“Beware of the mermaids, with their hair of rainbow, their eyes of indigo.” –
Conny Cernik
C H A P T E R 1
Be still, mother, just now. Just for a moment, now.
That’s it, love, open your mouth,” Lochlain
crooned, tilting his mother’s head back as he poured another
elixir down her throat. It was the fifth carefully-curated
potion he’d used just this day and, to his dismay, none of his
tinctures were reversing the spell which was slowly
murdering his mother from the inside out.
“May the lot of you rot forever in darkness, Domnua,”
Loch hissed, turning to pace the room as he raked a hand
through dark hair that tumbled around a sharply angled face.
His golden eyes all but glowed in rage as he continued to
curse, his mind racing through the last of the magicks he
could possibly perform to save his mother’s life.
It had been three days since she’d encountered a Domnua
on a foraging excursion deep in the isolated hills of western
Ireland. As usual, she’d been harvesting ingredients for her
spells that called for being plucked beneath the pale light of a
new moon. It was also when the walls between the worlds
were thin.
Too thin, as Loch had unfortunately learned. The infamous
curse, which had kept the Danula safe and the Domnua
banished to the underworld for centuries, was coming to its
final days. As the clock ticked on, the Domnua flexed their
power, slipping more easily into modern-day Ireland,
shielding themselves as they began to enjoy the virtual playground
humans provided for them.
The fae – both good and bad – could never resist the
fallacies and dramas that came with the human condition. An
extended lifespan could do that to a soul, causing the fae to be
drawn to the resilient spirit of the humans, endlessly fascinated
by watching both wars and love stories unfold.
Once the Domnua had begun to taste their freedom again,
keeping them contained had been like trying to hold two
hands over a fire hose – they practically poured through the
thin veil that separated the worlds. Loch’s mother should
have known better; he’d warned her, hadn’t he? Loch cursed
again as his eyes strayed to where she lay on her side, curled
beneath a blanket, the fire snapping away to provide additional
warmth on this chilly spring day.
There’d been no reason to hurt her – aside from sending a
message. Loch had heard tell of it across Ireland, whispered
conversations in pubs and snippets of tales from travelers.
The Domnua wanted to show they weren’t scared, which
meant trying to kill the innocents. And had his mother not
been as high up in the fae world as she was – a venerable
priestess at that – she’d be dead now. Her magick had saved
her, but now Loch had to wonder if it was only prolonging a
painful end. Coming to his knees at her side, he pressed a
hand to her cheek.
“My mother, my heart, I will find your cure. This I promise.”
Loch pressed his lips to her forehead.
2 TRICIA O'MALLEY
“My son. My heart. If I must go… I must go. My own
fault.” Her words trailed off, and Loch’s heart skipped as he
waited for her to take a staggered breath.
“’Tis not your fault, mother, ’tis the murdering Domnua. I
will avenge this. But first, I must be off to find you help. I’ve
exhausted my remedies.”
“My child. My stubborn, beautiful son. You have such
good in you. Don’t let the dark win.” Her words faded, and
Loch wondered if there was a hidden meaning to them. He
had no time to waste, though, and brushed his lips over her
forehead once more, promising a swift return. Then he rushed
from their home with but one destination in mind.
Loch raced through the mists of the early morning, which
clung to the moody hedges and rolling hills that sheltered a
town that was not known to mortal men. Any human
passerby would simply see an expanse of barren hills, but if
they were to attempt to climb or explore, they’d be met with a
tangled hedge so impenetrable that they would be forced to
turn back. His village of magickal people, the Danula, had a
stronghold here – one of many scattered throughout Ireland.
And far deeper within those hills was a sacred cave of such
legend and enchantment that no fae dared go there, as the
penalty was death.
Loch paused as he drew near. He felt the press of magick,
the invisible barrier of the first ward that would alert to movement
near the cave, and stopped just short of it. Reaching out
with his extra senses, Loch began to track and find where the
various wards and enchantments were. Reaching deep within
to magicks he was sworn to never use, Loch began to invalidate
and null the wards, spinning quickly through each
boundary, firing off spells and magicks until he stood in front
of the cave, his heart racing.
SPEAR SONG 3
If he stepped through this door, his life would be forfeit.
But his mother would live.
Without a second thought, Loch pushed through the door
and rushed to find the one thing he knew would save his
mother – a bottle of sacred blood from the Goddess Danu
herself. Not needing light to see – his eyes adjusted quickly –
he raced through the rooms, assessing and discarding all the
various treasures found there. Had he more time, he’d allow
himself the joy of sifting through the beauty of what was a
veritable Aladdin’s cave, but every second counted.
Both for his own life and his mother’s.
Loch drew to a stop, having rounded a narrow rocky
outcropping to find what he sought: a blown glass bottle,
twisted and turned in a gossamer-thin veil of faintly purple
crystal, vines reaching toward petals containing a Celtic
quaternary knot. The stopper itself was a ruby rose of purest
red, mirroring the liquid it contained within.
For one infinitesimal moment, Loch’s heart stopped as he
allowed the sacred beauty of something only whispered about
in legends to wash over him, before he shut his thoughts and
his fears down. At this point, he was a warrior with one goal
in mind – get the magick to his mother. Reaching out, he
wrapped his hands around the bottle and tugged it gently
from the stand on which it was nestled.
Instantly, light – a thousand times as bright as the stars –
lit the room, blinding him, as the sound of the Mireesi, the
goddess’s avenging angels, raged through the cave, their
sound as beautiful as it was painful. It ravaged through his
head like millions of razor blades slicing his mind. Before the
song made him lose his mind, as it was sure to do, Loch
pulled out the last trick he had and vanished into thin air as
4 TRICIA O'MALLEY
the angelic warriors flooded the protected space – only to find
an empty room with the most sacred of blood missing.
As their cries of despair rolled across the land, those in
the village froze, knowing there was a breach, knowing that a
death of one of their own was imminent. All eyes turned
towards the hills, where a flood of amethyst warriors, winged
beasts of the most glorious creation, rolled on molten waves
as they poured from every crevice in the hills, madly
searching for the one – the only fae in all of time – who had
been powerful enough to breach their wards.
And to ensure his death was immediate.
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