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Chapter 18

The Storm

The griffin’s screech was piercing. The abomination flew him around and around as if searching for just the right kill spot. He lost track of how long he was in its clutches, but he wasn’t looking forward to when he wasn’t.

Apparently, the beast had found what it was looking for and it pulled hard with its massive and powerful wings, arching momentarily before plunging into a dive. Brendan’s gut tightened and jumped into his chest just like it did on every rollercoaster he had ever ridden. This time, though, there would be no sudden turn before he hit the ground. He peered through the rushing wind and ice pellets and located the dumb beast’s kill spot.

The griffin had angled them so that they were approaching the Black River, only this stretch of water had unnatural jagged rocks that were protruding out of the current. The stones were black like obsidian, but they were huge with serrated sides. It was not Brendan’s ideal landing zone.

“Can’t we talk about this?” he screamed above the noise. The griffin did not reply.

Morna took the obsidian dagger out and held it with reverence. Soon the dagger would help fulfill the plans that Conchar had shared with her before he disappeared. Though the blade was black, she perceived the dark shadow that her mentor had set upon it and the blurry, golden vision of a second shadow. She still didn’t know the purpose of the golden image, but it hardly mattered. She would soon fulfill her portion of the plan, and with Conchar gone, she would take his piece of the pie as well. Soon, she could set her magical and horrific army on the world, but first she had these pesky travelers to deal with.

Lizzie, Rory, and Biddy cautiously hurried down the stairs. They knew that time was drawing short, but they were also aware that they were in an evil witch’s castle, so to hurry cautiously seemed like a nice balance.

It didn’t take them long to find the end of the stairs. They never found any other entrances except for the one at the very bottom. The faint glow of torches illuminated the doorframe and the bottom three stairs. Walking through the doorway they entered into a huge and very open hall that had several doors, both wooden and barred, lining it.

“Shall we pick a door?” asked Rory.

Lucky for them––or unlucky for them––all the doors opened at once negating the need to select one. Opened, though, is not strong enough of a word. The doors exploded off the hinges and flew about the hall smashing into other doors and into the walls. Splinters and shards were thrown about, but the protective glow of the magic they had absorbed deflected the fragments.

Once the sawdust settled, Lizzie took inventory of what had just happened. “Whoa! That was crazy!”

Rory and Biddy nodded, but when the pitch-black rooms became alight with glowing red eyes, they knew that the craziness was just about to be multiplied.

Dorian hummed to herself as she ascended the stairs. She often did that when she was nervous. She had only been this nervous once before. She was very young when her mother became ill and on her last night on the Earth, Dorian was ushered to her bed side. She was nervous because once her mother was gone, it was going to be left to her to take care of her father. That was a lot of pressure for a kid. Couple that with the responsibilities of being the heir to the crown and you have one tall order. It wasn’t that her father was stupid or careless, but he was naïve and that had always scared her mother. That anxiety was passed on to daughter and was at an all-time high as she climbed each new step.

She knew in her heart that her father was being held in the tower. It seemed unlikely that at the very moment of gaining all of the Leprechaun magic that she would want to be in the dungeon. No, the witch had to have an ego to want to steal the power for her own in the first place, so that would have to place her in the tower. A good bet would also be on her father being in the tower too so she could gloat and celebrate in her evil.

The thoughts both scared and infuriated her. She knew the witch was powerful, but she also knew that she wasn’t about to let her father die without a fight. The old witch didn’t know what was coming her way.

The rocks of sure death were fast approaching and Brendan had no idea how to stop the descent. The griffin on the other hand knew just how to stop itself from slamming into the rocks. It released Brendan on a direct trajectory towards the jagged stones some five hundred feet above the ground.

Brendan screamed as the creature arched away. The wind rushed by as the ground rushed forward. Brendan focused on the stones and then his mind swiftly moved to thoughts of his father and sister and a million memories of his life back in America. The clichéd life flashing before his eyes was pretty disappointing and really boring. He was disappointed all the way until the memories landed in Ireland. The crazy events he had experienced with the rescue party flew by, and he watched them with amazement. Amazement because he was actually a part of them. His last one was of the panic stricken faces of Lizzie and Dorian. That’s where his focus held and that’s why he failed to notice the silver energy spread from the blade up through the hilt and into his arm. His entire body radiated the silver glow by the time he smashed into the serrated rocks.

The red-eyes emerged from the darkened doors and advanced into the hall. Dozens of gaunt-looking fairies trailed the zombie-like slaves and hovered above them with nasty little grins through black lips and gray, sunken cheeks. Everybody around Rory, Biddy, and Lizzie was drooling and smelled like rotting bacon.

“Be ready, lasses, this is going to get ugly,” warned Rory.

“It’s already ugly, Rory,” joked Biddy in a weak attempt to cut her nerves down.

The Ruas stood around the perimeter of the three waiting while the Sidhes flapped their leathery wings. They were waiting for something, but Lizzie couldn’t imagine what it was. She didn’t have to wait long because a slightly larger and even more deranged looking Sidhe burst out of a black room and spread his wings wide to slow his flight.

“Oh no!” cried Biddy. “It’s Wardicon.”

“Wardicon?” asked Lizzie, her purple staff humming in her hands.

“The Sidhe King,” answered Rory.

The king surveyed the small group that his Sidhes and the Ruas confronted. He growled and then spat out his command. It wasn’t a complicated directive. He simply said, “Kill!”

Dorian reached the tower entrance with her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she was pretty sure the witch could hear her coming. She cautiously peered around the corner and into the room. It was humongous compared to what she thought it was going to be. From the base of the castle the tower looked tiny. Looks were definitely deceiving.

The tower was apparently the base of operations. Morna had a large stone table that somewhat resembled an altar with four obsidian chairs placed around it. A dagger of the same black stone was laid across the table with bits of gore still clinging to it. Dorian crept beside it hiding herself between the altar and the wall. She nearly puked at the sight of the bloody tissue hanging on the blade. She crept a little further on and looked out in the middle of the great room. There were the mutilated bodies of four Ruas lying about, probably the source of the gore on the blade.

The balcony was lit by the lightning and was taking on rain. She didn’t see her father anywhere in the tower. Had she picked the wrong direction?

She looked at her glowing hands and thought. She flicked her fingers and sprayed tiny sparks of red toward the center of the room. “Go,” she commanded. “Find my father.”

The tiny balls of red light floated like lightning bugs around the room. Some soared into the rafters while the others darted in and out of dark spaces in the tower. Finally, they all converged on a damp, shadowed area in the north corner. They settled in the base of a wrought iron cage and glowed.

Dorian’s breath caught in her throat. Her father was there, but he looked terrible. Death couldn’t be far behind, or maybe something worse than death––like being Morna’s pawn. Duncan’s head turned slightly and he mouthed her name.

Dorian lost her head. She stood up and cried out. “Father! I’m here!”

She began to run across the room, closing the distance between herself and the cage. Her footsteps were so loud on the stone floor. Time slowed, or maybe she did. It was taking an impossibly long time to get there. She was caught off guard when a black figure seamlessly slipped out of the shadows and impeded her path. She skidded to a stop at Dullahan’s feet and fell on her backside. She looked up at the demon.

“I’m here, too, Your Highness,” bellowed the headless one.