Chapter 6
The Thief of Mag Mell

“We have finally returned to Mag Mell!” Meghan exclaimed to Farron and Isobel.

The beautiful Banshee sisters marveled at the view from the cliffs on Shamtip Island, which housed one of the many sets of megalith tethers in the Realm of Seas. They were escorting and protecting the Seeker as he began his search for the realm’s dominion pulse. Elathan had handed Meghan one of his silver, gold, and blue tokens and gave explicit instructions on what to do once they found the pulse but that task was far from the sisters’ minds. For years, they had dreamt of the day they could return to their home realm. The memories had been mere wisps of thoughts when they were each caged like animals in the stone coffers. Toren and Ordan O’Neal and King Duncan of the Leprechauns had sentenced them to life in containment and only by the cunningness of Elathan were they able to be freed. Finally they were back on Mag Mell soil again and still it seemed too much like a fantasy.

“Not much has changed,” Farron noted in a soft, reverent tone.

“Aye,” Isobel agreed. “But let’s not be fools, sisters; this realm is no longer friendly to the Banshee Clan, at least not since Arawn came and changed the way of things.”

Oscar O’Neal stood by silently, blissfully unaware of the dangerous company that he was keeping. His mind was focused on other things, in particular a soft heartbeat. It sounded so much like the heartbeat he heard when he and his dear wife Lisa went in for ultrasounds while she was expecting. He could hear the beat thump-thumping, calling out to him, challenging him to find it.

“Look,” Farron said, pointing at the Seeker. “I think our search has begun.

…

Garnash needed to make a decision and fast. He wanted so badly to defend his home, perhaps die an honorable death with his brethren, but how would that help his clan? How would that help Brendan and the others?

He glanced around, perhaps for the last time, at his beloved Flumshire with its quaint homes and charming cobblestone streets, the perfect place for a tightly-knit community to live, now crawling with alphyns and burning before his eyes. He was so furious that the magic between his hands bubbled and popped, sizzling to match his disposition.

“Your father died at my hand and now you will join him, flea,” croaked D’Quall, tossing his club up and down. “After I kill you I’m going to kill everyone who embarrassed me in Corways.” D’Quall observed the Gnome’s face and reveled in the pained expression. “Your necromancer friends have already met their end.”

“Brett and Vivian? No… ”

“Yes. A clean death but that’s more than I can say for your Gnomes.” D’Quall laughed again and filled the air with that horrible noise.

“Where’s the rest of your oversized band of nitwits, D’Quall? Did they kick you out after you were beat by a little girl?”

D’Quall’s face masked over into a snarl. “This fight is mine alone. I will take vengeance on you and your friends. I will bring the Magogs back to our rightful place atop the world!”

“You’re a fool, D’Quall,” Garnash shot back. “Elathan, the Banshees, all of them deserted you. You are not in their plans! You will never be anything on this Earth other than dust.”

“Do you think I need Elathan or anyone else to take my spot as ruler of this planet?” The giant chuckled again, insanity evident in the reverberations. “My journey to power starts when I leave you as a greasy pulp on the cobblestone. Look around you, Garnash, your brothers and sisters never stood a chance.”

Garnash knew what he had to do. “Bring it on, sot!”

D’Quall’s cruel grin etched itself across his lips and he charged, but to his surprise the Gnome charged too. “Stay back my alphyns! The worm is mine to kill!”

Garnash had to time it just right, so he began counting down in his head. Three… two… one… now! Just as D’Quall brought his club down at the Gnome King, Garnash melted into invisibility. He was hoping that the big oaf would assume he smashed him to bits, or he would at least be too confused to know what to do right away. It just might buy Garnash the time he needed to slip away, but D’Quall was smarter than he looked.

“He’s here somewhere!” he screamed at his dragon-dog pets. “Find him!”

Garnash was already on the move. He wasn’t about to give the alphyns or their master another chance. He darted back to the sessile oak entrance, dodging wild slashes and knifing tongues as the alphyns got a scent of him and took a blind stab. The creatures sent balls of fire out and caught everything they could on fire. The conflagration caused the buildings to begin to crumble all around Garnash as he ran. The smells of all Flumshire burning was sickening and made him want to curl up into a ball and sob for his kinsmen, but he knew he couldn’t stop running. He had to reach the megaliths. He had to get back to Corways.

“Find him! Kill the Gnome!” Garnash heard the command again floating above the roar of the fire. He was nearing the sessile oak entrance when he felt a sharp pain in his back. He called out in pain as he was lifted into the air on the tip of an alphyn’s tongue. The creature began pulling him back towards its jagged mouth. He had to do something. He looked down and saw the tip of the metallic tongue protruding out of his abdomen. Garnash grabbed the tongue with both hands and softly spoke a chant his father had taught him. A powerful jolt of electricity traveled down the creature’s tongue and tore into the beast. It yelped and pulled its tongue free of the invisible Gnome who had just caused it so much pain.

Garnash fell to his hands and knees, not even noticing that his jolt had fried the alphyn to a dead crisp. He crawled forward and exited Flumshire, laboring to ascend the stairs.

“Why do there have to be so many?” he whispered to himself.

Garnash’s head was feeling foggy, but behind him he could hear D’Quall cursing his name and swearing vengeance-nothing new there. He plodded up the staircase and reached the top. His back and his abdomen were still oozing blood, so he paused before he risked exiting the sessile oak. He clapped his hands together and softly whispered into the empty hollow. He gently pressed his hands onto his open wounds—grimacing at the intense amount of pain—and held them in place for thirty seconds. He gritted his teeth, trying so hard not to call out. He moved his shaky hands up and saw that they were covered with fresh red blood, so he pulled his shirt up and examined the gash that was mercifully cauterized.

He realized that he was breathing heavy and consciously tried to slow his intake of air, drawing in a few practiced, deep breaths. He cracked the entrance door and peeked out. Alphyns were nosing through bushes and leaping into trees, searching for the last Gnome. Garnash really hoped that wasn’t true. He prayed that some of his clan had been able to escape the psychopathic giant and his hellhounds.

He cloaked his body once more, opened the door just enough to slip through, and limped into the forest toward the megalith. That was his only chance of making it out alive.

…

The night dragged on for Brendan. The nervous energy in his mind was building up around beginning the search for Bibe. He pulled his body up from the cot, paused a moment to shake his head at Frank who, from the sound of it, had no trouble sleeping in the cot across the room, and walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re up, too?” Dorian greeted him with a raised mug of hot tea.

He crossed the room and took a seat near her. “I couldn’t sleep. There’s too much going on for me to even try.”

Dorian agreed. “Lizzie doesn’t seem to be having any troubles.”

Brendan smiled. “Neither does Frank.”

“You want some tea?”

Brendan shook his head. “To be honest about it, I came in here to check the bags again.”

Dorian reached into her drawstring bag and began laying items out on the table. Brendan took inventory and noticed the items that Lizzie, Frank, and Garnash had brought back from their trip home. “The bell, a bracelet, maybe a flask, and it looks like a medallion.” Only the falcata that Frank was clinging to was absent. “What else are we bringing?”

“Basics. Vials of purple magic for Lizzie and Frank, food, water, and a whole lot of Leprechaun luck.”

Brendan nodded before looking back down at the items on the table. It was tempting to reach out and pick up one of the other trinkets. Brendan considered that he might learn something by touching them, like he had with the bell, but it was still too risky. What if one of these things released some other evil on the world?

Dorian, on the other hand, had no problem handling the items. She reached down and turned the flask over in her hands, examining the craftsmanship, the etchings, and the material. “Hard to believe that gods crafted these things.”

“Says the Leprechaun Queen to a divinely chosen Protector of Earth,” he replied with a sly grin.

Dorian rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Just look at the designs on the flask and the bracelet.” She held each up for him to see. Then she picked up the pocket watch-sized medallion. “And this… oh, Brendan, look!”

The beautiful etching atop the medallion’s faceplate began shifting and contorting on the metal canvas. Ancient Celtic symbols glowed and mixed, forming new symbols within the center of a yellow-lit circle. A beam of energy began to trace out from the center in a spiral that reached the perimeter, flashing on contact.

“What does any of that mean?” Brendan asked, pointing a hesitant finger at the light show.

Dorian shrugged. “I don’t know. These symbols are unfamiliar to me.”

She laid the medallion back on the table and it went dormant almost instantly, reverting back to the shiny silver faceplate. “Well, that’s peculiar.”

Brendan couldn’t have agreed more. “Let’s hope Bibe has some answers for us.”

…

“This makes no sense!” Bibe said in frustration, tossing the strange contraption to Sinead. “Such a stupid, stupid thing!”

“Let me do that,” laughed the assistant, twisting the shaft of the pen to reveal the point. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Are you lecturing me with wise little sayings?” Bibe asked with a hmph! “Humans make such odd junk. That’s the problem, Sinead.”

Sinead could see through Bibe’s griping. “They’ll get here.”

Bibe scribbled a quick note on a scrap of paper and handed it to Sinead. “I know. That’s why I’ve gone batty.” The wise old goddess plopped down in her comfy chair and sighed. “What if I can’t help? What if I do nothing but send that boy and his friends to their graves and deliver the Earth to an evil god in the process?”

“What’s this?” Sinead asked, looking at the paper.

“What does it look like?” huffed Bibe. “We’re out of milk and eggs, dear. Go on. Run to the market.”

Batty? That may have been too soft of a word, thought Sinead as she went to get her bicycle.

…

Lub-dub!

The sound was louder now. Oscar could feel it pounding in his ears, shaking his body. Why did he want to find the source of the beat so badly?

Oscar…

There was that voice again. Calling to him. Why?

… come out of it, Oscar…

Lub-dub!

Just like that the voice was quieted and Oscar focused on his heart’s one true desire: finding the dominion pulse.

…

“What are we going to do with him once he has found all of the pulses?” Farron asked, gesturing to Oscar who was walking at the lead of their group.

“I hope we get to eat his soul,” Isobel said optimistically. “Can’t you sense the power of it?”

Farron licked her lips. “Delicious!”

“Calm yourselves, sisters,” Meghan urged. “We don’t know Elathan’s plans. Try not to get your hopes up.”

Meghan glanced ahead at the Seeker and then she looked past him at the beauty that was Mag Mell. It was her home, and at one time thousands of Banshees established this realm as their own. Those were glorious days when the Merrows, Brownies, Kelpies, and all of the other lesser beings became subservient to the Banshees. Banshees could suck the souls from any of them without repercussions since they were the ones making the rules; the rest of the beings were expendable and consumable.

The Seeker walked until he came to the beach of one of the smaller islands in Mag Mell. The Banshees had been carrying him from one island to another as he directed their path. This was the seventh island they had landed on and it was about to be the seventh island that they left. The search continued, but Meghan could see the Seeker growing more and more excited, so she knew that the prize was close.

…

A man dressed in a light blue tank top, stonewashed cutoff jeans, and ragged beige sandals sat on a bar stool eating peanuts and watching a twenty-seven-inch television that hung precariously on the wall behind the bartender. A rerun of The Price Is Right was playing, one he had seen about a dozen times before, but it was enough of a distraction to keep him mildly entertained.

“What has life become?” he muttered to himself.

The bartender ignored the man since it was the same routine every day. The guy would come in as Trejean’s Bar opened, and he would leave when the place closed. Trejean had given up on trying to have a conversation with him, since the only words the man ever said were to himself. Each month he would come in, hand Trejean $1,000 and then order the same meal twice a day since the place was open for lunch and dinner: oxtail with broad beans, rice, cabbage, and jumbo shrimp skewers. In between the meals he would munch on peanuts and sip coconut rum.

Trejean assumed the guy was just another depressed businessman who somehow found his way to Jamaica to live out the rest of his life in peace. He never interacted with anyone other than Trejean, so when the other guy strolled through the door and took the stool next to the man, more than one curious eye glanced in their direction. The newcomer was big and muscular and overdressed for the hot Caribbean weather. Trejean’s perked his ears to try and hear anything he could if a conversation happened to arise. He picked up a cloth and a glass to give the appearance of being busy.

“You’re a hard man to find, Tannus,” the newcomer said.

“What do you want, Camulos?” Tannus replied.

Trejean had never heard of such names, but since their accents sounded like they were from Europe, he didn’t give it much thought.

“I need your help,” Camulos stated.

“Of what use could I be? I have no powers, remember. They were stripped from me by Nuada.”

“Where have you been for the last few centuries? Nuada is powerless himself.” Camulos looked at Tannus firmly. “Elathan has overtaken him.”

Powers? Were they talking about control of a business? Trejean realized that the mug he had been cleaning was sparkling at this point and swapped it for another one.

“What’s the difference?” Tannus said with a shrug as he crunched on a peanut, shell and all. “I might as well be a human.”

Crash!

The two men looked up at a very surprised bartender.

“Oops,” Trejean said. “Slippery, that one.” He found a huge sense of relief when they turned back to their conversation. What were they even talking about? Did Tannus think he was more than human as a CEO or something? That had to be it.

“I can get you your powers back, Tannus.”

Tannus looked away from the television for the first time and turned to his visitor. “What do you want from me?”

“Your expertise, Tannus. I need your help in finding the Sword of the Protectors.”

Tannus leaned his head back and laughed. “Is that it? All I have to do is find a sword that doesn’t exist. Great. Where do I sign up?”

“It does exist,” Camulos said.

Tannus’s whole demeanor shifted. “Then that would mean… ”

“That’s right. So if you plan on being on the winning side, then I suggest you accept my offer.”

“Shall we begin?” Tannus asked dryly.

The two men got up and exited Trejean’s together, leaving the bartender more than confused. A sword? Were they antiquity dealers? In the end it didn’t matter, as long as the man called Tannus didn’t want a refund on the balance of his tab.

…

Oscar and the Three Sisters of Death landed softly on a crushed shell beach just as the sun was setting, giving the ocean waters a breathtaking shimmer. The beach backed up to a thick tropical forest that gave off the fragrant aromas of thousands of species of flowers. Tantalizing Merrows swam in the reef, their beauty the only challenge to his concentration in the paradise where Oscar now found himself. The Seeker closed his eyes and saw none of the splendor around him. He only heard the pulse, and it was powerful.

Lub-dub!

…

Meghan and her sisters stepped aside as the Seeker strode right through where they were standing and into the lush forest. He walked with purpose, and that made Meghan giddy with nervous anticipation.

They followed the Seeker into the forest on a narrow path that must have been carved by the traveling creatures that lived in the area. Meghan wasn’t sure which beasts and clans lived on this particular island since this was her first visit.

“Be wary, sisters; it wouldn’t do to have the Seeker eaten by some predator,” Meghan warned.

Mag Mell was a realm dominated by shape-shifting clans like the Banshees. Kelpies and Selkies were prominent in fresh water and seawater, respectively. Púcas were a harmless clan, though they were social and outspoken. Many of them even tried to stand up to the Banshees when they finally made their move to seize power in Mag Mell, to no avail. Ellyllon were also around, but they would most likely not show themselves around Banshees, being small and weak Elvian people. The only clan that really could have challenged the Banshees was the Ossorians, and Meghan was glad that they didn’t. She thought about the shape-shifting clan and shivered. In their human form Ossorians were fairly easy to kill, but when they transformed into their werewolf stature, well, a Banshee would have a problem on her hands.

The Seeker pushed the group deeper into the forest, ignoring the shadows and any perceived danger. He was focused and took the Banshees on a two-hour walk up to the top of a rocky hill. He walked around it, eventually winding his way to a particular spot on the north side of the hilltop and stood still.

…

Lub-dub! Lub-dub!

The beat was assaulting Oscar to his core, rattling his bones, and jarring his head. This was it. This was the place, but how could he get to it? How could he get to the pulse?

Words, soft at first, danced in his head. What were they saying? They weren’t even in English, but that was fine. Oscar didn’t need them to be, but he still couldn’t hear them clearly. He concentrated as hard as he could; the realm was nothing more than the pulse, nothing more than the purest thing he had ever come in contact with, but he needed it to open itself to him.

There were the words again, still soft, but growing louder. Finally, he heard them and he understood what to do.

“Nochtann do chroí! Reveal your heart!” he shouted to the pulse.

…

Meghan couldn’t believe her eyes. The Seeker had shouted, and almost instantly a brilliant point of light appeared and hovered about chest level to the Seeker . It was white and about the size of a mustard seed, but it hummed like a small motor. It was difficult to see, but it was pulsating and stood out slightly in contrast to the rest of the environment.

“The Dominion Pulse!” Isobel said excitedly.

“Nochtann do chroí!” the Seeker repeated.

The pulse responded by doubling in size. The Seeker repeated his command again and again until the ball of throbbing light was the size of a coconut.

“Put the token into the pulse, Meghan,” Farron encouraged.

Meghan nervously stepped closer to the pulse but there were so many unknowns about it. Would it destroy her with a single touch? Would it reject the token?

She reached out with the token held in a shaky hand and inched it closer and closer to the light. The Seeker’s hand shot out and he stopped her just before she made contact. His grip was like a vise, much to Meghan’s surprise. He held out his other hand, and she placed the token into his palm. He released her arm and then without hesitation, the Seeker drove his entire hand into the dominion pulse. Instantly, a wave of energy spread out in all directions, traveling faster than any one of them could track. The Seeker removed his empty hand from the center of the light, sparks of golden energy crackling over his skin.

“Look,” whispered Isobel, pointing to the pulse.

Like ink dripped into water, the pulse began to wash over with a lustrous golden light. Meghan knew that the token was not only accepted, but that the pulse had claimed the entire realm for Elathan with a single wave of energy.

The Seeker stepped before the Banshees, his eyes clouded over with a mix of gold, blue, and silver energies vying for position within the human’s optical globes. He raised his hand and an unknown force brought all three of the Banshee’s right hands into the air.

“Take your place as Watchers of Mag Mell in the honor and glory of Lord Elathan,” the Seeker sang in a voice that was three times louder than normal. “Commit yourselves through blood!”

The Seeker clenched his fist and pulled on the air, bringing his right fist to his side. Instantly, droplets of blood bubbled up through the Banshees’ pores forming tiny beads on their skin.

“What’s happening to us?” shouted Isobel, blood covering her body.

The Seeker threw his fist at the pulse, which danced eagerly behind him, awaiting its tribute. He opened his palm and the blood leapt from the sisters’ bodies and poured into the pulse. The red of their blood synthesized with the energies already tainting the heart of Mag Mell. The Banshees collapsed on top of one another, weak and anemic, but the dominion pulse was vibrant with life and its new purpose. It let out another wave of energy before collapsing on itself and disappearing from sight again.

The Seeker stood over the Banshees as they began to recover. “You are now the watcher’s of this realm. Do not fail Lord Elathan.”

Mag Mell was now under Elathan’s control and under the eminent domain of the Three Sisters of Death.

…

Morning had finally arrived in Corways with the sun’s tender beams knifing through the treetops and forming a little mosaic on the grounds of the Leprechaun village. An Irish morning rain began to fall, making the world look like a watercolor painting. Brendan was glad the morning was here after that jolt of pain that shot through his chest during the wee hours of the night. Two quick successions of what felt like an atomic bomb exploding behind his sternum made him feel like he was having a heart attack. He sat up on the edge of the bed rubbing his heart when he heard Dorian call from the other room.

“Ready to get going?” Dorian asked from the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah,” Brendan said, getting to his feet and throwing his shirt back on. He walked into the kitchen and noticed how beautiful Dorian looked with the morning sun shining on her through the windows. After that, his heart stopped hurting.

“Rory and Biddy said they would stay, and it looks like Lizzie and Frank are ready.”

Brendan nodded and grinned like a fool. “Let’s go then.”

“What are you smiling about, night owl?” Dorian asked precociously.

“Nothing, just ready to get this trip going,” he said, not yet wanting to tell her about the heart jolts he was feeling. “At least the travel time will be pretty much instant.”

“We ready to do this or what?” Frank asked, leaning his head into the kitchen.

“Hey, keep your pants on,” Brendan said with a look.

Frank stepped in past the threshold with his hands held up. “Look, I’m sorry about that, but when I’m asleep and I start getting hot, clothes fly off, you know.”

“It’s important that we know a lot about each other on this team, but that was one thing that I didn’t need to know,” joked Dorian. “Let’s go.”

Brendan and Frank followed Dorian out the door where Lizzie was waiting and they walked through the drizzle toward the black megaliths that now stood as a monument in the center of town. “Where are we going exactly?” she asked Brendan.

“I’m not totally sure,” he admitted. “I’m hoping that I just take us to the right place.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a plan, Brendan,” Lizzie said. “I think we need a little more direction than that.”

“Think about the way we work, Lizzie, we hardly ever have much of a destination in mind. We operate on faith on this team,” he said with an innocent smile.

Rory and Biddy met the travelers near the megaliths. “You lot ready?” Biddy asked her friends.

Before they had a chance to answer, the megaliths fired up and Garnash emerged flanked by a dozen other Gnomes. They looked battered and exhausted.

Brendan rushed forward. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“You’re covered in blood!” shouted Lizzie.

“D’Quall,” huffed Garnash. “He slaughtered my village.”

“What!” Dorian screeched.

Garnash fell onto his knees. “So many dead… ” He shook his head. “He has sworn to kill us all.”

“He’s not the biggest problem we have with whatever Elathan has planned,” Brendan replied without thinking.

Garnash looked up harshly at Brendan. “He’s already murdered Brett and Vivian.”

“No!” cried Dorian.

“He’s insane, Dorian. I’m not even sure he’s still in charge of the Magogs. He only had alphyns with him.” Garnash looked down at his bloodstained shirt. “That’s what got me.”

“Gnomes are welcome in Corways,” Dorian decreed. “Make this your home and we will fight the Magogs together if they come.”

Brendan stood up and began to pace. This turn of events was changing his plans. How could they leave Corways undefended with D’Quall on a crazy genocidal rampage? He had a decision to make.

He turned back to his friends. “I’m going to Bibe’s alone.”

“Wait —” Lizzie began to protest.

Brendan held up his hand. “Sorry, it sounds like D’Quall is on his way here and Corways is going to need your help. With you, Frank, and Dorian here the giant doesn’t stand a chance.”

Dorian took Brendan’s hand and nodded. “He’s right. There’s no other option.”

Frank cleared his throat. “You know what you’re asking us to do, right?” The teen stared at Brendan and Dorian. “Just to be clear, you’re asking us to… ”

Brendan nodded his head slowly. “Look, I know taking a life is not something any of us have ever wanted to do, believe me, but this is war.” Brendan paused for a second and considered how guilty he felt and still felt at having killed Morna. He knew she was evil and that one of them was going to die but that didn’t erase the memory of her final cries.

Brendan looked at his sister and Frank with unwavering conviction. “If D’Quall and his Magogs or alphyns come, then do not hesitate to kill them. Do you understand?”

They were silent, but their faces were painted with understanding. He hugged them both, then he kissed Dorian and began walking towards the megalith.

“Hey, Brendan, wait up,” Frank called. Brendan stopped in midstride and looked back at him. “What if there was another option?”

Brendan arched his brow in response and waited.

“What if we don’t wait for D’Quall to come to Corways? What if we go after him?”