Chapter 21

He turned slowly, fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to hurt something. Beat flesh and bone until his rage drained away. The expression on Manannán’s face drained his anger. Profound sadness surrounded the fae, dampening the very wind.

“What do you mean I wasn’t there?” He stared at the king. “I. Was. There. I remember it.”

“Do you wish the truth, mortal?”

Something in the king’s voice made Rory hesitant, but he’d always been a man who insisted on the truth. “I do.”

“Then walk with me.”

The fae turned his back and walked away, leaving Rory no choice but to jog after him until he caught up. A path opened at the edge of the woods, wide enough for the two of them to walk side-by-side. The mulch beneath their feet rustled, the sound echoed by the leaves above their heads. Even here in the shade of the giant trees, the air’s clarity persisted. A hush descended around them as they passed, then sound swelled after their passage as birds and little animals resumed their daily lives. More than once, Rory opened his mouth to push for answers only to clamp his jaw closed at the expression on Manannán’s face.

“You made a bargain with the harper, many lives ago.”

Rory held his tongue.

“You remember this bargain, your life for hers, thinking Abhean or I would take you then after restoring the child to her life. But your life and hers have been entwined always. When Ciaran found you, did he tell you of the binding?”

“No, but I remember.”

Manannán chuckled, a dark, stormy sound that rumbled like thunder. “You MacDermots remember too much sometimes.”

“I was there. In Tuam that Lughnasadh night when you took Becca from Ciaran. And I watched him wither and dry up, his will to live sucked out of him. He wouldn’t take his own life but he was willing to die in battle to join her. Then she found her way back. She found a way to return. And Ciaran bound her to him, and she bound him, there at the Samhain fires.”

“Ay, he did, with a bit of help from Onagh and Finvarra. To this day the Taoiseach of Clann MacDermot wears the MacDermot Knot. And do you remember the vow you made?”

Rory’s brow furrowed. “I made no vow, especially not to a woman.”

“Aye, you did, mortal. You vowed never to love as Ciaran did. Do you know the story of the binding?”

That stumped him. As if he rifled through a file drawer, he searched his memories but nothing came to mind. He finally shook his head, admitting defeat.

“As a very wise woman once told Ciaran, back in the very beginning of time, back before the misty blue mountains existed, each man had a woman. And each woman had a man. Two hearts. One soul. When they found each other, and pledged the vow, their lives joined throughout eternity. Life after life.”

Manannán stopped and prevented Rory stepping past by throwing up his arm as a barrier. Luckily. They stood on a cliff. Down below, a wide river meandered through a narrow valley. As Rory watched, islands appeared or disappeared with no rhyme or reason he could discern. The big fae silently watched for much too long to suit Rory, but once again, he remained silent while questions burned the tip of his tongue.

“You vowed never to love like that, Riordan MacDermot, and Fate heard you. By your own action, you condemned not only yourself but that of your other heart to lifetimes of loneliness.”

“Fate? Ha. I don’t believe in fate. Life is what we make of it.”

“Is it? Time is a river, mortal. And human lives are but islands in that stream.”

Rory blinked several times, staring in shock at the scene below. “Wait. What? You mean those are people’s lives?”

“Aye. They are.”

Two islands, surrounded by mist, appeared. A man might almost jump between them they were so close. A figure appeared on one, insubstantial as if Rory watched through smoke and mirrors. A woman. A familiar ache lodged in his chest. “Delaney.” Her name lingered on his lips and his hand reached for her of its own volition.

Manannán waved a negligent hand and the fog on the island danced and curled beckoning fingers around her before dissipating as if teased by a spring breeze. Rory could see her now. She looked the same but…not. A tightness around her mouth and eyes, furrows across her forehead, hunched shoulders—this was a woman tired and worn by the cares she carried. Behind her, like an antique kinescope, scenes from her life—lives—flickered. Mesmerized, Rory watched.

The ache in his chest expanded as Delaney loved Conor life after life, and lost him to Neasa each time. And in each life, a dim figure haunted her existence, always ready but never summoned. Sometimes she noticed that dark shade, but always her heart yearned for the man she was never meant to have. Anger warred with sadness within him as the mist once again enshrouded the figure and the island winked out of existence.

“What just happened?” He gritted out the question from between clenched teeth.

“You weren’t there.”

“What are you saying?”

“You were not there, Riordan MacDermot. You had no place in the life you remember but of which she has no recollection. You never existed. Everything changed once your vow to Abhean was fulfilled.”

“What the hell do you mean I never existed?” His heart stopped beating, or so it felt from the pain radiating in his chest. “That island. Delaney’s island. It disappeared. Why?”

Manannán stared down at the river, his silence wrapped like a shroud around them both.

“She dies?” Rory didn’t breathe, terrified of the answer.

The fae laughed, a dark, brittle sound like nails on a blackboard. “All mortals die. Each in their own time. It was her time.” He studied Rory for a time. “You made the bargain, Riordan. Abhean called your marker due.”

Breathe. He had to remember to breathe. “Wait. If I wasn’t there, what about Nelda Whitson? Does that mean she wasn’t shot? That she survived?” He hated the hope coating his voice.

A fleeting ghost of emotion flitted across the fae’s expression. Sadness. “Nay. Each comes and goes in their own time, mortal. ’Twas her time as well.”

That caught Rory flatfooted, and he watched Manannán walk away. Realizing the fae was about to disappear, he jogged to catch up and the import of the fae’s earlier words penetrated. “What do you mean I wasn’t there?”

“You didn’t exist. That life never happened.” Manannán’s steps slowed. “You were never born, Riordan. Not in that life. And because of that, you weren’t there to keep Dean Carter from his mistakes. You weren’t there when Delaney was taken hostage. And you weren’t there when Carter pulled the trigger.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” Rory dropped to his knees, the pain in his chest ripping him apart. Tears slicked his face as he rocked and moaned, unable to bear the knowledge. Rory stared at the remaining island, knew the shadow inhabiting it mirrored his actions, endured his grief. When he could breathe again, he had but one question. “Why?”

“That is the question, mortal. All of you ask it, but none of you seek the answer.”

Rory pushed to his feet. He swiped his sleeve over his face to clear his vision then glanced at the magical being beside him. “Why? What have the MacDermots done to the fae? Why do you torment us?”

Manannán threw back his head and laughed, the pealing tones ringing bitterly in the thickening air. “Torment you?” He waved his hand and islands appeared in the river, islands so thick they clogged the channel, bumping and clinging to their neighbors. “I have far too many lives to concern myself with one mortal bloodline. But Abhean forces my hand.”

“Why?”

“Why indeed?” Abhean appeared in a shimmer of air, but only Rory startled at his appearance.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he backed up a few steps, leaving the two powerful beings to face each other. OODA, he reminded himself. Observe. Orient. Decide. Act. As soon as he reminded himself to breathe. The hair on his arms prickled as static electricity crackled in the air. A human was pretty stupid to stand here and watch what could be an epic battle, yet he couldn’t look away, couldn’t run away even though his common sense screamed that’s exactly what he needed to do.

Colors swirled around Manannán—blue, violet, red, purple—bruising the air. Abhean stood loose-limbed, seemingly unconcerned, but his long hair lifted, forming a nimbus of gold and silver around his head.

Dizzy, Rory closed his eyes, but then he opened them almost immediately when a whirlwind swirled around the two men, kicking up leaves and twigs. Rory backed up further, using his arm to protect his eyes.

“The mortal asked a question, Manannán. I would like the answer. Why?”

“I would ask you the same question, Abhean. Why? Why have you persisted in this mad feud?”

“Why? Is it not obvious?” Abhean’s voice, once as sweet as spun sugar cracked. Brittle. Bitter, like rock salt, or unshed tears.

“Do you miss the mortal realm so much then?” Manannán’s voice gentled, like distant thunder after a spring storm. “Do you regret so much that I removed you from there, that I brought you here?”

Abhean stared at the other fae, unmoving, not even to breathe. Rory held his breath, but whether in fearful anticipation or sympathy, he couldn’t say. As if someone gave a signal, the two beings stepped to their right, circling, eyes unflinchingly on the other, Rory all but forgotten, much to his relief.

“Why?”

“You know why, Abhean. The answers lie within you.”

“I want the words from your lips.”

“Do you? Are you so sure of that, harper?”

“I am. I want to hear you say it. I want to know why.”

“Because I loved her.” Manannán waved a hand toward Rory. “Like he loves his Delaney. And like the two mortals, the love I had for your mother was like two shadows kissing without hope of substance. She was mortal, Abhean. And I am the King of Tir Nan Óg. He sighed and it seemed the whole land exhaled with him. “When she turned her back on you—on us and walked away, I brought you here.”

Rory rocked back on his heels and considered slipping away, but he was too curious. He refused to consider how curiosity killed the cat. He wasn’t a cat. He cut his gaze back and forth between the two fae. Was it possible?

“You’ve always loved the mortals, Abhean. Even as a child, your curious nature sent you to the standing stones to watch their lives. I wondered if you searched for her in the human realm, but you didn’t. It wasn’t her life that drew you, but those of the O’Connors and the MacDermots. You meddled even then, thinking you knew best.” Manannán waved his hand and the islands in the river began their seductive dance once more. “You do not understand, even now. The mortals are but shadows. Their love gives them the substance to become real.” He waved his hand again and everything around them disappeared.

Rory barely hung on to the contents of his stomach. His feet felt like they stood planted on solid ground, though nothing but fog swirled around him inducing a stomach-turning vertigo. He could no longer see the two fae, could no longer see the hand he held up to his face. Fear, stark and cold, knifed through him.

“Do you not understand, Abhean? We are the mist. Our essence is nothing but smoke. We don’t exist beyond this place, except within the dreams of those who remember us. Love, Abhean. That is the stuff and substance of our existence.” In the mist, a hand appeared—Manannán holding his out. “I loved your mother, Abhean, as I love the son she gifted me.”

The wind whipped around Rory again, tugging his clothes with invisible fingers. He didn’t move, watching as a vortex centered on where he’d last seen the harper. Abhean’s face, contorted with anger, materialized briefly, and then was swallowed again. The next time the fae appeared, his body had more substance, and his anger melted into abject misery. Manannán solidified right in front of Abhean. He reached for the other fae and pulled Abhean’s resisting body into his arms.

“I love the son, Abhean. Despite his rebellion. His rage. I steadfastly refused to bargain with you because I am selfish. I could not bear to lose you to the human realm.”

Rory felt like his stomach was ripped out of him. This was far worse than any express elevator dropping straight into hell. Boiling blackness buffeted his body with a wicked wind. He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Was this death? Had he witnessed something so profound that his existence must now be snuffed out? The searing wind burned away his entire psyche, shredding skin and bone, thought, memories. Stripping him bare until only one thing remained.

Delaney.