Mark Del Franco - Undone Deeds

I tried to process what she was saying, but the sleep spell made my thinking sluggish. “I don’t understand.”

“There seems to be much you don’t understand,” she said.

“You had Donor on the defensive,” I said.

That sly smile was back. “That tends to happen when you declare war on someone.”

“You never declared…. wait, you’re not talking about here, are you? You’re talking about Faerie,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes at me, avid with listening, as if she needed me to say something she was waiting for. “Go on.”

“You remember. You remember Faerie before Convergence,” I said.

“Is that supposition or knowledge?” she asked.

“Are you saying you attacked Alfheim and started the war that caused Convergence?”

“Am I?”

The haze lay across my mind. I tried to shake it off, tried to piece together what she was saying. “You think I know something. That’s why I’m here.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “But you do know something. With every word, you confirm it. When I touched you through the gate in TirNaNog, I suspected as much. Remember what you know, Connor Grey.”

My head refused to clear. “I can’t think with this spell on me. Take it off.”

She murmured a chuckle. “Do you think playing naïve will make me so? Think, sir. Why are you here?”

“Because I know you are responsible for Ceridwen underQueen’s death. I can expose you to the Seelie Court,” I said.

A slight crease formed between her eyebrows. She seemed as confused as I was. “Perhaps once that would have been inconvenient, but no longer. Victory is within my grasp. The chattering of the underKings and -Queens are nothing to me now.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

She leaned her head back, watching me from half-closed eyes. “I am disappointed. I thought that when we met, the situation would become evident to you. I thought you would understand.”

“Understand what? War? Destruction? You’re killing people out there,” I said.

She leaned forward as if trying to press her words into my mind. “Think, Connor. Why am I here? In the place? Why are any of us? It’s a backwater on the world stage, yet here we are. Why are Briallen and Gillen here? And Nigel and Eorla and the rest? Why are the most powerful people in the world gathered here of all places?”

“Because of you,” I said.

Like a mother proud of her child, she lifted her fingers toward me as if trying to coax me to perform. “Close. Very close. Your memory is damaged,” she said.

That was something I knew already. “You’re here to destroy everything,” I said.

“Destruction is the process of creation. Faerie was dying. I was trying to save it for all of us, and Donor refused to help. He would have let all of the Celts perish. I stole Audhumla to save us all.”

Confused, I tucked my chin, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Audhumla was part of the Teutonic creation myth. In the beginning of time, so the story goes, a cow sprang up from the primordial void and provided nourishment to the first beings to come to life.

I stared at Maeve in disbelief. “You stole their cow?”

She shrugged. “I thought everyone knew I like cows.” My jaw dropped, and she laughed. “I am not without humor, sir. Audhumla manifests as a cow because that’s how the simple Teutonic mind works. She’s not a cow. She’s a metaphor of power—of creation, Connor. I was trying to save Faerie. I couldn’t let it die. I needed Audhumla to revitalize the realm of Faerie.”

I still couldn’t get around the manifestation part. “You stole a cow,” I said.

She scoffed at my feeble attempt to understand her. “I stole creation. I stole destiny. I stole the spark of all things so that all things could exist. It’s not a cow, you fool. It’s a metaphor for the power of the Wheel of the World,” she said.

“And all those people you listed—you—you’re all here, now, because, uh, the cow’s here?”

Satisfied, she leaned back again. I took her for mad, but she seemed much too calm and confident for the crazy talk. “Now you see. I have spent over a century diverting attention elsewhere, so that none would suspect the power hidden in this city. I kept Donor off-balance, concerned about his petty kingdom abroad while I sought the tools to access the power here. You were gifted the sword against my wishes. In my surprise, the spear claimed you. The faith stone has fallen into your hands. I have them all now, save the bowl. I know the bowl is here. I felt it when I arrived. I know you must have it. You’ve drawn the others to you. The bowl is no different. Give it to me so that Faerie may live.”

I shook my head. “Give you the power to destroy everything I know in the name of creating everything you want? I won’t have that blood on my hands.”

She stood and placed the tip of the spear against my chest. “I have no problem with your blood on my hands.”

I smirked up at her. “Then you’ll never know where the bowl is.”

She pressed the spear forward. “It matters not. I have the spear and the sword. I can pull the faith stone from your mind. They will bring the bowl into my hands. They are all a piece of the Wheel of the World. They call to each other. With the three together, the bowl will arrive. I would have you at my side again when that happens, but a Faerie without you is better than no Faerie at all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

She gripped me by the head, her palm resting against my forehead as her fingers clutched my scalp. Her hand glowed with essence, and she brought her face close to mine. “You must remember who you are. It’s true I started the war, but I didn’t cause Convergence. You did.”

I screamed as her fingers bored into my skull and

Black.

I drifted in a sea of black, a thick sluggish current that neither warmed nor cooled, a neutral texture that clung to my skin. I moved, my sense of balance registering a slow tumble through the black. It was black, then black, then black.

I didn’t know how long I drifted before I realized I was painless. I had lived with pain for so long, I no longer felt like it. It felt like me. Numbness had replaced feeling; indifference to pain had replaced reaction to it.

Dazed, I tumbled, my mind blank, my thoughts disconnected. Black was black. It was a thing, confronting me with a nothingness of nothingness, relentless and infinite. I tumbled, and it was black, then black, then black.

“Focus.”

The word cut across the black like the thrum of the deep. A curiosity surged through me at the break of the monotony, but only for a moment. The black returned, black and silent. Even as I considered I had imagined it, I lost the sense of it and faded away into the black.

“Grey.”

The word cut across the black like the thrum of the deep. I had heard a sound that formed a word that formed a meaning. I was the sound that was the word that was the meaning. I was Grey. I knew this and remembered this and held on to this as the idea faded away into the black.

I remembered then the other word. I had a memory of another word. My name was not the first word, the first sound. It had been another word with a sound and a meaning, and I knew that, too.

“Focus, Grey.”

I heard the words, pausing as I heard them, wondering whether I heard the words in my memory or heard them again in the black. It mattered not in the black. It felt the same. I heard the words and the memory and held them in my mind and remembered who I was.