A Path of Oak and Ash (31 page)

44

The next few hours passed in a blur.  Through the whisperer's network, Aurelian managed to dig up plans of the facility on Lesji Island where Lorcan was believed to be currently holed up.  It was a very basic construction launch facility with barracks and a storehouse for the workers.  The upper floors of the complex were configured with posh offices and conference rooms, probably so the owners could brag and tour VIP investors and government officials through the project. On paper there were forty employees currently residing in the barracks ranging from geologists to janitors.  Most Erik believed to be just normal people who worked for the company, although Aurelian had his doubts.

Still that left two very lofty goals; Stop construction on the rigs that would kick off the initial work for the pipeline and eliminate Lorcan. Further Carrick held a third private goal of finding Maureen Slaine alive and well.  Hopefully. 

He had been mentally preparing himself for the worst case scenarios with his mother. Bethany's account of her incarceration was not an exaggeration, of that he was certain.  Which left the very real possibility that his mother was, like many of his family members, not what she seemed.  No, in his heart of hearts he knew that she was a good soul, one who loved him above all else.  Whatever trickery Lorcan was employing, Carrick would not sway from that fact.

"I think we should blow it up."  Carrick offered.

Erik glared at him.  "Out of the question.  Druids do not use-"

"I'm half human, Bethany is human.  You follow the same playbook every game you're gonna lose.  Lorcan would never
never
expect anything man-made from us."

"That is true."  Conall mused while Aodhan started shaking his head no before he finished speaking.

"We don't have any explosives though." Bethany frowned, biting her lower lip.

Carrick laughed.  "This is America, think we can't find them by noon tomorrow?"

"Bah, even if we were to lay explosives we still have to get in and get close enough to do so, if the place is crawling with fell as Aurelian suspects they will see through our guise in an instant."  Erik chimed in.

"So we have to go in fighting."  Conall flipped a small blade between his fingertips as he spoke.

Aurelian came in from outside, looking disturbed. A wine bottle again in his right hand. "Looks like we're on our own.  Things are getting...bad. Everywhere.  Mimi had to fend off her estate against a fell with nothing but her garden trowel."

"She is a tough old bird."  Erik smiled.

Aurelian cursed, drinking from the bottle.  "Similar attacks across the globe, I can't get a word from half of our outposts and fell indicators are red on all fronts."

"They are trying to wipe us out."  Aodhan paled.

"Seems so." Erik agreed sadly.

"Uncle.  This book.  You said it can open portals, can it do anything else?"

"Yes. There are many types of controlled magic in its pages."

"Golems."  Aodhan threw out the word excitedly.  "I've always wanted to see one."

Erik glared at him.  "Used to defend only in the most severe situations."

"I'd say this qualifies.  Could we summon a few?" Carrick asked.

"That will get us in, no doubt." Aodhan agreed.  "Oh!  Maybe even a higher elemental, or word of death, my Da always told me stories ‘bout that."

"No one can read from the book but the seat.  It is forbidden."  Erik folded his arms crossly.

Carrick wasn't buying that.  "Uncle, you and I are blood of the Elder.  We are next in line for that title.  Hell, Erik it is supposed to be yours right now.  If there has ever been an exception, I'd say we pretty much fit the bill."

Erik glared at angrily Carrick's friends.  "Just had to open your mouths..."

"They didn't have to tell me, everyone knows."  Carrick tried to diffuse his uncle, leaning into him he pleaded.  "This isn't even about that, Erik.  It is about us having the ability to help, to stop what is happening.  We have to try, no.  We have to
win
." Carrick frowned. "Plus, do you really know where my Dad is?  Either of you?  Everyone talks about him like he's this great savior for us but how long has it been since you've actually seen him?"

Aurelian and Erik exchanged a look that told Carrick he wasn't far off in his accusations.

"The price for what you ask is banishment...or worse depending on the mood of the Elder."  Erik warned.

"We are stuck here anyway."  Quin countered, his young brother's nodding in agreement.

"Easier to ask forgiveness than permission."  Bethany mumbled, shrugging her shoulders.

"The nearsightedness of youth."  Aurelian smiled.  "Does it not fill you with nostalgia for our expedition against the Abrasax?"

"Lorcan is a far cry from misguided Hebrew mystics tinkering with ancient rituals. Besides, we were nothing like this."  Erik grumbled.

"You're right."  Aurelian leaned into him.  "We were
worse
."

"So you are all in accordance?"  Erik asked, panning the crowd.  When it was clear their resolve would not falter, he cursed. "Fine.  Let us all be damned then."

"We may be damned, but we're not going down alone."  Carrick announced.

Erik sighed, flipping the cover on the sacred text. "Well then let us hope I can make sense of this."

Over the next few hours, Erik read in awe from the pages of the sacred book.  Ways to evoke storms of rain, acid and lightening, summons of all manner of creature, portals and planes, various healing magic’s, incantations to repel metals, wood, even the death spell Aodhan spoke of.  Erik decided the golems would be the easiest to master in the short time frame, then spent the remainder of the day teaching Carrick, Quin, Aodhan and Conall the methods while Aurelian saw to transportation and the explosives.  Bethany rested most of the day, having got little sleep the night before.  The young druids too napped off and on, finding the energy needed to conjure such advanced magic’s incredibly draining.

Later that night, they solidified the details of their plan over salads.  Having a decent understanding of which magic’s they were able to master in such a short time, Erik barked orders.  "Alright, so Carrick and Aodhan will circle this way while Conall and Erik..."

"What about me?"  Bethany interjected, looking eager.

"You need to stay here."

“Stay here.  While you all go to fight with absolutely no guarantee of survival.”

“Yes.”

“I never took you for sexist.  I have just as much of a right to fight and to die doing it as the rest of you.”

“My darling, you don't know what we're going up against.”

“Yes I do.”

“Then you know why I can't let you go.”

“
Let
me?!” 

Carrick sunk down further in his seat.  He had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen and did not want to be in her line of fire. 

“Bethany…”  Aurelian spoke softly, she screamed right over him.

“I lost my family, my life because of these people and you're going to make me sit at home and watch TV while you confront them?  You...you...selfish misogynistic…ass!”  Leaping up from the table she stomped off down the hallway, slamming her door hard.  Muffled tears cut through the awkward silence that followed.

Aodhan laughed, shaking his head. 

“Something funny?  Aurelian grumbled.

“Nothing.  I just feel sorry for the poor brother who gets to finish that conversation.”

“Me too.”  A mischievous grin crossed Aurelian’s face as his eyes landed on an unsuspecting Quin. 

“What?  Why are you looking at me like that?”

45

Bethany paced in her room, her emotions waffling from anxious to furious to morose.  There was a good chance that all of them were going to die and judging from her limited exposure to the enemy, those deaths would not be quick and painless.  She had to acknowledge she was far from a soldier, but the thought of sitting in this house, waiting, made her skin crawl.  If they were to die she should be right there on the front lines with them. These fell had robbed her of her life and hell, the world thought she was dead already, so why not?

There was a knock at the door, a single rap of knuckles against oak.  Bethany paused, checking her complexion in the mirror.  Bags hung beneath both of her eyes, her short dark locks were a frizzy mess, and even her skin tone seemed extra splotchy.

"Come in."  Bethany called, smoothing out her hair with her hands.  Surely Aurelian had come to rebuke her behavior and seek an apology, which she was prepared to give. Begrudgingly, sure, but give.

The person who entered her room was not whom she was expecting.  Tall, dark and handsome Quin walked in, his body mostly hidden under a black cloak that was clasped with a wolf’s head silver pin. He had pulled his raven hair away from his face, binding it at the nap of his neck. 

"I...we...are leaving." Quin stayed just inside her doorway his steel gray eyes panned the room.

"Oh,” Bethany gulped, "it’s that time then."  She exhaled sharply, “look, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to scream at all of you.”

“Aurelian will be relieved.”

He lingered by her door, leather boots shifted on the carpet, "I,” he cleared his throat, “I was hoping you would offer, but then I realized you wouldn't know a thing about it."

"About what?"  As her mind did a mental run down of all the things she could possibly offer him her eyes widened. "Hey I’m not going to sleep with you just because you might die." She snapped. “That’s not how it works.”

His arms flew up in defense, revealing the white linen shirt and dark grey pants he wore beneath his cloak.  "No. I am, ah, not asking you to."

"Oh."  She immediately blushed, feeling horrid at her presumption.  It was just the culture she had grown up in.  If you weren't putting out you were a prude, if you were, you were a slut.  There really was no win-win in high school.  "I'm sorry. Again.” Shit.  “Please, what is it?"

"There is a tradition for our people, when one faces tribulations he is often blessed with the colors of one dear to him to protect him in battle, a simple gift of cloth to remind him of her presence when he is far away so that his heart may beat just long enough to see her face."  Quin smiled self-consciously. "I shall not mince words, I am growing quite fond of you Bethany Blair and I would..."  He trailed off, color flooding his cheeks.  "Forgive me for the intrusion."  With that he spun around, moving quickly towards the door. 

"Quin!  Wait!"  She called out, feeling horrible his premise was both endearing and romantic and she had gone and soured it with her presumptions.  Biting her lower lip it dawned on her she didn't have much in the way of possessions to bestow upon anyone, who was she kidding? Only thing she had to her name were the clothes on her back.  Looking around the room she eyed the aqua pillow case on the bed.  It was close to her favorite color and readily available.  Surely Aurelian wouldn't mind replacing one for a just cause.

Dashing to the bed, Bethany pulled the feather down out of its brightly colored case, tossing it on the bed. "Do you have a knife?"

In a fluid motion, Quin pulled a small dagger from his belt and tossed it on the bed near her.

"Thanks."  It weighed more than she would have expected, the handle being a composite of bone and some sort of metal.  With the grace of toddler, she messily ripped a thin strip of cloth from the case.

"Um, my family doesn't have any colors or a crest or anything fancy like that."  She held out the cloth. "My favorite color is turquoise so this kind of works."

Quin's dark eyes widened, left hand extending to take what she had offered.  His touch feather light across her palm.

"I don't even know your last name."  She mused aloud sadly.  If he were to die, it felt wrong not to know.

"Paorach."  He replied with the tilt of his head and a slight bow at the waist.

"Quin Paorach."  Bethany repeated slowly.  "Funny, I expected it to be, like, Darkhorse or Lonewolf or something like that." 

He gave her a quizzical look, then burst out laughing. The melodic chuckle a sharp contrast to his brooding form.  Happiness spread so naturally across his face leaving her to wonder why he always acted aloof.   "Thank you, I needed that." 

"Come home safe Quin Paorach."  She meant every word.

His eyes drifted to the strip of brightly colored cloth in his hand.  "Now, how could I not?"

Perhaps it was her recent brush with death or perhaps it was just a true surge of confidence, either way the act was the same.  Bethany rushed the massive druid, wrapping her arms around his neck she jumped up, kissing his scruffy cheek.

As she pulled back to look at him the shock in Quin's dark eyes was obvious, his pulse raced beneath her palms, his breathing stopped, his eyes widened rather than risk the blink.  Utterly enthralled Quin leaned in to her, just as Carrick entered the doorframe.

"Rick! Hi!"  Bethany dropped her arms, taking a step back.  She had expected him to be angry, instead he only smiled.

"Sorry to intrude."  Carrick's voice was surprisingly sincere.  As she thought about it, she figured why shouldn't he be?  They hadn't been a thing in a long time.

"No, no.  It's fine.  Really."

"Ready Quin?" Carrick nodded towards the hall. "Erik's getting impatient."

"Yes, let us anon my brother."  Without another look towards her Quin followed Carrick from the room, shutting her door silently behind him. His sage scent stayed with her long after the men had left the beach house.

46

In his forty years of coups, rebellions and resistance movements there were two things of which he was ever certain. Regime changed, loose ends were cleaned up.  Most on the losing end knew the writing on the wall long before the bullets found their bodies, they just refused to admit it, getting off on dying for the cause without a thought to how little the cause actually gave a shit about them.

Lighting a cigarette, Joseph Johnson watched the monitor as the new 'squad' took up shop on the island.  Demented eyes, foul teethed killers with need-to-know assignments.  Need-to-know above his paygrade, the highest one on the scale. The comm room on the monitor beside it lay empty, as did the server room.  Joseph had watched one by one as the analysts were taken in for debriefing, never to cross the screen again.  He had been initially delighted Marcus had recruited him for this extremely lucrative contract, Marcus had always done well by him in the past.  Quick insurrections, assassinations, stuff that had him home for golf on Sunday with his jittery brother-in-law.  Now Marcus was dead, and he had been in the field for months.  Months of weird shit.  Torturing teenage girls, chasing questionably human creatures they kept calling nomads.  Terrorists they said, yet as more and more of those euro trash bastards showed up he was starting to wonder.  Then there was that woman, the things they did to her...

Joseph had never been one for church, but all that chanting, candles and blips on the monitors made him seriously consider sending out for a damned priest.

His eyes flipped up to the screen still linked to the South American holding facility, they never were able to get all the blood out...

"Mr. Johnson, Mr. Vok would like to meet with you."  The nasally voice of one of the new guys came from behind him.  "Firearm on the desk please."  Of course. 

"Let me just finish this."

"He insists on now, you can smoke."

It was a good thing he didn't give a damned about the cause.

"Sure."  He placed his standard issue on the desk then followed the boy to the elevator. Blowing a small ring of smoke towards the digital up arrow, waiting patiently for the pleasant chime that signaled its arrival.  Damn thing was taking forever.  Tossing his hand rolled into the trashcan in the hallway, he rummaged in his suitcoat for his holder.

"Mind if I?"  Joseph asked, holding out his silver cigarette case.

"Knock yourself out pops."

The elevator chimed, the doors opening wide.

"After you,” he smiled with those rotten teeth.

Joseph complied, walking into the six by six box with a fresh smoke between his lips.  Standing at the back of the elevator, he reached in his breast pocket, passing over his lighter he popped the lid off his pen.  His escort faced forward, punching 4 on the panel, a pleasant chime rang overhead as the doors slid shut.

Now.

Grabbing him by the back of his neck, Joseph shoved his ballpoint into the boy's eye socket.  To his surprise, the lad kept struggling with a strength that should not be present in shock.  The kid drew his gun, trying to aim at him. With one arm still wrapped around his neck, he banged the boys arm on the metal railing of the elevator till the firearm hit the ground.   The boy threw himself backwards, knocking Joseph into the wall.  His aged fingers could not get the proper grip on the boy’s neck for the pop he was looking for.  The boy threw him back again, knocking his head against the metal wall of the elevator hard enough to make his ears ring.  Joseph cursed, ripping his pen free of the orbital socket, he stabbed him in the neck.  One. Twice. He stopped counting after that, mystified as black blood splattered all over the steel walls.  Soon the soft gurgle of blood cut through the ringing in his ears, just before the boy transformed into a pile of oily goo at his feet.

I'm too old for this shit. 
Joseph frowned at the marble floor, picking up the .45 the lad had dropped.  A newer model than the one he preferred, but it would do all the same.

Turning, he hit the elevator stop button, punched the B1 button and lit his cigarette, a bit bent but somehow still pursed between his lips.  All that was left was to commandeer one of the docked boats and survive the six day ride to Cape Town.  Joseph chuckled as the elevator doors slide open, seemed he may live to retirement after all.