Sons of Macha. John Lenahan
patted me on the head like I was a schoolboy. ‘You are forgiven, Mr O’Neil. So,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘how are you?’
‘I’m fine. Dad said I was out of it for three days.’
‘The oak roughed you up a bit, eh?’
‘The specifics of what happened are fading now. All I remember is that he made me remember every bad thing I had ever done and I couldn’t stop it. It was horrible.’
‘As bad as being arrested for your dad’s murder?’
‘I don’t want to bruise your ego, Detective Fallon, but compared to the oak – you’re a pushover.’
A commotion outside the door made us both turn. A woman was screaming and guards were shouting.
‘O gods,’ Brendan said, ‘I might be a pushover but my mother is not. If she gets in here she’s going to tear your head off.’
The door opened and a very fierce looking Nora stomped towards me in a way that reminded me of an attacking Banshee. I looked to my left and saw there was a vial of that medicine on my bedside table. I grabbed it and downed it in one. Nora started screaming. I heard it but really didn’t care as I snuggled blissfully down into the satin bed of my unconsciousness.
When you take one of Mom/Fand’s potions you really do go out. No dreams, no visions, no nothing. I had no idea how long I had been asleep. It could have been days or minutes. When I woke up I opened one eye and had a look around. Sitting at my bedside, reading a book, was Essa.
She was back to her beautiful young-looking self. I just watched as she brushed a wisp of hair away from her forehead with a gesture that I knew oh so well.
‘Hey, old lady,’ I said and then braced myself. Essa had been plenty mad at me for so much of the time that I knew her that I was never sure if our meeting was going to be pleasant or not. But then she smiled and my body relaxed and my heart pounded.
‘Hi, I … was worried about you.’
I looked around the room to see if anybody else was there. ‘You talkin’ to me?’
She laughed. ‘Yes I am. Are you OK?’
I sat up. ‘I am now.’ There was an awkward silence where we just stared at each, other until I broke it with, ‘You look good without the wrinkles and the grey hair.’
‘Why, thank you,’ she said with a nod of her head.
‘What’s it like drinking Tuan’s blood?’
‘Gross but kind of – wonderful. I haven’t felt this good in years. I have tons of energy.’
‘Maybe I should order a green dragon cocktail for myself?’
‘Maybe we should get my father to whip up some Tuan blood wine?’
We both laughed. It was nice – normal. Could it be that I was forgiven? I wondered. Could Essa and I ever be – normal?
The question was cut short by the sound of bare feet slapping against the stone floor. I was smothered in kisses even before I could see whose lips were administering them. Not that I had to look, there’s only one mermaid in all of The Land that greets me like that.
‘Oh Conor,’ kiss, kiss, ‘I have been so worried about you,’ kiss, kiss, kiss.
‘Hi Graysea,’ I garbled between smooches, ‘have you met Essa?’
The introduction had the desired effect of getting Graysea to let up on my face.
‘I remember Essa,’ Graysea said in a tone I had never heard from her before. ‘The first time I saw her she hit you in the head with a stick.’
I expected Essa to storm off, hopefully without hitting me in the head, but instead she stood her ground. ‘What are you still doing here?’
Oh my, I thought to myself, this has the potential to turn into a serious cat fight – or a cat and fish fight and they usually don’t turn out very well for the fish. I know it was cowardly of me – I reached for the bedside table but, damn it, there wasn’t any of that knock-out medicine there.
‘Where else should I be but by my beloved Conor’s side?’
To be perfectly honest I wasn’t the only reason she was still here – Graysea had nowhere else to go. When the Mertain King found out that she had stolen his dragon’s blood to give to me, he banished her.
Essa was close to snarling when she said, ‘I can think of several places I would rather you to be.’
‘Essa,’ I said as gingerly as I could, ‘Graysea helped me escape from a very difficult situation.’
‘Oh, did she?’ the Princess said. ‘And what other situations did she help you in or out of?’
‘I don’t understand you,’ my mermaid said with her usual tilt of the head. ‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be mourning the loss of your fiancé?’
I instantly popped up on my knees on the mattress between them. Essa had stepped back in what I recognised as a preparation to spring. I really didn’t want to be in the middle of this and suspected that any second I was going to get the worst of it.
‘Everyone out,’ came a command from the doorway. Dad was standing there in his drill suit. He wore that kingly face that made the two women snap to attention and then quickly leave. Neither said goodbye to me as they never really took their eyes off each other for the entire exit.
‘Thank you,’ I said when the Princess and the mermaid were out of earshot.
‘Don’t thank me too soon,’ Dad said, throwing me the clothes that he had been carrying. ‘Your mother and Fand have given you a clean bill of health, so come with me – it’s time for some training.’
‘Training for what?’
‘We’re going to launch an assault on the Oracle of Mount Cas.’
I thought about the prospect of going into battle again and then thought about the skirmish that Dad had just saved me from. War didn’t seem that bad at all.
I was back in Dahy’s boot camp. This time it was worse than the first time. The first time I knew I didn’t know anything. This time I thought I knew everything and Dahy proved to me that I once again knew nothing. We were learning a new technique. The master didn’t have a name for it so I called it ninja school – ’cause that’s what it felt like. None of us were allowed to execute any of our showy spins or flip manoeuvres. Every movement had to be minimal. All over the armoury, where we practised, were wooden dowels balanced upright with feathers perched on top. Every time one of us disturbed a feather, or worse, knocked over a dowel, Dahy would shoot us in the legs with a crossbow bolt that had a woollen ball stuck on the end. If you think that doesn’t sound like it would hurt – then think again.
Araf was really good at it. It wasn’t until I saw him in a room full of feathers did I realise just how economical a fighting style he had. Except for his figure of eight propeller-like stick move, Araf hardly had to change his technique at all. Essa was lucky she didn’t have to learn this stuff. Without all of her flipping and twirling she would have been very unhappy. And when Essa is unhappy – everyone is unhappy.
Gerard,