Kevin Hearne - Trapped

The corners of Goibhniu’s mouth drooped. “Not another sword?”

“No, your brother Luchta will do the bulk of it. Granuaile prefers the staff. Not the wizard’s sort, but the fighting sort. A quarterstaff. Can you craft it in such a way that one end is inlaid with iron to strike against the Fae and the other inlaid with silver to dissuade werewolves and their ilk?”

The smith’s expression lit up. “Ah! That would be something new! It must be both light and strong, of course, specially bound to resist shattering and splintering. Working the metal into either end must serve both functionally and aesthetically to deserve the Fae name.”

“I daresay it would be a challenge for both of you. There are no templates for such craft.”

“I think you are right, Siodhachan!”

“Add such enchantments as you think are fit and meet, and it will be a legendary weapon the likes of which the world has never seen.”

“Indeed! It has been too long since the Tuatha Dé Danann have crafted something worthy of legend.” He shot me a wry grin. “Aside from my ales, of course.”

“Of course.”

Goibhniu pounded the rest of his porter at an alarming rate and then wiped a wee bit of foam off his upper lip. “I must discuss this with Luchta immediately.” He got up and brushed dirt off his breeches.

“Wait. Shouldn’t we discuss payment?”

“Ha! Is not the challenge payment enough? And considering how much trouble you tend to get in whenever you show your face in public, I imagine your apprentice will do the same; thus she will bring me fame for ages to come. Nay, Siodhachan, it’s entertainment and sops for my ego that I lack, not money, so I think you’ve paid me—and I daresay my brother—well already in the bargain. We will work on it forthwith!”

I bade Goibhniu farewell and another nymph appeared, very sorrowful, with what she thought was very bad news. “Manannan Mac Lir is not to be found at the moment. He is in the ocean somewhere but is due to return soon. His wife, Fand, invites you to their home to wait.”

“Excellent. I think we will do that.” I smiled at her to indicate my gratitude.

Indeed. Feel like barking at Granuaile to let her know we’re leaving?

Feeling better and much refreshed, we shifted back to Tír na nÓg to visit Manannan. Fand was waiting for us outside the doors. When she saw Granuaile’s limp, she said, “You poor children! Do come in and tell me all about it!”

“If you don’t mind terribly, we’d rather not relive it,” I said.

Fand looked bemused, then embarrassed. “Oh, but of course! Let’s get you fed and rested until Manannan returns.”

She led us into the kitchen and nattered on about what everyone had been saying after our audience, while she fried some bacon made from the famous hogs. “It’s the bacon of eternal youth,” she said, smiling at Granuaile as she served her a plate. “Should heal you right up and taste sinful.”

Granuaile’s jaw dropped at the four slices of bacon draped on a blue ceramic plate that looked one of a kind. It wasn’t just the bacon: She knew her knots well enough now to read that the white knotwork around the edge was a blessing of good health to anyone who ate from the plate.

“I …”

“Yes, dear?”

Granuaile said nothing more.

“She’s a bit overwhelmed,” I said.

“I understand.”

Fand also had sausage links made from the same hogs, so she fried a pan full of those for Oberon and placed them on a plate for him.

That good, huh?

It’s free, Oberon .

Rather than argue the semantics of great with him, I laughed inwardly and enjoyed my own plate of bacon and bread.

Fand was a gracious hostess, and thoughts of how unlike her mother she was caused me to inquire, “How does your mother these days?”

“Oh.” Fand blushed. “She’s still besotted by that thunder god you brought with you.”

“Perun is still here?”

“Aye. He’s been granted a sort of asylum. He’s welcome to stay on the plane as long as he wishes, but once he leaves, he cannot return without invitation. He is not anxious to return to earth, I hear, since Loki is after him—and since my mother is being so … hospitable.”

I diplomatically ignored that bit. Fand was clearly embarrassed by her mother’s legendary libido. “Has no one spotted Loki?” I asked.

“No. He’s either hidden himself well or he’s on the Norse planes somewhere.”

A faery cleared his throat at the entrance to the kitchen and bowed when we turned. “M’lord Manannan has returned.”

“Excellent,” Fand said. “Please let him know where we are.”

Another bow and scrape and he was gone. Manannan must have been close behind him, for he entered almost as soon as the faery disappeared, a scowl on his face.

“What’s this?” he said without greeting us, eyeing Granuaile’s bare arm. His hair was wet and he carried a harpoon in his right hand. It was etched with knotwork, so it was probably a named weapon. He had been hunting in the sea. “Siodhachan, I thought you were binding her to the earth.”

“I was, but we were interrupted,” I said.

“Interrupted?”

Before he could ask by whom, I said, “I wonder if we might have a private word, Manannan?” The sea god’s eyes flicked to his wife and back to us, and then he nodded.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t Fand I was worried about but rather her faeries. I bowed to the lady of the castle. “Fand, your hospitality remains legendary. Please excuse us.”

“You are welcome anytime,” she replied.

We followed Manannan to a room of slate and glass. Granuaile’s limp was already disappearing, thanks to the springs of Mag Mell, the bacon of youth, and the plate of good health. A faery ducked out just as we entered, saying the fire had been laid. The hearth glowed warmly in contrast to the cold appointments of the room. Shelves of bluish gray stone lined the walls, and on these rested books bound in leather and various objets d’art. There was an enormous pearl couched on the tongue of an open oyster shell, softly glowing with reflected firelight. Four golden high-backed armchairs with dark blue cushions waited in front of the hearth for us to be seated, and Oberon leapt onto one, considering himself an equal participant in the coming conversation.

Manannan raised an eyebrow at Oberon’s behavior but made no comment. His eyes turned to the door and lost focus—or, rather, refocused in the magical spectrum. He mumbled a binding and sealed us in; no one outside the room would be able to hear us. Unless …

I turned on my faerie specs to see what the faeries might have been up to in here. I trusted Manannan implicitly, but he lived in a castle full of the Fae and he wasn’t around often to watch them. Scanning the bookshelves, I saw something interesting on the oyster shell—subtle but barely discernible against the natural shimmer of the shell. Bindings. Unfamiliar ones.

“Manannan?”

“Hmm?”

“What are these bindings over here?” I pointed at the shell. He stepped closer and peered at them, frowning.

“I’m not sure. It’s not my work, I can tell you. It might be harmless, but I don’t like strange bindings in me own library. Especially when I want privacy.”

He unbound the knots and they fizzled away, leaving only the shell behind.