The Obsidian Dagger (6 page)

The slave exited the tower at her command and left Morna alone with her griffin. She gently rubbed its beak as the storm raged on to her delight.

 

 

Chapter 6

The Right Direction

The clouds were finally starting to retreat, giving Brendan a sense that the day was going to start looking up. Glancing at Dorian, he didn't get the impression that she was feeling the same way. He couldn't blame her, after all her father was just abducted by a mythical creature that shouldn't exist, so he kind of understood that she was in a weird place at the moment.

Lizzie took some time as they journeyed through town to check out all of the Leprechauns. They really didn't seem all that different from the people she had met in Galway, only they were miniature. It sort of went against everything she knew about Leprechauns, like what she had read or had seen in movies and on TV.

“I thought Leprechauns were all supposed to be little men with red beards and green clothes,” she commented.

“You can blame Colym for that,” Biddy replied rolling her eyes and pointing to a little red-bearded man in a green suit lounging on a rock, half-liquored up and stifling belches. “One night, after a long night of finding his way to the bottom of a few mugs, Colym let himself be seen. You can imagine how the stories grew from there.”

Colym burped at that point, nearly vomiting up last night's meal, but only just managing to swallow it back down.

“Oh, I see.” Lizzie nearly vomited herself, but she didn't want to hang out near the little disgusting man any longer than she had to.

Colym's head was a little roly-poly on his shoulders and he held it aloft like it weighed as much as the rock on which he sat. He held it steady just long enough to catch sight of Biddy and began to wave. His wave threw him off balance and he flipped head-over-heels backwards off his rock and out of sight.

“Oh, my gosh,” shrieked Lizzie, holding her hand to her open mouth. “Is he okay?”

Biddy waved Colym's tumble off as no big deal. “He's fine. He does it all the time.”

Lizzie shrugged and followed the group. When they reached the edge of the town she heard a loud, booming belch erupt from behind the rock. Birds scattered from the trees and Lizzie supposed that the little drunk was sleeping it off and was probably wetting his pants. She hustled to catch up after she heard another booming noise, only this time it didn't sound like it came from his mouth.

After a nice hike up a partially muddy, clod-stricken hill, Dorian and the others reached the large trunk that blocked the path where Brendan and Lizzie had abandoned their car. Dorian nimbly leapt over the trunk and strolled right past the O'Neal's junker.

“Whoa!” hollered Brendan as he hurdled the tree trunk. “Where are you going?”

Dorian paused and looked back, clearly frustrated. “I thought we already established that I was going to go and save my father.”

“Yeah, I know, but why don't we just take my car?” said Brendan whose hand was on the door handle.

Rory stretched his back out and bent his knees up and down. “That sounds a whole lot better than walking.”

Biddy nodded. “It is a long way to Morna's castle.”

“Fine,” conceded Dorian. “But I'm riding shotgun.”

“Dang it,” huffed Lizzie.

They started to load into the car and Biddy leaned over to Rory. “What's ‘shotgun?'”

Rory just shrugged and leapt into the back seat.

…

Somewhere on the journey from the tower to his holding cell, Duncan had lost consciousness. Had he been slammed into a wall or choked out or drugged? He wasn't sure but he knew that he had a headache that was threatening to split his skull apart. How long had he been in this cell? Minutes? Hours? Days? He couldn't tell.

Duncan began to regain his focus in spite of the headache and the darkness in the dungeon. His cell was more of a mobile cage with thick bars that were too close together for him to fit through. It had a solid wood base and top and was one of two cages in the room. Trapped like a bird in a cage, he noted.

When his eyes had adjusted as best as they could in the little light allowed, he examined the other cage. A small figure was laying in a heap groaning. The little body was rocking gently in the fetal position in apparent pain.

“Wardicon?” said Duncan softly. The Sidhe King did not reply. He continued to groan and rock, saddening Duncan further. “Morna has attacked the Sidhes as well, has she?”

Duncan walked to the bars nearest the Sidhe's cage and tested them. They were solid iron and unbreakable for a Leprechaun that currently was without magic. Wardicon sat up with his back to Duncan and sharply adjusted his neck. His body rose in an unnatural movement like a puppet on invisible strings.

“Wardicon, what has she done to you?” Duncan called to the fairy.

Wardicon shifted his body in an eerie fashion and shot Duncan a fierce look with a snap-turn of his head. The Sidhe King's features were his own, only depraved. His eyes were sunken deep within their sockets and his skin had lost its normal hue having faded to a light gray. Wardicon's hair was matted and greasy falling in strings across the once proud king's face. His wings were unfurled and were revealed to be more bat-like now as opposed to their original sheer appearance. Wardicon ran toward the bars attempting to attack Duncan, but he found that the bars were unwavering on his end as well. The Sidhe shook the cage with unexpected strength as he clawed and hissed at the distraction in the room. After finding no way to get to Duncan, Wardicon slunk back down to the floor and into his fetal position, soothing himself once more on the oak base of his cage.

Duncan was shocked and confused. He had never seen anything like that. That dagger was apparently all that the legends claimed it to be and now it was in Morna‘s possession. He had to wonder if he and Wardicon were going to share the same fate.

…

Oscar entered the records' room with high hopes. All of his research had led him back to this point and this small, dank room in the corner of the public library. The building was small and had a tiny general store on the back side of it. The two were separated by a wall, but the hum of the refrigerators could be heard coming through the wall.

He expected to have to work really hard to find what he was looking for, but it just so happened that when he walked into the room, there were three leather-bound books sitting on the table. He sat his stuff down and just picked one up intent on putting it back on the shelf, but the wording on the spine caught his attention.

“O'Neal,” he read aloud. “What luck!”

He proceeded to open the book, and low and behold there were several pages marked. He flipped to the first and began to read about the clans that lived in the area. There were tons of family names that were common in both Ireland and America. He smiled like a schoolgirl and moved on the next bookmark and the next and the next. He furiously took notes and then cross referenced the information with the other two books that were sitting on the table.

“I wonder why these books were just laying out?” He knew it was probably too good to be true, but he needed a break in this research. He had been working for years to pinpoint the family roots, and here was some of the information that he needed.

All he had to do now was go to Gilshery and continue the work. Perhaps finally there was a little of that Irish luck that he had heard so much about on his side.

Oscar stepped back into the main room of the library and shuffled over to the counter.

“Excuse me, but how would one go about getting to Gilshery?”

The clerk looked up half asleep and half confused. He shrugged and then took a large swig of cold coffee. Most of the gelatinous liquid made it into the guy's mouth. Most of it.

“I'm heading to Gilshery,” called a voice from the doorway.

Oscar turned and saw a well-dressed gentleman smiling with an extended hand. He was extremely pale, but had the darkest hair he had ever seen.

“The name's Charlie,” said the stranger.

Oscar took his hand and shook. “I'm Oscar.”

“Look, you're welcome to come along with me to Gilshery. I was just about to leave now.”

Oscar cringed. “Oh, well, I needed to drop by my hotel and leave some money for my kids, first, but I don't want to hold you up.”

“Nonsense,” replied Charlie. “It will only take a tic, and besides, this town isn't all that big.”

“Well, I appreciate the ride, friend. I'll call them on the way.”

Oscar followed the man to the expensive Mercedes and slid into the front seat.

…

Driving out of Corways, Brendan found that the conversation quickly gave way to silence. The hum of the 2.5 liter engine and the movement of wind were the only sounds around. Lizzie and Biddy had settled for staring out of the side windows from the back seat. Dorian stared ahead, sullen and contemplative, and Rory perched on Brendan's seat back.

“Brendan, have you been holding out magic on us?” commented Rory after a time.

“Huh?”

“You've got your pocket flashing with some fancy colors,” Rory pointed out.

Brendan glanced down at his pocket and noticed the red and blue lights of his smart phone showing through his apparently too thin khaki pants. He would have to remember to not wear that pair to school. It would make it a lot harder to get away with texting if the teachers could spot when he had a text or a call before he could.

“Oh, that's my phone.” He pulled it out and saw his dad's name on the LCD display as a missed call. “It was Dad, Liz.”

Brendan slid the bar and then pressed the screen and held the phone out. Oscar's message played over the speakerphone. “Brendan, I hope you and Liz are having a great time here in Galway. Listen, kiddo, I need to get over to a little town called Gilshery. I have a lead that I need to follow. I'll be back in a couple of days. I left you some money in the room. Love you guys. Call me anytime. I'll be checking in with you every now and again. Enjoy the car; I caught a ride. See you later.”

“Gilshery?” Rory asked with a twisted-up expression. “Why on Earth would someone want to go to Gilshery?”

Brendan shrugged. “It's our dad; he's looking up family history.”

“We have ancestors that went to the U.S. from here,” added Lizzie.

Biddy leaned forward. “What's the name that he's looking for?”

“O'Neal,” answered Lizzie.

Rory perked up at the name. “You don't say. We used to have plenty of O'Neals back in Corways.”

“That's what some drunk told us, too.” Brendan rolled his eyes thinking back to the experience in the pub. It seemed like a year ago, but it had only been about a day since they had heard that crazy tale from that pub full of nut jobs.

A thought, a terrible and slightly disgusting thought entered Brendan's mind and he looked over at Dorian. “Uh, your last name isn't O'Neal, is it?”

Dorian came out of her thoughts. “Me? No, I'm a MacFlannery.”

Brendan breathed a sigh of relief. “Good,” he said looking away.

“Okay, I have to ask,” said Lizzie sitting on the edge of the tiny back seat. “Does anyone know where we are going?”

Dorian opened her bag and pulled out a fairly large feather. It was golden and shimmered in the spotty sunlight. She set it on the seat between herself and Brendan and the feather righted itself like a compass.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Lizzie. “What kind of feather is that?”

“It's one of the griffin's feathers,” explained Dorian. “It must have fallen off when it took my father.”

“A griffin is not supposed to lose its feathers,” added Rory. “It can't grow any new ones, so each feather is very important to it.”

“So, what, the feather is trying to get back to the griffin then?” Lizzie asked a bit confused.

“Pretty much,” answered Biddy.

Brendan raised a brow. “Well, then I guess we have our heading. Does anyone know where that is?”

Dorian nodded. “To Morna's castle. The griffin lives there, so if we follow the feather's directions, then that should lead us to my father.”

“All right, but I want to stop off at our room and get some things and the money,” Brendan said as Galway came into view.

Brendan and Lizzie left the car running on the curb as they took the steps two at a time to reach the entrance on the front porch of Gordy's Home. Mr. and Mrs. Gordy were planted in their normal chairs doing their favorite activity. Gordy paused mid-rock when the O'Neal kids reached the porch.

“Hey, Yank,” Gordy began. “Your father wants you to call him on his cell phone when you get in.”

“Oh, okay,” Brendan replied as he grabbed the handle of the screen door.

“Be a good boy and call your father,” echoed Mrs. Gordy.

“I will, ma'am,” Brendan reassured her.

When they reached their suite, they grabbed a gym bag that Brendan had stuffed all of his toiletries into. He dumped it out and then grabbed the deodorant and put it back into the bag. He picked up snacks, the money, and some mints for fresh breath, just in case. Lizzie returned with soap, a towel, and shampoo.