Mistfall (15 page)

Looking up, I saw Luca staring back at me. A
strand of blonde hair was dangling over his brow as he decided
whether or not to leap out of the window and chase me down. I made
a rude gesture at him and took off before he made up his mind.

I had been expecting far more resistance in
leaving the castle. What I didn’t take into consideration was that
Abel was such a cocky asshole that he didn’t think it necessary to
guard his prisoners as well as he should have. Not that I’m
complaining.

I ran hard and fast, putting as much distance
as I could between the castle and myself. Once I was far enough
away, I used Hailz’s compass to get my bearings. We (John, Melissa,
Hailz, and I) had agreed to meet at a cave that had once been used
by pirates to smuggle contraband. It laid five miles southwest of
Abel’s castle. I was currently standing a mile northeast. It would
take me longer to skirt around Abel’s land, but I was free and that
was something.

I had never been in Ireland before, so I
stopped for a few minutes to take in the scenery. The view was
breathtaking. Every shade of green possible covered the land. It
was no wonder this place was nicknamed The Emerald Isle. The Elves
are tied to this magical land, John’s eyes being evidence of
it.

One day I may just return here for fun and
not imprisonment,
I thought. There was a human town not too far
away. Vibrant houses of red, yellow, and blue lined its streets.
The fog-laden mountains in the background and the stormy ocean to
the right marked the town’s terminus. It was the mountain, however,
that I have distaste for. Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful and
all, but I was going to have to climb that sucker to get to where I
was going.

I contemplated going back through Abel’s
lands to get to the cave, though ultimately I decided against it.
It was small as far as mountain ranges go, but it was a mountain
nonetheless.

“You’re mine now,” I threatened the
behemoth.

At the base of the mountain there was an old
Celtic pathway, obscured by moss, which led to the top. The path
was still negotiable, so I chose to follow it in hopes of cutting
some time off my journey.

A few miles in and place stones, carvings,
and other assorted Celtic art, worn down by the years, marked the
walkway. The landmarks made it easier for me to negotiate my way as
the overgrowth began to grow thick. Thick, knotty vines, shrubs,
and carpets of moss and lichen obscured the ancient pathway.

The Celts had been a human civilization long
ago. Their druids believed certain formations in the Earth were
holy places, sacred to the gods. Unfortunately, nine times out of
ten, the druids had only stumbled upon some Otherworlder’s
land.

Regular sacrifices of fruit and meat by the
druids, led some of the Otherworlders to keep the ruse up. Hey, who
doesn’t want a free meal?

Over time, Otherworlders began to shrink back
from civilization due to human ignorance. The humans, thinking they
had angered the gods, stepped up their sacrifices. Instead of fruit
and animal, they began slaughtering their own kind. Disgusted and
fearful of the gods’ wrath for allowing such a thing to happen,
Otherworlders retracted from civilization, creating the first
Mistfall. Though long gone, some of the Otherworlder’s ancient
security spells still left echoes upon their lands.

The Celtic landmarks were not just road
signs. If you knew how to read them, and I did, they tell you where
all the booby traps are. Vines with withered tendrils attempted to
trip me as I stepped over and around them. A swamp, with its
deceiving carpet of peat moss, burped up balls of orange plasma.
Once upon a time, those balls of plasma would lead a traveler
astray, like a mysterious, bobbing candlelight in the night air.
Now the balls of light just flickered and sputtered out.

Whoever owned this land was long gone. Its
last traveler hadn’t trekked this land in over a century. The magic
of the place dying out tended to happen upon human lands that once
belonged to Otherworlders. Humans replaced our magic with their own
powers of science and industry, relegating Otherworlders to the
realm of myth.

Halfway up, the path leveled off into a
grassy plateau. Teeming with life, trees, birds, and other assorted
flora and fauna were just as at home here as they were in the
valley below. The magic here was palpable, unlike the path I had
just followed up.

Not too far in front of me a woman, with her
back turned, sat on her heels speaking to a dying sapling. She was
the source of the magic that powered this ancient plateau. I knelt
in submission immediately. I had a very good idea of who the woman
was though I couldn’t see her face. Then again, it could also be
some random Otherworlder. Either way, when approached with the
situation of a possible god, you bow anyway. Better to look like a
fool rather than face a god’s wrath for disrespect.

“Ah, a visitor,” the woman said, turning to
me. It was the Goddess Brigid. As the triple Goddess, she was
maiden, mother, and crone. I was in awe looking at her. She
appeared as the maiden. No, the crone. I blink my eyes and look
again and she appears as the mother. She is one and all. Had I been
human I would have gone insane from viewing the Goddess in her
current form. As an Otherworlder it was easier, but still
unsettling.

Brigid sensed my unease and dampened her
image, though she was no less breathtaking. The maiden stood in
front of me, a head of red hair engulfing her in a fiery halo. Her
rosy-toned skin sported no blemishes or unevenness. She was, in a
word, perfection.

“Lady Brigid,” I responded. “I did not know
you walked the land.”

The Goddess smiled in approval. “Stand
Magdalene. You’ve given me the respect due. No need to stay there
like the groveling beggars tend to do.”

Two wrought iron chairs and a table appeared
before Brigid. She gestured me forward to take a seat as I rose to
my feet.

“Chai tea and cinnamon rolls I believe?” she
asked as I sat.

“Yes my lady, thank you.”

A mug of hot tea, the steam swirling as it
rose, and a gooey cinnamon roll popped into existence before me. I
sipped the spicy tea and was in heaven. The taste of Cinnamon,
cardamom, and clove drove images of autumn leaves and Halloween
through my head.

“The tea reminds me of that too,” Brigid
responded to my thoughts. “Such a wonderful time of year, yet a
dangerous one for Otherworlders as well.”

I nodded in agreement as it was true. Our
magic briefly intensified around Halloween. Sometimes there would
be one jackass who acted as if we’d fed a gorilla steroids. Said
jackassery led to many a war being started on Halloween.

FYI-If you ever meet one of the gods, listen
attentively. They rarely waste words and everything they say has
importance.

“Did you know that my brothers, sisters, and
I used to walk freely on the Earth?” she asked me.

“Willa always told me there was truth in all
stories, my lady,” I replied.

Brigid frowned. “Yes, stories. As you become
myth amongst the humans, we disappear from the world altogether.”
She pointed a long red fingernail at me. “But you…you believe. You
even showed me reverence.”

She turned in a complete circle, gesturing to
everything around her. “The Fae, this island, and the Celts were my
own creation,” she beamed. “I once lived amongst them too. Druids
would climb the very mountain path you have traveled to listen to
my counsel, give me offerings, and bring the prayers of the people.
In return for their adoration, I helped my children. I would make
crops grow when there was no rain. Prayers were answered for those
who could not handle the challenges life brought them. I was good
to them.”

Brigid paused to swipe at the cream cheese
frosting of one of the rolls with her index finger. As she licked
the rich and delicious frosting off her finger, I noticed her
expression change. Brigid’s pale, sky blue eyes turned stormy and
her plump pink lips turned downward as she continued on with her
story.

“Over time we were forgotten or replaced with
deities our children made up,” she lamented. “Only my children, the
Fae, still believed in us. Occasionally prayers and wishes were
made to us from desperate men, though they didn’t believe or show
us the respect due. We became grieved and angry as they fought wars
in our names but without our blessings.”

A single tear rolled down Brigid’s cheek,
like a prism. Every color of the rainbow was reflected in the wet
drop as it tumbled down her face and onto the ground. Her sadness
was affecting me as well. A heaviness deposited itself, like a
boulder, in the pit of my stomach. I felt as if my soul was being
torn from me, piece by piece.

“One day, my brothers, sisters, and I
withdrew from the world completely,” she despaired. The humans
called that era The Dark Ages. Aside from the Fae, we never showed
our faces again. Once in awhile, one of our children would remember
and love us. To them we would show favor, but stayed hidden where
none but us could go.”

The sky began to darken and thunder rumbled
across the sky. I looked up to see the grey-blue of Brigid’s eyes
now appearing in the clouds that rolled in. Her sadness had become
so great that it was now affecting everything. I battled to
maintain my composure as the heaviness in the pit of my stomach
became a cannibalistic black hole.

“It wasn’t until the nineteenth century, as
you call it, that we returned to this world,” she informed me. “Our
children no longer fought falsely in our name. They now fought in
their own names, elevating themselves as the new gods and
goddesses.”

Anger quickly replaced despair. I suddenly
felt the need to put my fist through the table we were sitting at
as Brigid’s mood changed. “We wanted to end the existence of this
world and start anew,” she spat and began shouting. “We hadn’t
abandoned them. They abandoned all of us!”

The earth shook beneath my feet, Brigid’s
wrath threatening to split it apart. Her mood had caused so many
physiological changes in me that my body was beginning to short
circuit. My heart was pounding as fast as a jackhammer, the sound
of it throbbing in my ears. Tears fell freely as I struggled for
breath, the extreme anxiety causing the feeling of a boa
constrictor tightening itself against my ribs.

“My…my…lady,” I rasped. “Brigid!” I didn’t
mean to use her name so casually, but I was on the verge of my
heart exploding and desperate times call for desperate measures.
She returned her focus to me, her mood lightening in response to my
impending cardiac failure.

Her eyes returned to their sky blue color,
the clouds dispersed and the sun shone once again. “My apologies,
it’s been quite some time since I’ve been around one of our
children,” she mused.
I’m guessing that’s my apology
, I
thought.

“Where was I?” she asked. I couldn’t answer
as I was sucking down welcomed gasps of air. “Oh yes, now I
remember,” she replied to herself. “We wanted to destroy this
corrupt world. Our children had broken our hearts, save one.”
Brigid clasped both her hands at her breast. “One voice called out
to us. One heart still sang our praises, so we listened.” That
voice gave us hope. If one of our children could pull at our
heartstrings, perhaps it was possible the rest could love us once
again. You know how the rest of the story goes.”

She had finished her story and not too soon
either. I didn’t know if my body could take anymore of the
emotional rollercoaster Brigid was capable of causing in me.

My heart went out to her as I wept (The
feelings, this time, being all mine). How did we, both humans and
Otherworlders, have the knowledge to touch the stars AND the
ignorance to think the moon was made out of cheese?

“You shed tears for us Magdalene. I wonder if
the rest of them do,”

I didn’t dare speak. When in a god’s presence
was the only time I was willing to ‘speak only when spoken to.’ It
was a good thing I kept my lips zipped. Brigid wasn’t done yet.

“We gave the world one saving grace. As of
late, it seems if they’re hell-bent on destroying it,” she
said.

Finally, she was done. “Yes my lady, that is
true,” I said in reply to her last comment. “We may not be where
you and the others would like us to be, but I have to believe all
is not lost.” I wasn’t too sure if I believed my own statement, but
I was willing to defend my world to keep it from the fiery hell
I’ve been accused of causing in the future.

Brigid looked at me as if she was just now
noticing me. She was sizing me up, deciding if I was worthy of
living.
Death would be more palatable than another one of her
harm-inducing diatribes.
I was spared another near heart
attack.

“You should probably stand,” she told me.

I did as I was directed and with that, she
was gone.

“What? No goodbye?” I asked the empty
space.

A shiny metal object flew out of the heavens
and landed inches from me, the pointy end impaled in the earth. It
was a gift and a rebuke. The rebuke was for my sarcasm.
Note
taken!

I inspected the object. It was a sword, but
not just any sword. “No, it can’t be,” I exclaimed in awe. But it
was. Hofuo, the legendary sword of Heimdall lay before me.

Short version-Heimdall was the god who
guarded the entry to Valhalla, where warriors who died in battle
went to spend the afterlife.

I really don’t know how to explain being
given Hofuo in relative terms. It was like the best Christmas Day
ever. Imagine a regular sword as a Buick. It’s reliable,
well-built, and everyone has one. Hofuo was like the Batmobile. It
was fast as lightening, strong as steel, and with the added ability
to inflict destruction. It was freaking awesome!!!