd.

  In the back corner, Nergal spied the doctora. She was conversing with a Pharechi in firefighter’s garb and appeared to be tipsy. Inanna and Ishkur occupied an adjacent bench, engaged in a round of heavy petting. The nerve of them partying while he cowered outside.

  Nergal stormed the table and barely resisted flipping it over. Instead, he lifted one mug after the other, chugging the contents. They all eyed him with consternation. Even Magdalena. He clutched at his hood and slammed the last cup on the table.

  “Party’s
over. Time to go.” He kept his growl low.

  Stuffing the remains of an Ecthelion burger in his mouth, he herded his accomplices to the door. Just outside, the second Cerulean materialized from the shadows, automatic weapon leveled on them.

  “Halt!” the merc barked. “Hands where I can see them.”

  Eight reluctant arms lifted into the air.

  “Vice-Major Ishkur, you are under arrest by order of Lord Shibboleth for the unprovoked slaying of twelve of his soldiers. Inanna, you are wanted for questioning in General Nergal’s disappearance. Surrender your weapons and come with me.”

  Nergal coiled to retaliate, but Inanna and Ishkur reacted first, making short order of the merc. Congratulating one other, they debated whether to drag his carcass back to the cave for food, then decided the burden would slow them down. They swiped his weapons, and tossed the dead Cerulean under the planks beside his partner, then high-tailed it for the safety of the caves.

  **

  The renegades reached the city gates without further incident and picked their way through the outskirts of Agartha. Inanna and the doctora took the lead. Ishkur followed, supporting Nergal and seething with recrimination. If he had minded his temper and not slaughtered Shibboleth’s guards, his life would likely be quite different.

  He had found Nergal. And Inanna was a rare delight. But Ishkur was now a wanted criminal. Any further actions would be outside the law. If they lived that long. They came to a short hill and he stopped to switch Nergal’s weight to his other shoulder.

  On the downhill side, Ishkur breathed a sigh of relief. The air here was sweeter, the night alive with cricket song and frog’s croak. A light rain began to fall.

  Inanna fell back to walk silently beside him, then moved to his other side. She dragged the general’s muscled arm along the top of her shoulders and hefted some of his considerable weight.

  Together they climbed the next hill. Ishkur nodded thanks and caught a glimpse of Nergal’s twisted countenance. His agony was evident in the thin dawn light, leaving little evidence of the leader’s former glory. But for better or worse, Ishkur had joined the defeated general. He only hoped their ending would be better than their present.