The dirt erupted and three screaming men in kilts leapt out from the ground swinging weapons. The Fomorii army fell on them, as we skidded the final few feet to solid ground.
Blurs of movement were all I could catch as what could only be the three Smiths fighting a path to Bres and me. There were hundreds of Fomorii, and only five of us; there was no way we could take them all.
The first Smith to reach us had wild red hair that stuck up every-which-way, and he swung a mace as if it were an extension of his arm. “Hello lass, heard you’d be coming our way. Hurry it up now, kill yerself a beastie or two, then let’s be gone.”
A Fomorii picked me up from the right side; I put my hand to its head and unleashed a power bolt. Again, I didn’t count on the increase in said power.
Its head flew from its shoulders and a fountain of black blood spurt out, splattering my face and chest.
The Smith laughed and raised his mace in a salute. “Aye lassie, now that’s how to finish off the bastards!”
With a roar, he dove back into the fray. Bres yanked me out of the Fomorii’s death grip and we ran after the Smith, following the bright red and green kilt.
Bres cleared the path, his sword cutting down those who had once been his people, forcing them back. I tried not to think how it must hurt him to kill his own people. We reached the mound where the three Smiths waited, holding back the Fomorii.
“Hurry lassie, get you and your beau in ta safety now,” said the red-haired Smith.
I turned in time to see Chaos snarl and fling a hand towards us. The black tendrils that flew from her fingers struck like the lightning that had danced across the sky. Fomorii that were in the way were killed, but that gives the impression that their deaths were quick. The black tendrils hit them, and continued on, but where the Fomorii were touched, chaos literally ensued. For some of them, their skin charred, others, their bodies exploded; one even froze like a chunk of stone then crumbled to the ground. I watched as another clawed at the spot where the black tendrils had touched it until it dug a hole in its own belly, eviscerating itself.
Chaos laughed through it all, her face alight with power.
Someone shoved me into the mound and I barely kept my feet, the horror of what I’d just witnessed locked up my ability to move.
Bres wasn’t in much better shape, and it took all three Smiths prodding us along to get us moving.
“What ta hell was that?” Bres asked, his voice shaky.
“Ach, that damn Chaos, her powers are nasty.” One of the Smith’s bright green eyes filled my face. I swallowed the bile that had risen. She’d killed her own army, for what? Just to scare us? I hated to admit that it had worked, at least on me.
The second Smith lit a torch. “Yup, tat little nutter she’d be a one scary beech.” I took in his appearance, a black and gray tartan, a bald head and kind eyes that I thought might be hazel.
He took my hand, engulfing it in his own. His skin was rough and callused, but warm. Comforting. I could feel the strength in them, though he held my hand lightly.“Don’t be worrying now, even Chaos can’t be getting troo our wards.”
Their accents were heavy, a mixture between Irish and Scottish that left me struggling to translate exactly what it was they were saying.
“We be ta tree Smitts, but I supposed tat you’d already be knowing tat, yeah?” he asked. I gave a nod.
They were leading us out of the tunnel and into a clearing. Across the way stood a huge log cabin, and off to one side of that stood a shop with an oversized forge and three anvils.
“Welcome ta our humblest abode, lass.” All three gave a bow from the waist. The third Smith was the oldest of the bunch, his gray hair bound in a long braid, a long grey beard with beads woven into it, and he had bright blue eyes that reminded me a little of Luke’s. He was wearing a red on red kilt and a white shirt that had seen better days.
“Thank you,” I said. I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder. The mound we’d stepped out of was gone, settled into the ground.
The first Smith, the one with the red hair, stepped forward. “I be Angus, that there with the shiny cap is Wil, and ‘ol grey beard there is Paddy.”
“I’m Quinn, this is Bres.” The men all nodded to one another, but it was Paddy who stepped forward.
“Let me see that sword of yours lad. It looks a mite familiar.” Bres handed over his sword, the blade still shiny with black blood. Paddy polished it off, inspecting it first one way, then the other.
Angus grunted. “He tinks every sword is one he’s made. He be going daft, though he can still swing a vicious right.”
Paddy glared at Angus, and Wil just laughed. “Egads, how long since we be having guests? Come on, we should show them to ta house. Feed ‘em up.”
I was already shaking my head. “No, I’m sorry, we don’t have time. We came here for help. I need you to build me a sword that will be able to. . .” I paused, feeling what I was about to say spin through me. I was asking for a sword to kill Ashling.
It hit me in the gut, as if I’d been kicked by a mule. Sinking to the ground, the reality swept through me.
To save the world, I was going to have to kill my sister. Just like the prophecy had said.
The three Smiths exchanged knowing glances. It was Paddy who crouched in front of me, the beads in his beard tinkling. “Lass, you need Excalibur. We made tat sword, imbued it wit ta strength of a soul and gave it to Arthur ta rule. But it’s been many a year dat it t’was destroyed.”
Clearing my throat, I put my hands on my folded knees. “I know. That’s why I need you to make me a new one.”
Paddy’s blue eyes lowered and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t tink we can, lass. We have many a sword ‘ere, good swords, but none wit ta power you be needing.”
“I wish to hell we could,” Wil said. “But we be missing all ta vitals.”
Bres frowned, “What do you need?”
Angus lifted his hands in the air, ceasing the conversation. “This is a talk for ta anvil.” He turned and headed towards the covered work area, Paddy and Wil following him.
Bres held his hand out to me. “Don’t lose faith, Quinn. We aren’t done yet.”
I managed to give him a smile, and wished with all my heart that I could hang onto his words and truly believe them.
10
The ‘vitals’ as it turned out were a list of items that Angus, Wil and Paddy mostly had. Except for the most important parts.
“You see, ta most important tings to make a weapon of power like Excalibur are ta weapon of a true King of ta Emerald Isle and ta soul of one who needs to make recompense for ta sins in their life.”
I leaned a hip against the middle anvil, the sharp edge digging into me a bit. “But you said that the last true King was Arthur.” They nodded. “So how are we going to get a weapon of his?”
Angus shrugged. “He had a number of tings. His sword, of course, as well as a dagger . . .” He kept talking, but my ears started to ring and all I could hear was the word dagger. My fingers found the handle of my dagger at my waist. The bone was smooth and warm, the etching in it and the blade were Celtic. It had power. Cora had told me that when I first met her. She had said that it was bonded to me and my family.
Could it be that my grandfather had known what I would need? That the dagger he’d passed down to me was really once Arthur’s? Slowly, I pulled it out and laid it on the anvil.
With a gasp and a choke as a unit, the three Smiths went silent. It was Paddy who finally spoke up. “Lass, how did ya get tat?”
“My grandfather gave it to me. Is it . . . was it, Arthur’s?”
Paddy lifted it up off the anvil. “Yes, dis was Arthur’s.” He fingered the blade, turning it in the light. “If it was passed down to ya, troo yer family, then not only was it Arthurs, den you are Arthur’s descendant.”
I swallowed hard. “What about the last thing? The soul?” I mean really, how did they expect us to find a soul?
Snapping my fingers, I said, “The hall we passed through, the Banshee graveyard. Do you think we could find a soul there?”
Angus shook his head. “Not unless it was a Queen. Ta Banshees do what they’re told, so tay aren’t really bad. Obedient, not bad.”
I looked over at Bres, who’d arched an eyebrow. “What was it that Fianna gave you when we left, Quinn?”
My pocket suddenly felt heavy. I hadn’t asked what Fianna had given me, but I had no doubt now what it was. Aednat’s soul gem.
The small brown bag looked nondescript when I laid it on the anvil, but when I undid the tie and slid the gem onto the tempered steel, the three Smiths gasped. The blue and green stone was all that was left of Aednat. My heart clenched just thinking about her.
“The gods indeed be looking out for ya, Quinn.” Angus dropped a big hand onto my shoulder and patted it. “We can build you ta sword you need, a sister to Excalibur. For a price.”
Blinking, I stared up at him, not sure if I’d heard correctly. “What?”
“We can do nothing for free. There is always a cost,” he said, his voice sad. “I wish it were different, but if we break that law now, our safety here is forfeit.”
Bres stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. “What kind of cost?”
The three Smiths put their heads together, the low rumble of their voices filling the two-sided shelter as they discussed, though I could make out nothing of their words.
Stepping over to Bres, I slipped my hand into his.
Any idea what they might come up with?
He shook his head. Not a clue. I didn’t even know that this was a possibility.
With a grunt, Angus stepped away from Wil and Paddy. “We’ve decided tat ta cost will be someting simple. Someting you’d perhaps like to give us.”
I took a deep breath, thinking I was prepared for anything. Wrong again.
“Your mother.”
“Huh?” I half grunted.
Angus flushed. “You see, being ta oracle and all, we thought tat she’d like to live here. It’s safe and she don’t have to be seeing any more prophecies here. And . . .” he half glanced over his shoulder at Wil, who was suspiciously stone faced.