My mother licked her lips. “Balor tricked even me. I believed that I was poisoned by iron. A jealous bid from Irvine and his new bride to take the throne.”
The male god waved his hand dismissively. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Dian Cecht,” my mother said gently, her hands folded in her lap, as she gave him a stare I had often received as a child. “My vessel died at the hands of Balor.Balorpoisoned me with iron. She was right under my nose, and I didn’t see it.”
Dian Cechtwas the god of healing, though he was remarkably nondescript. His clothes hung from his body, and his lips were cracked and blue. His belt sagged, overburdened, carrying an array of pouches and tools.
“I told you this would happen!” Another male god jumped to his feet. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Balor has made a door big enough for every Fomorian, ready to waltz into the Aos Sí.” I studied the god, trying to gauge his identity. Before I could think of a single name, the male stomped his foot, and a roar of thunder ripped from the clear blue sky.
Taranis, then. God of thunder and stormy skies.
“We do not interfere in the matters of the Sídhe!” Manannán mac Lir bellowed. Silence followed his proclamation.Under the attention of several gods, he cleared his throat and ran his hands over his beard.
Brígid raised her hand, a blithe smile on her face as she waited to speak.
Manannán mac Lir pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?”
“The Fomorians do not want the Aos Sí. They can eat the flesh from bone, but it isn’t the same as the Ether.” Brígid smiled blankly as she spoke, her voice light and dreamlike. “They want the Tuatha Dé Danann. They want to consume the Ether until it is gone. Once the Tír na nÓg falls, then shall we. The magic of the Aos Sí will die last, so some of us may survive if we don the flesh.”
Manannán mac Lir wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You want us to don flesh?”
My mother rolled her eyes. As one of the Tuatha Dé Danann who had lived in the Aos Sí for a millennium, she obviously didn’t share his aversion.
“We need Lugh.” Brígid held her hands up, mimicking a strange signal I couldn’t decipher. “The craftsman.”
“Lugh is long gone.” Dian Cécht sighed. “Wecannot forge a weapon to defeat Balor in the Tuatha Dé Danann. Our creations hold no weight now that the tether has been cut.”
“The tether?” Cormac whispered, his brow furrowed.
The gods continued, as if he wasn’t even there.
“Lugh rests in the Aos Sí.” Brígid continued. “Perhaps he could fashion a weapon, if he could be persuaded.”
I stepped forward. No one looked my way.
“I will go,” I said, jaw hardened as I stared at Manannán mac Lir.
The Quorum had descended into chaos, and no one paid me a single ounce of attention.
My nostrils flared as anger lit a fire in my chest.
I lifted my voice. “Send me back to the Aos Sí, and I will ask Lugh for a weapon. I will bargain so I might defeat Balor!”
“Err...” Cormac tapped my shoulder. “...Maeve?”
I didn’t turn around. My fists clenched as I watched a bunch of gods fighting like younglings.
An unfamiliar chuckle came from behind me. “Don’t worry, lass.” The voice said. “I have a feeling they’ll do as you ask in a minute.”
I turned, glancing over my shoulder.
I didn’t recognize the stranger. His eyes sparkled, wrinkled at the edges—the kind of smile that belonged to someone unafraid to use it. His hair was grey, fashioned into several peaks around the top of his head, like a crown of spikes.
The stranger stepped forward, his armor made no sound despite its heavy weight. Leather and chainmail, and a sigil I didn’t recognize.
The crowd hushed, and the stranger chuckled, reaching for his chest plate. He loosened the strap and allowed the armor to drop to the floor as he kept walking, straight for Manannán mac Lir.
“You’re in my seat.” The stranger winked when he reached the sea god.
