The Last Days of Magic (7 page)

After a fruitless hour, the Viking contingent stormed unsatisfied from the meeting. At a sign from King Turlough, servants entered and began moving long tables from against the walls and into the center of the hall. The royal platform was vacated, and the ceremonial seats were replaced with a table and chairs better suited to dining. In the thick of the bustle stood the steward, seating chart in hand, directing the pages as they guided guests to their appointed places. Liam watched the steward make delicate adjustments in the seating arrangement to accommodate for the departure of the Vikings and for the arrival of unexpected guests, such as himself. Hospitality was a trait essential to those wishing to advance politically, and a skilled steward was highly prized and generously compensated.

Then Liam saw Brigid, as beautiful as ever, standing in the doorway.
So the time has come,
he thought.

3

At first He created her [Lilith] for him [Adam]

and he saw her full of discharge and blood; thereupon

He removed her from him and re-created her a second time [Eve].

Hence it is said: This time she is bone of my bone.

—The Genesis Rabba (circa CE 250)

And Demons shall meet with monsters,

and one hairy one shall cry out to another;

there Lilith has lain down and found rest for herself.

—Isaiah 34:14 (circa CE 382), Latin translation of the Bible by St. Jerome

Trim Castle, Ireland

The Same Evening

B
rigid moved across the crowded meeting chamber, dodging pages as they guided guests to their assigned seats, and joined Liam.

“Was it you or the Morrígna who called me?” Liam asked softly.

“The Morrígna.” Brigid’s lips brushed against Liam’s ear, stirring memories of an earlier time. “I was called as well.”

“When will it begin?” Liam asked.

“Soon,” said Brigid. “Quinn in particular is struggling. It will take all the courage he and Una possess to subject their twins to the Test.”

“Brigid, so good to see you,” Patrick broke in, taking both her hands in his. “How is that vow of celibacy going?”

“So far, so good, my dear friend,” replied Brigid.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know.”

“You’d be the fifth man I tell,” she replied, extracting herself from his grip.

“That’s better than the last, I suppose,” Patrick said, “unless that is the last.”

Brigid leaned into Liam and whispered, “You’d be the first.”

“Patrick,” King Turlough interrupted. “Come sit at my table.”

The steward frowned and scribbled a quick note on his chart.

Liam and Brigid were directed to what would have been the Vikings’ table. Large platters piled with steaming beef, cabbage, carrots, and roasted hazelnuts were carried into the room, along with jugs of ale and red wine. Cups were quickly drained and filled again as talk returned to the problem on everyone’s mind: that Kellach was inciting unrest not just among the Skeaghshee but within other Sidhe clans as well. “How do we maintain the Treaty of Tailltiu without the presence of the Morrígna?” asked the Meath judge from the high table.

Lord Maolan rose to his feet. As the largest landowner in Meath—property inherited from his parents ten years earlier, when he was nineteen—and with growing estates in Leinster and Ulster, Maolan was well known to harbor ambition for nothing less than the Celtic high-kingship. Liam noticed that Maolan had been demoted from King Turlough’s table, likely as a result of his licensing trees to the Vikings in direct opposition to Turlough’s unofficial but evident wishes.

“The Morrígna has been absent for more than eighty years.” Maolan’s sharp, thin voice fit his face. “Her time is past. We no longer need a Goddess. You know that in your hearts. We need to take control of our land from all the Sidhe, not only those tree-loving Skeaghshee. Who here is not fed up with having to constantly deal with their meddling ways? Who is happy having to get Sidhe approval on where to build a house? Or having to leave gifts before tilling a field, or being told to whom we can sell our trees?” Scattered supporters raised
their cups in agreement. “I say no more negotiating with the Sidhe, no more gifts. We need a high king who can drive them into their underground lair and keep them there, or destroy them altogether.”

“And that high king would be you?” Liam spat out, ridicule in his tone.

“You crossbreeds are all spies. As high king I would deal with your kind as well as eliminate the Sidhe from our world.”

“How do you propose to do that?” asked the Tara judge. “Have you forgotten the harsh lessons of our history? Forgotten the Battle of Tailltiu, where at least one Celt fell for every Sidhe? Few would have survived if the high kings did not finally see the wisdom of forging a treaty. We must continue to work with our Middle Kingdom brothers.”

“We’re more powerful now,” replied Maolan. “Our druids have learned the ways of the Sidhe. The Vikings will join the fight, as will the Gallowglass. This time we’ll achieve complete victory.”

“There’s no price for which the Gallowglass will fight against my mother’s people.” Liam was now standing, a dagger in his hand.

“Lords,” Turlough broke in. “Ladies. Guild masters. Friends. This matter will be brought before my fellow kings and queens, and the high king, during the coming hurling games at Tara. For now, however, let’s not spoil the taste of this fine wine, surely the best in all of Ireland, brought from Siena in Europe as a gift by our gracious Viking petitioners. Given their untimely departure, there will be enough for the rest of you to cover a grand story.”

Liam sheathed his knife and sat back down as the room cheered the arrival of fresh jugs of wine.

Turlough made a flourish of filling a large silver mether, a square tankard with a handle on each side. Taking a sip from one corner, he held it forward. “To Ireland: Her Earth, Her Sun, Her Moon, and all Her Peoples who worship them, even the Christians.” He passed the tankard to Patrick, who took the next handle and sipped from the next corner. A mether was always passed and the next handle taken in the direction a shadow moves on a sundial.

“Tell us, Patrick, do your holy books speak of the origin of the Sidhe?” asked Turlough.

Patrick stood and passed the mether to a woman on his left, where it began its circuit of the room, now hushed in respect for the promise of a lively tale. It was a combative sort of hush, for if there was one thing that the Celts loved as much as a good story, it was ridiculing a storyteller who stumbled.

“Of course they do,” said Patrick. “God created everything, even the Nephilim, which is what we call your Sidhe.” He withdrew two substantial books from his satchel, the Irish Christian Bible and the Jewish Zohar, and placed them on the table.

“It’s all here in our Irish Bible,” he said, placing a hand upon the larger of the books in front of him. “In both the Book of Jubilees and the Book of Enoch, from which Christ himself quoted. The Roman Church, in its desire to hide the existence of the Middle Kingdom, struck both books from its Bible three hundred years after the death of Christ. Our Jewish brothers retain some parts in the Zohar.” Patrick indicated the other book.

“Get on with it!” called the head of the blacksmiths’ guild, dressed in five colors. “Just tell us the story of the Sidhe! And make it good!”

Patrick raised a hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll like this one. It’s full of sex, incest, violence, and revenge.” Having captured their attention, he continued, “It all started when Lilith refused to lie with Adam. They had been created at the same time from the same clay, so they each demanded to be on top.” Trickles of laughter played across the gathering.

Patrick went on to explain that when God realized they were never going to produce children for his new human race, he created Eve, a submissive wife for Adam. Lilith, furious that a new man had not also been made for her, fled the Garden and began cavorting with fallen angels, quickly becoming the favorite of the Archdemon Samael. Lilith and Samael devised a plan of revenge. Samael, disguised as a serpent, slipped into the Garden and was easily able to
seduce a passive Eve, impregnating her with Cain. God saw that Eve and Adam were not the perfect beings he desired and evicted them from the Garden into the world we know. There Adam fathered his son with Eve, Abel. However, half-demonic Cain killed Abel in a jealous rage over one of their sisters, and he was banished from Adam’s new land.

“Lilith, seeing in the young Cain both the humanity she craved to return to and the devilness she desired in her bed, left the demon Samael and took the half-blood Cain. Together they had many children, though all were cursed by both God and Samael.”

“So these are the Sidhe?” a woman’s voice from the back asked.

“Almost. Lilith’s children were malevolent creatures, but the females could take on human forms of great seductive beauty. There is another piece to the Sidhe bloodline.”

Patrick described how while Lilith and Cain were procreating, Adam had a replacement son of his own, Seth. Famously venturesome, Seth began to explore beyond their homeland, even though Adam warned him that God would not protect him out there. Seth was dubious about God’s protection. He had seen supposedly holy angels, their cocks erect for the first time—all angels had been created male—sneaking out of heaven into his sisters’ huts, discovering the excitement a woman could spark in their previously chaste lives. Seth feared that soon there would be more angels seeking sex than sisters to provide it, and he worried about the consequences.

“So he journeyed through the wild lands toward the sea. One hot, clear day, a sound like sharp thunder opened up a tear in the sky. Stars glittered in the slash of black through an expanse of blue. Seth threw himself behind a sand dune. Peeking out, he saw specks darting about the opening, and lightning flashed in shades of gold, green, and orange—a battle of angels. He hid for a time, until the sounds of distant fighting were replaced with nearby laughter. Crawling to the top of the dune, he spied three daughters of Lilith sunning themselves naked next to the sea. One had raven-black hair,
one nut-brown, and one flaming red. Their names were Banbha, Fódla, and Ériu.

“Aroused—perhaps bewitched—Seth left his hiding place and was immediately embraced by the women. Hungry for mortal touch, they held Seth in rapture, competing with one another to see who could lie with him the most.”

“I bet the redhead won that battle. They always do,” declared a man dressed in only three colors, who had evidently enjoyed plenty of wine.

“It’s obvious that Seth was the real winner,” remarked Patrick. “However, after six days all four were exhausted. Seeing a number of logs washed up on the beach, they decided to make a raft to float in the sun upon the crystal sea. But God had witnessed this unholy union, and, waiting until Banbha, Fódla, and Ériu had climbed onto the raft, he rose up a great wind to blow it away before Seth could join them.

“God would have drowned the three sisters but sensed in each of them that the seed of Seth was already set. Showing mercy, if not actual favor, God drove the raft to the shores of this great island, where they each delivered twins, two boys and four girls. These children, bearing the magical bloodline of Lilith’s daughters and the human bloodline of Seth, were the first Sidhe. Flourishing, they grew strong and eventually were able to conquer the native Fomorians.”

“Thank the Gods for that,” the noblewoman sitting next to Turlough said with a snort. “And where do your books say the Fomorians came from?”

“Those daughters of Eve who lay with a group of fallen angels led by Azâzêl produced hybrid offspring called the Elioud, of which Fomorians are one type. But that’s another story for another feast.

“Once the Sidhe controlled the entire island, they named it to honor the last surviving one of their three mothers, Ériu Land.”

The room erupted in appreciative cheers, the hammering of knives on tables, and the stomping of feet on the wooden floor. Liam had to admit that he’d always liked that story more than the one his
Sidhe mother had told him, about ships arriving in the mist bearing the survivors of Atlantis. He turned to ask Brigid her opinion and saw that she was swiftly crossing the room.

The door swung open and banged against the wall, catching the attention of the guests. Through it strode Una, carrying twelve-day-old Aisling, followed by Quinn carrying Anya. A wave of silence followed them toward the high table. Liam rose and joined Brigid, who was walking behind Quinn. With her free hand, Una swept away an assortment of dishes from in front of Turlough and laid a peaceful but alert Aisling on the table.

Quinn bent and spoke softly to Una, though he might as well have shouted in the now still chamber. “Are you truly sure?”