Fireshaper's Doom (46 page)

“Jesus H. God,” he heard Gary whisper to his left. “Will you look at that!”

David whirled around again, saw the carved dragon prow, the slack red sail, the rows of shields of the Ship of Flames.

And then saw what lay beyond it.

Chapter XLVI
II: Fireshaper’s Doom

(Lookout Rock, Georgia)

Clouds were forming: thick, heavy thunderclouds that cast a pall over the whole mortal vista of mountains and lakes, as though the storms that had watched Ailill into the world now gathered at his lying. Lightning flashed, and sharp gusts of wind whipped the pines, the smell of ozone filled the air, as bank after bank of sullen cumuli oiled over Bloody Bald. It grew rapidly darker, almost as if night were falling.

A breeze stirred David’s hair, and he shivered, wishing for warmer clothes than his torn hose and stained shirt. He pressed closer against Liz, felt her respond, take his hand, It was good to be back in his own world with his friends standing by him, good to feel Alec’s warm, solid presence at his back; so good to feel Liz’s fingers lacing through his own that he almost couldn’t stand it. They were watching the sky, all of them were—except his mother, who was over by the falls talking to the old Trader lady. He wondered what JoAnne Sullivan thought about all this. Not much, he imagined. Then someone whispered to his right and, glancing that way, he saw Nuada and Froech and Regan gazing skyward as well, their eyes wide in expectation. Morwyn alone seemed doubtful.

The clouds piled thicker, until they hung scant feet above the surrounding treetops. But there was something odd about those jumbled masses: they were
too
solid,
too
controlled in their movements.

A single red-gold shaft of light broke through that brooding darkness and cut a path to Lookout Rock that was like a spear thrust from heaven. And riding that beam came the narrow shape of a mighty sailing ship—bright, almost, as the sun. One high, carved prow appeared behind it, and then another and another, until there were ten. Each was shaped like the Ship of Flame, each had a wide, square sail emblazoned with some fantastic beast or complex pattern, and every one bore outstretched oars that beat the air and moved them swiftly forward. They halted in triangular formation a little to the left of the Ship of Flames.

In the vanguard was a ship of gold, its white sail ablaze with golden sun in splendor.

A man stood in the front of that vessel, and he wore golden armor and a golden helm. Black was his hair and black the mustaches that brushed against his shoulders.

“The Aid Rhi!” David gasped, then said to Gary, “It’s the king of the Sidhe himself!”

Lugh raised his arms above his head, then lowered them again. Arches of light sprang forth to bridge the space between the hovering ships and the rock of the Mortal World. The High King leapt from his ship and was the first to touch land. Behind him, a company of warriors followed, each man or woman coming to stand in disciplined array behind him.

Last of all came a woman dressed in red, with a black crow perched on her shoulder. She looked more than a little irate.

The High King of the Sidhe in Tir-Nan-Og ignored Nuada and the two Horn fragments he held, ignored Regan and Froech and Morwyn. Most particularly he ignored the mortals who pulled back into an awestruck group. He did
not
ignore David Sullivan.

Lugh pointed a gold-cased finger at David and curled it slightly toward him.

David gulped, stepped forward, found himself looking into the sharp angles of the Ard Rhi’s face, into blazing eyes that he was certain could see all the way to a conscience that was far from clean. He took a deep breath.

Lugh said nothing at first, merely stared at David, and David could not read the emotion written there. Once Lugh’s brows lowered and his eyes glittered so brightly that David feared for his life.

Finally the High King took a long breath and spoke. “It is almost a year since we have met, David Sullivan. And in that time you have learned many things, some of which you may even find useful—but I never expected you to number thievery among your studies. I do not think much of your recent visit,
mortal,
nor like my treasury being raided; though you
may
have performed me service there—by showing me flaws in what I had thought unbreakable defenses.”

David’s lips quirked upward in an embarrassed, lopsided smile “I’m glad you see it that way, sir.”

Lugh raised a wry eyebrow. In spite of himself a ghost of amusement played around the corners of his mouth as well.

“I also realize that there were, ah,
extenuating
circumstances,” the High King continued, fixing Morwyn with a meaningful stare “so I suppose that leaves me with a single reasonable choice: to congratulate you for your skill at achieving the quest, and, more important, to acknowledge the honor you have shown by reuniting Morwyn and Fionchadd. A man who will do good for his enemy because it is a good thing for a
friend
is an honorable man indeed. And now,” he added by way of dismissal, “I think I must speak to Morwyn.”

David released the breath he had been holding, and rejoined his friends as Lugh motioned Morwyn forward.

The Fireshaper dropped on her knees before him, but Lugh raised her again to face him. Her body was taut as a harp string.

“Long has it been since we have met, Morwyn verch Morgan ap Gwyddion,” Lugh said. “And the occasion of that last meeting was far happier than that which brings us together once more. But even then, I think, I had a foreboding of some mighty doom that awaited you—and now it seems that you have set it upon yourself. And that doom is
guilt
,
Morwyn: guilt for the death of Ailill Windmaster. Whatever he did to you and to your son, yet I see that a shadow of love remains, and I fear that shadow will torment you. He need not have died, you know, had you waited but a little while. Though you have had your vengeance, Ailill’s death was a thing in vain.”

Morwyn’s jaw tightened slightly. Lugh paused, his eyes narrowing before he continued. “And with the doom of that vast guilt must come another, Morwyn, which, though you may deny it now in your pride and arrogance, may come to haunt you even more as the seasons turn. And that is guilt for the anguish your selfishness has brought on a whole array of innocent folk, not the least two unfortunate lovers.
And
,
Morwyn verch Morgan, there is one doom of guilt upon you that is greater than any other.”

Morwyn raised her head and looked him square in the face. “And what is that, Lord?”

“The price that must yet be paid for the deaths of Fionna and Ailill. They had
kin,
Morwyn, mighty kin indeed. The King of Erenn was their half brother, and in more distant realms dwell others who might call them family. One slew herself through her own folly, though I know not whether her kin may see it that way, but you have slain the other by your own hand. And in that you may have helped bring war upon us: war between Erenn and Tir-Nan-Og. Think of it, Morwyn: All because you would not temper vengeance with mercy! All because Ailill’s death—or your own pride—was more important to you than peace between the Worlds.”

Morwyn’s face went suddenly hard. She glared back at Lugh. “I swore an
oath,
Ard Rhi, and kept it. My soul holds no peace because of it, yet I know that in
that,
at least, I acted rightly. My duty was to avenge my son, and that I have done. The rest is for Dana to say; I care not.”

“Not even if there is war?”

“I will return to the Land of the Powersmiths,” Morwyn replied wearily. “War will sweep by me, and I will scarcely mark its passage.”

“But others will not. You will come to know this, Fireshaper: that when war ravages Faerie, perhaps even breaks through to consume the Lands of Men, that every one who dies, man or Faery, will die cursing your name.
That
may be your doom, Fireshaper. I only hope it does not come to pass.”

“But what about Fionchadd?” David interrupted desperately “We’ve got to try to resurrect him, and soon—we’re running out
of
time!”

“We are indeed,” the Morrigu acknowledged unexpectedly, “but I think we may yet succeed—if we can enlist the aid of that mortal woman I see skulking about by the pool yonder.”

Lugh followed her pointing finger, and nodded. “Bring that woman here,” he commanded.

*

“Lord, help me,” Katie whispered to JoAnne Sullivan, as she saw two warriors break ranks behind Lugh and start toward her. “What can they want with me?”

The younger woman could only shake her head and frown.

Katie cleared her throat expectantly. Whatever Oisin had chosen her for was about to happen. She was there, finally, the place where the cross had been. She’d been late—evidently something important had gone on that she’d missed. She had arrived in time to see the ships come sailing out of the clouds, though, and that was a wonder straight out of Ezekiel. But now they had noticed her, and were coming to get her. Did They want her to do something for
Them?
But what could Katie McNally do that these fine folk could not? She couldn’t imagine.

A hand brushed her arm, gentle but firm. She looked up, saw a man there—or a boy. Which was he? She couldn’t tell; they all looked like tall young men to her—except for their eyes. And the
women…

“Come, Katie McNally,” a gentle voice urged her, a woman’s voice this time, at her left. A woman in what looked like solid gold armor. “You must come with us; the High King of the Sidhe has need of you.”

Katie nodded, set her mouth, and stood up as straight as she could. “I’ll walk of my own will,” she said. “You do na’ have to force me.”

“Nor would we,” the woman replied.

And Katie left JoAnne Sullivan standing speechless beside the pool and went forward to meet Lugh Samildinach.

Lugh looked her up and down. “Do you think she will do, Morrigu?”

The Mistress of Battles stared at Katie, and Katie felt as though something were pecking away at her fluttering heart; the woman’s voice, when she heard it again, was like the cawing of a crow. “She will, Lord, if her doubts do not betray her.”

“You are certain?”

“I know, Lord, that with battle comes death, but with the knowledge of death comes also the knowledge of life. And this one has lived a very long life, as mortals go. She has done many of the things we have done, and she has done one thing none of us will ever do.”

“And what is that?” Froech asked.

“She has aged, boy,” Lugh interrupted. “She knows the feel of mortality in her bones, as we never can. Death comes even to the Sidhe, sometimes, but we never see it approaching. To grow old and know it is waiting there at the end must take great strength indeed.”

“So you need me for my old bones?” Katie snapped, feistier than she felt.

Lugh looked at her without emotion. “I need you for the Power age has horded within you.”

“What power? I’ve got no power.”

Lugh’s face was impassive. “I need you to lead a ritual, to be a kind of priestess, as it were.”

Katie’s heart flip-flopped. A priestess! What did they mean by that? She wouldn’t be involved in no pagan rites, no sir. That would be asking too much. She’d been a good Catholic woman since her birth.

“I’ll not.”

“But you must.” Lugh smiled. “A life hangs in the balance, and you alone can help to save it—you and some of these other good folk.”

“Why me?”

“Because this is your World. And because there is no time but now for the doing, and no one
for
the doing but you. Morwyn’s son dwells in a body not his own. He cannot leave it, and yet that body will fail, it will die. He must have strength enough to claim another body then. Yet we cannot wait, for he battles the lizard’s thoughts incessantly. He is awake now, but he must sleep again. He will not reawaken.”

Suddenly the red-haired woman was on her knees before her. “Will you do this for me, Katie McNally?”

“Yer askin’ me for my soul, Lady. I cannot help you.”

“Let me talk to her,” David interrupted. “Maybe I can explain—I’ve seen a little more of both sides.”

Katie sighed and let the boy lead her back to the pool. If he thought he was going to convince
her…

*

David grimaced uncertainly when he saw his mother still waiting there, took a deep breath, and slid his hands down his hips as though he sought pockets he did not have. Finally he folded his arms in frustration. “You’ve got to help them, Katie.”

“And why would that be, young sir? I’ve helped them too much already.”

David frowned. “But they
need
your help, Katie, it’s as simple as that,” he began slowly. “You asked why, and all I can say is because…because they’re just good people, most of ’em. Because they’re alive, even if it’s not the same as you and me, and they’ve got a right to be happy just like us.”

He paused, chewed thoughtfully on the side of his hand before continuing. “I
know
what’s bothering you; it’s the religion thing, and I’ll tell you straight it bothers me too, sometimes; ’cause what I know, what I’ve seen, just don’t jive with what you read in the Book. Hell, I was almost an atheist before I found out about all this. But it
is
real, Katie; it’s all part of one creation.”