Dark Vision (15 page)

‘Then look now, again, and see it more clearly. See Fintan’s world, and what he would wish for yours.’

She grabbed my hands and held them tight, refusing to let go despite my struggles. She was much stronger than she looked, and other than allowing my arms to be torn from their sockets, I had no choice but to go along with her.

To go with her to the Otherworld. To a quiet grove, a canopy of trees overhead filtering the sunlight on to a dappled carpet of leaves. People lay around, laughing and joking among themselves, feasting on the fresh fruit that fell around them. They were calm, and happy, and at peace. It felt like heaven.

Then one of them, a woman, pushed herself up to her feet, walked off on her own. She twined golden hair around her fingers, and looked off, beyond the twisting trunks of the trees, into the distance. A single tear flowed from her eye, trailing down her cheek. I could feel her emotions as though they were my own: she was in misery. She was trapped. She was a slave to a life she hadn’t chosen. The fruit was bitter in her mouth; the sun was chill on her head, and the laughter of the others was shrill in her ears. She was alone, and had been for too long. She wanted to go … home. To a place that no longer existed.

Fionnula dropped my hands, and I quickly sat on them to make sure she couldn’t grab me again. She was looking at me keenly, awaiting my reaction.

‘You are
not
Switzerland!’ I said. ‘How can you claim to be neutral and then show me things like that?’

‘That’s the way it is. The way it will be. I don’t suggest one or the other to you, Lily – I show you what they both are. This human world you know? It screams and battles and rages against itself, but there is always choice. And love. If you choose the Faidh, then it will all pass. All of the screaming and the battling and the raging will be gone. But so too will the choice, and the love. Humanity will pass into a thing of legend, and most will forget it ever existed, and be happy. Most, but not all. Those who remember, who yearn, will suffer for all of eternity, like the woman you saw then. I’m here to teach you, and these are the realities we face. This is the decision you must make when the Feast of Samhain arrives.’

‘I don’t want to!’ I yelled, feeling a whopper of a tantrum coming on. ‘I’m sick of all this! Why should I have to make the bloody decision? Why me? Why can’t you do it, or someone else?’

‘Because you are Mabe, Mother of the Mortals. Or Murderer of the Mortals. Whichever you choose. And there’s no bloody use crying about it.’

The rest of the day was less spectacular. Fionnula seemed to sense that I’d rather saw my own hands off with a nail file than let her touch me again, and fell instead into schoolmarm mode.

First, there were the history lessons. I learned about the beginning, and the Overlord, the deity who held sway over all his creation – the being I’d grown up knowing as God.

I learned about the Tuatha de Danaan of old, and how they’d ruled all the worlds together. There were stories, of other gods and goddesses, and human heroes, of battles and victories and labyrinthine politics. Of jostling for position, and marriages of convenience, and the mighty women warriors who held sway over both war and fertility.

Then the invaders came, a mighty race that defeated them in battle, and the Tuatha were forced to retreat. To fade,
Lord of the Rings
-style, into the West. The human lands became the realm of the High Kings, and the Tuatha instead reigned in the Otherworld.

Most were happy with that, she explained. With their life of feasting and hunting and sex and song. And on the whole, they left the mortals alone. Some because they lost interest; others, like Donn, because he needed them; and yet more because they were convinced that their day would come again.

They watched what the mortals did with their land – the shopping malls and pollution so despised by Eithne – and for a time they waited, sure that, eventually, humanity would do their job for them and wipe itself out.

In the meantime, the clock kept on ticking. The High Kings were wed to their land via the welcoming arms of Mabe’s priestess, and the world continued to turn, and to change. But over the centuries the cracks started to show. Famines. Droughts. Tsunamis and earthquakes and floods. The apocalyptic stuff my generation has grown up with, and gives no thought to other than buying a charity single or donating a tenner to the Red Cross.

For the High Kings and for the Fintna Faidh, though, all of these things were signs. Signs that the power of the priestess was fading and that Mabe needed to return – to renew her blessing on the land; to restore balance and to bring fresh hope.

Mabe. That would, of course, be me.

I couldn’t help thinking that they could have chosen better, but apparently it was nothing to do with choice. The Goddess goes where she likes, and she liked the look of me. And my sisters. But they didn’t last long – the Faidh saw to that. They killed them, and they tried to kill me, in the hope of speeding up the fall of the human race. If they could do that, then they could reclaim this world for themselves. Take humanity and give it a Cybermen-style reboot.

I still wasn’t convinced that was such a tragedy. Humans
have
made a mess of their world, and much as I like shopping malls, didn’t the Faidh have a point? Do we deserve all we have? Fionnula and Gabriel could witter on as much as they liked about the splendour of mankind, but I’ve seen a lot of bad things. A lot of death, of pain, of the sickening ache in a woman’s heart when she opened those test results from the hospital. And my upbringing hadn’t helped.

Gabriel might have thought he was making the right decision when he gave me to Coleen, but he hadn’t. Not unless his intention was to create an emotionally jaded goddess with a world view that rivalled Nietzsche’s. He hadn’t just protected me from the wicked; he’d protected me from the noble as well.

Even on a good day, I’ve never been truly happy. I’ve carved out my life, lived it quietly, with a minimum of fuss and messy human contact. Tried to keep myself safe, and never intentionally hurt anyone. Had a job that doesn’t really matter, and friends whose surnames I don’t know. Pretended to have fun and enjoy it all. Pretended to be as normal as I can. None of which makes me the poster girl for carefree humanity.

I tried to remind myself of the high points – of Carmel; my parents; the shiver of pleasure I’d felt when I touched Luca’s body; the way my heart did a tiny tap dance when Gabriel looked at me the right way – but it wasn’t enough. I still didn’t feel the joy that had coursed through Fionnula’s veins when she saw Brannigan running towards her. I’ve seen it in other people’s lives, and I know it exists, but I’ve never felt it myself. I’m not sure I ever will – I’m too closed off, too private. Too damaged.

So, evil plan to kill off the whole of the mortal plane? I’m probably not the best person to ask. I’ve been faking my way through the mess of humanity for as long as I can remember, willingly taking my place on the sidelines, watching the party without ever really joining in.

I mentioned none of this to Fionnula, and she didn’t ask. I was here to be taught, not to be shaped, and she was taking that bit seriously, without any touchy-feely regard for my finer emotions.

I took what she offered, and I learned. I learned the names of High Kings and gods, and I learned how to defend myself against fairies, and I learned about the origin of the vampire race. I learned that there were other creatures out there in the worlds, some of which we don’t even have names for, and I learned that Gabriel had been born in Tara 270 years earlier, which really did make him a much older man.

I learned that, like Gabriel, Fionnula herself was of mixed bloodline, neither human nor Tuatha, and that she was even older than him.

I learned about Fintan and his followers, and I learned about Cernunnos, the God of Nature, and about Lugh, the God of Light. I learned that other nations, other continents, had their equivalents.

In fact, there was a whole lot of learning going on.

By the end of the day, I was all learned out, exhausted with the information competing for space in my brain. Fionnula, like all good teachers, knew when her students needed a break, and moved on to the importance of good posture, how to apply liquid eyeliner without smudging it, and the best way to mix a Mojito. The secret is gently bruising the mint leaves, apparently.

Celtic gods and cocktails. Just your average day in the la-la land that had become my life.

While I was occupied with my learnathon, Carmel had been keeping herself busy surfing YouTube, picking up self-defence tips from the ju-jitsu masters and would-be ninjas of the cyber world. I’d seen her out in the garden practising her moves, skilfully kicking over piles of logs and jabbing imaginary foe in the eye with two fingers.

She’d also emailed Big Bill, our boss at work, and told him she was suffering from severe ‘women’s problems’. It’s what we always do when we need time off: Big Bill is a middle-aged bachelor who becomes so flustered at the mere mention of anything menstrual that no further questions are asked. I’d written my pop page for the week before leaving Dublin, and wouldn’t be missed for a few more days. That, at least, is one of the advantages of living a shadow life.

It was only after dinner – a slow-cooked stew that had been filling the cottage with its spicy aroma all day – that I asked a question I’d been itching to ask since my self-styled mate made his dramatic departure the night before.

‘So, how do I call Gabriel?’ I said, once the last of the plates had been stacked in the dishwasher.

‘There are these amazing modern inventions,’ said Carmel from across the room. ‘Called tel-e-phones.’

I ignored her. Ass-kicking the Invisible Man all day had left her even more sarcastic than usual.

‘That’s not what you mean, is it?’ said Fionnula.

‘Obviously not. I’ve been aware of the existence of phones for some time now.’ I laughed. ‘But last night, he said I could call him, and you’d show me how. Assuming I’m capable of hitting speed dial all by myself, what did he mean?’

‘He meant with your mind. You’ve felt him, I presume, in there? Poking around?’

‘Uh … no. Not really. I know he can do it, and I know it’s really irritating, but he says he can’t predict when it’s going to happen. The first I tend to know about it is when he pulls a thought right out of my head before the paint’s dry.’

‘He’s telling the truth. He has little control over it. And your skills in that department are sadly lacking.’

She shook her head, apparently very disappointed in her star pupil. Her expression made me feel like I should be sitting in the corner wearing a dunce’s hat.

‘Well,’ I replied, ‘that’s because I had what you might call a deprived childhood. So why don’t we try it now? What can I do, and how do I do it?’

Fionnula glugged down half a glass of wine in one go, poured herself a top-up, and nodded. Drunk in charge of a goddess. She could probably get three points on her witch licence for that.

‘There is a link between the two of you, forged over centuries,’ she said. ‘The connection between the High King and Mabe is a strong one, which is why he can sometimes appear to read your mind. But the control of that lies with you, Lily. You can stop him doing it, or you can choose to let him in, and you can – if you need to – do the same to him.’

‘What? I can read Gabriel’s mind?’

Carmel was sniggering in the background, and I didn’t need telepathy to know her mind was firmly in the gutter. As usual.

‘I’m not sure I’d do that, if I were you,’ she said. ‘Not with all this talk of mating. You couldn’t stand the shock of it. You blush when you watch a raunchy episode of
Hollyoaks
.’

‘Bugger off and kick some trees,’ I said. There was way too much wine flowing in the room for my liking. ‘Fionnula, seriously, how do I do it?’

‘Which part?’

‘All of it, but start with the calling. I want to see if it works, if I can do it. I’ll work on the rest later.’

The voice in my head – Fintan, I presumed – had told me that I could stop Gabriel from messing with my mind. He might be Darth Vader as far as the Tuatha were concerned, but I’d not caught him out in a lie yet. And, I realised, he’d been very quiet since we arrived at the cottage. Not a peep from him, even during Fionnula’s less-than-balanced presentation of life in his Otherworld Utopia. In fact, since we’d been there, my phone hadn’t rung, no texts had landed, and my head had been empty of both voices and intrusions.

The first two were probably down to poor mobile signal, but the rest? Probably down to that fear of ‘breaching Fionnula’s land’ that Gabriel had mentioned. She could be pretty darned scary when she tried. Which, I thought, looking at her pouting and wobbling on her bar stool, was not right now.

‘All right, as you wish,’ she said. ‘But don’t blame me if you fail – this kind of thing normally takes months of training. I can’t be held responsible when I’m working with substandard materials.’

Ouch. More wine, Vicar?

‘First of all, it would help if we knew where he is, and if you could visualise the scene. Draw a picture in your mind to ease the connection.’

‘OK. I can do that part, at least.’

I walked over to her landline, dialled his number. Waited until a few buzzes and clicks gave way to a solid dial tone.

After a few seconds, he answered, with one snapped word, ‘Gabriel.’

‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Lily.’

‘Yes, I know who you are. Is everything all right?’

‘Yeah, fine. She’s not turned me purple, or anything. Yet. But, well, we’re trying something new, and I need to know where you are.’

‘I’m in the basement of the house,’ he replied. I strained to hear, and caught the sound of music pumping in the background: Nirvana’s ‘Nevermind’. Loud.

‘What’s the basement? What does it look like?’

‘It’s the weapons room, and the gym. Swords mounted on the walls, some crossbows. Shields. Daggers for close combat. Rowing machines and treadmills. Punchbags. I’m on the flat bench doing weights.’