Shattered: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Seven (35 page)

“Since it’s Samhain and the veil between this world and the lands of the dead is at its thinnest,” I said, “I’d like your help tonight in speaking to one recently departed: Midhir of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”

A line appeared between Manannan’s brows as he frowned. “Leaving aside the question of how you even know he’s dead, why do you wish to speak to him?”

“I’d like to ask who killed him.”

Manannan studied me in silence and then, quieter than I expected, replied, “No.”

“Fine, then you tell me who killed him. I’m sure he told you when you came to usher him to the next world.”

“No.”

“We can play charades if you want. One word, one syllable—”

“No.”

“Are you hiding his death because the name Midhir gave you is Fand?”

That did it. Meara gasped and Manannan’s stone expression cracked. He pointed a finger at me as he growled, “Be very careful what ye say.”

“Manannan, we have known each other for centuries. You know I love and respect you. I am talking about this with you
first because of that love and respect. You have never been one to ignore facts.”

“You have no facts.”

“Midhir was killed by someone in disguise, and he claims that someone was Fand. That’s a fact.”

“How do you know this?” he replied, confirming for me what had been Owen’s guess about the death.

“I found his body, Manannan. And the manticore chained up in his pleasure hall.”

“Ah, so ye spoke to the manticore?”

“After he tried to kill me, yes. He was also placed there by someone in disguise.”

“And you told no one?”

“I told Granuaile and Owen. How about you?”

“No, I’ve told no one yet.”

“When were you going to inform Brighid that one of the Tuatha Dé Danann is dead?”

“I’m trying to learn more. I can’t take this to Brighid until I know who killed him. It’s the first thing she will ask, and I have no answer.”

That was a poor excuse to shirk his duty, but he may not have realized it. “Fand has covered her tracks too well, Manannan. She knew you would be the first to know about it and took steps to cover her trail.”

“It simply can’t be true, Siodhachan!” he ground out, his voice taut and worried. “Why would she ever have reason to do such a thing?”

“Maybe I can illuminate that for you.” I explained that to someone who loved the Fae so much, the possibility of another Iron Druid—maybe three, if Owen wanted to become one too—would be anathema. “She was trying to kill Granuaile and me, using Midhir to help her and to keep everything hidden from the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann. When we escaped her net and Midhir became a liability, she killed him. I truly can’t blame her for what she’s feeling, you understand. There’s no doubt that I deserve what she’s feeling. But I do want the attacks to stop.”

Manannan shook his head. “If it was Fand—and I don’t think it was—I can’t imagine how she hid this so well from all of us.”

“Is it so very difficult?” I waved a hand toward Meara. “You have your trusted Fae who are loyal to you above all others. She has just as many, if not more. And Midhir and Lord Grundlebeard had significant resources as well.”

“Lord who? Oh, yes, I remember now. He was in charge of the rangers.”

“Right. He probably told the rangers what to do, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they never knew the true reason behind the orders. I’m not sure how aware you are of what happened to me in Europe recently. When you hear it, I don’t think you’ll be able to point to anyone else.”

I recounted the series of attempts on my life that all began after I presented Granuaile at the Fae Court and announced my intention to bind her to the earth. The Fae assassins and the yewmen at the base of Mount Olympus. The vampires who on several occasions knew where I would be—not because Leif truly could trace me, as I’d originally feared, but because either Fand or Midhir had divined Granuaile’s location and sent a faery to tell Theophilus. The squads of dark elf mercenaries, and, eventually, collusion with the Romans to trap me on this plane and hunt me down—which Manannan did know about, since he had been instrumental in helping us escape the continent via swimming the English Channel. The sudden and strange appearance of Ukko, the Finnish god, to spring Loki out of his entrapment so that he’d be free to mess with me some more. The Fir Darrigs who attacked Owen and me after he left the Time Island—a clumsy attack that Fand had arranged on the fly, right after she’d healed Owen.

“Now, those mercenaries must have cost quite a bit of gold, Manannan,” I said. “And I’m sure she had to pay Midhir and Lord Grundlebeard for their services as well. Did you notice any large expenditures recently, perhaps explained away as necessary upgrades to the estate or something else …?”

Manannan’s face, up to that point a mask of defiance and
disbelief, slowly crumbled and fell like a weathered bluff sliding into the ocean after an earthquake. He pressed his palms into his eyes, as if to prevent them from seeing the truth, and when he dropped his hands, he looked shattered and desolate. He swayed, and Meara placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“I think I need to sit down,” he said.

“Of course. We can sit inside or outside.”

“Outside, but no more talk of this for a while. I’m going to remove the cloak and think.”

I led him and Meara over to the camp chairs that Owen and I had occupied last night, and as Manannan dispelled the mist and air, it revealed Owen standing nearby with an armload of wood.

“Ah, there ye fecking are,” he said. “No doubt the hound was plotting something against me involving pudding.”

Oberon said.

Don’t let him goad you
, I told Oberon.

“Have ye told him, then?” he asked, nodding toward Manannan.

“Aye, he’s taking it in.”

“Is he, now? I figure that should take a while. Might as well fetch more wood. Where would you like to do this?”

“Down by the river.”

“O’ course ye would.” He kept walking past us, down to the banks of the Uncompahgre River. I still didn’t understand why he’d gone so far uphill to fetch wood, but since I was relatively certain he wanted me to ask about it, I didn’t.

Manannan rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands, and I knew that there was nothing I could say at this point to make him feel any better. I fell back to the standard UK position for awkward social situations. “Tea. I’ll make some.”

The few minutes that it took to boil water and make tea gave Manannan some time to deal with his emotions and think of how best to proceed. When I emerged from the cabin with cups and saucers, he was sitting up straight and ready to talk again.

“We need to speak to Flidais,” he announced.

“Agreed,” I said, handing him a cup.

“Meara, will you see if you can bring her here as discreetly as possible?”

“Yes, Manannan. What if she wants to bring her thunder god?”

“That’s fine with me. But no Fae.”

“As ye say.” She vacated her seat, walked with liquid grace to the aspens, and shifted away. I sat down next to Manannan in the chair Meara had just left, and the god of the sea took a cautious sip from his cup before placing it back down with a small porcelain clink.

“Midhir told me it was Fand who killed him, but he couldn’t prove it,” he said, finally confirming what we had suspected all along. “Whoever it was, they were masked head to toe. I saw the afterimage in his eyes, but there was no proof. It could have been anyone. So I didn’t believe him.”

“But you believe me?”

“No. Because you have no proof either. You have told me she had motive, means, and opportunity, and you have raised my suspicions and worried me that ye may be right, but I will not act without proof and cannot condone any action ye may take either.”

It was at this point that Owen returned, though he didn’t interrupt our conversation. He simply stood, listening, with his arms crossed. I continued without pause.

“You can’t condone any action at all? What if we get the proof you need?”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“We might not be able to get proof that she killed Midhir, but there’s a simple way to find out details of her scheming: Bring Midhir’s shade back, like I suggested, and ask him why he was killed. What was he doing for Fand?”

“Pointless. We could not trust whatever he’d spew out.”

“I didn’t say we should trust him. But we should investigate what he says, try to confirm or disprove it. He might be able to lead us to proof that Fand has been trying to kill Granuaile and me.”

“To nine hells with it,” Owen cut in, “let’s just bring it to Brighid and let her sort it out.”

That elicited an explosive reaction from Manannan. He erupted to his feet and shouted, “No! You will not bring this to Brighid! She may overlook Fand’s other trespasses, but she cannot ignore the death of Midhir.”

Pretending I didn’t hear the tacit admission that Manannan believed Fand was guilty, I asked, “Do you
want
Brighid to ignore the death of Midhir?”

“No, but I want solid proof before there are public accusations. If Brighid makes any move to imprison Fand pending an investigation, do you know what the Fae will do?”

“I imagine they’ll obey the First among the Fae and abide by her decision.”

Manannan favored me with the mixed look of scorn and disbelief—wrinkles in the forehead from a querulous brow, lips pulled back from the teeth in a grimace. “That’s a fine imagination ye have there.” He sliced the air with a hand, figuratively eviscerating my idea. “No, Siodhachan, they’ll rebel. And Fand has more Fae on her side than Brighid does. More than anyone.”

“Do you have a suggestion, then, on how to proceed? Because we can’t simply ignore this. Brighid will find out eventually.”

“She already has,” Owen said, and Manannan whirled on him. “Not about Fand,” he clarified, “but she knows Midhir is dead. She’s looking into it.”

“That complicates things.”

A new voice said, “What complicates what, exactly?” We turned to find Flidais, Perun, and Meara walking toward us from the trees, newly shifted in from Tír na nÓg. Flidais wore her hunting leathers and bow, and Perun had his axe strapped to his back. He also had a leaf stuck in his hair, but since I caught Flidais winking at Owen, I assumed it was some kind of practical joke and we were supposed to keep quiet about it. We all had weightier matters to worry about, anyway.

Owen recruited Perun to collect more firewood with him—“That axe will come in handy, lad”—while I invited Flidais,
Meara, and Manannan inside to go over everything again. Flidais was considerably more surprised than Manannan by the theory that Fand had been pursuing some kind of vengeance against me on behalf of the Fae, and news of Midhir’s death shook her visibly—she hadn’t heard.

“He and I … well, we had some fun in the past. If Fand killed him …”

“Then what?” Manannan asked when she trailed off, earning a sharp glare from Flidais. “This is the question we must ask ourselves. What if this proves to be true? Keeping in mind that Brighid is currently conducting her own investigation.”

“We don’t know enough,” Flidais replied. “That’s a chasm to jump when we get there. How do we find out if this is true?”

Manannan told her of my suggestion to bring back Midhir, and she agreed that would be best, so we stepped outside to get the fires lit and to proceed. It was only dusk, but it would be full dark by the time we got to the business of summoning Midhir, and while it wasn’t midnight here, it was midnight somewhere else—close enough for Manannan to do what he needed to do.

“Where is Granuaile?” Flidais asked, suddenly realizing that she wasn’t here.

“I don’t know. I’ve tried calling her and I left her a message, but she hasn’t responded.”

“Have you tried divining her?”

“No. I felt that would be a little creepy.”

“If you truly believe Fand is trying to kill you both, then I think it would be wise more than anything.”

“She’s not dead,” Manannan said, trying to provide some reassurance, “or I would know.”

“I’ll do it just to make sure she’s okay,” I said, because in truth I was beginning to get worried. I became only more so a quarter hour later, when I completely failed to locate her through divination. “Maybe I’m doing it wrong—it’s never been my strong suit,” I said to Flidais.

“Nor mine,” she said. “But I’ll try too.” Unfortunately, she
failed to find Granuaile as well using her own methods, as did Manannan after her.

“She does have a cold iron talisman around her neck,” I offered, trying to think of an explanation that didn’t signify that she was in any kind of trouble.

“Aye, but she had that when you were running around Europe,” Owen pointed out, “and Fand—sorry, Manannan—or
someone
was able to divine her location just fine.”

We paused to consider, and the vision of Midhir wrapped in iron chains came back to me. Something like that would put a damper on divination. What if Fand already had Granuaile stashed away somewhere?

“There’s no way to solve that problem now,” Flidais said, “so we should proceed with calling Midhir and solve what problems we can.”

“Is that all right with you, Siodhachan?” Manannan asked, to which I nodded. It was the pragmatic thing to do. It occurred to me that Granuaile had never said where she was or what she was doing the last time we traded texts, only that she’d join me when she could. Without a clue of where to begin searching, I couldn’t hope to find her; she could quite literally be anywhere, on earth or on a different plane.

We began our rites of Samhain when darkness fell, old rituals that modern folk never got quite right, because they didn’t know the words anymore and we’d never written them down, and they were a bit fuzzy on the reasons for the fires as well. I have heard people say that walking between them is a rite of purification, or that it signifies leaving the old year behind and beginning the new one, and those are harmless interpretations to which I cannot object. The fires represented any number of dualities, but amongst them were the lives of the flesh and of the spirit, the light of two worlds; between them, on Samhain, we can speak with those who dwell in the other world. We meet each other halfway and speak through the shroud that separates us.