Emily's House (The Akasha Chronicles) (8 page)

“My mistress was a formidable warrior, and she might have ‘whipped his butt’ as you say, lass, but she could not take the chance. If there was any possibility that Dughall could lay his hands on the torc in the Sacred Grove. . . well, it was just too dangerous to risk.”

“Why?” asked Jake. “What would happen if Dughall had been successful?”

“Mysteries are revealed in the Netherworld. Some things are best kept a mystery.”

“But you want me to go there. If some things are best left to mystery, then why send me there?”

“You must go, my young mistress, so that you can prevent Dughall from learning the secrets of the Netherworld. In his hands. . . ”

“So Dughall would use the information for evil, not good?” Fanny asked.

“Evil is all that Dughall knows,” replied Hindergog. “Now young ones, my story is almost complete. Stay quiet while I finish the tale of Saorla and the Order of Brighid.”

As Bian Sídhe wailed, Dughall, Cormac, Macha and Cian ran through the Grove on the old, hidden path to the Well. The wood was thick and cut into their ankles and wrists as they ran.

In time, the copse began to clear, and it opened up to reveal a circle of stones around a well. Dughall burst into the clearing and there, lying beside the stones was Saorla, her body now lifeless, her skin pale alabaster. Saorla’s fingers were still curled around her dagger, wet with her own blood.

Dughall barked orders to Macha. “Remove her cloak so I may take my prize,” he hollered.

“It’s not here, you fool,” Macha replied.

“What do you mean?” he yelled back.

“Don’t you remember anything I tell you? She killed herself so the torc would release. She probably had someone take it, and they are long gone by now,” Macha said as she pulled Saorla’s cloak aside to reveal her right arm, bare now that the torc was gone.

Dughall was silent for a moment then began a low, guttural scream that soon rose higher and higher until it vied with Bian Sídhe’s own wailing. Dughall’s fury encompassed him. He pulled his sword and in one quick movement, swung his sharply honed blade at Cormac and cut his head clean off his body. Cormac’s body fell with a thud, blood gushing from the gaping wound where his head used to be.

“Feel better now?” Macha taunted.

“Watch your tone, pixie, or you’re next. I’m growing weary of the sight of you,” he replied.

“You won’t kill me,” she said.

“Give me one good reason why I should not lay waste to you, the old man there, and everyone in my path?”

“Because this old man and I are the only ones that can help you achieve your greatest desire.”

“I have listened to you, Macha, and tolerated you and this insipid old fool. Look what it has brought me! This young girl has outwitted us all,” he said as he kicked Saorla’s limp body.

Just then, the ground began to rumble and shake. The sky blackened further and thunder bellowed. All around Saorla’s body the ground began to crack. Up through the cracks came grass and vines that wound around Saorla’s body. Within a matter of seconds, the ground swallowed her entire body, including the dagger, whole.

As quickly as the rumbling and shaking had begun it stopped, the cracks now gone. The sky returned to its overcast grey, and the thunder ceased. There was no trace of Saorla. Even the bloodstains on the ground were gone. It was as if she had never existed.

Even after seeing the pixie and Dark Wizard magic; even after his run-in with the Lianhan Sídhe; after seeing the vines and trees come to life to protect the Grove; even after all the magic he had seen, Dughall still had a hard time believing what he had just seen. For a moment, he questioned whether any of it was real.

“Ah, ashes to ashes,” broke in Cian. With that statement, he turned to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Dughall.

“It is done here,” he replied. “You have failed, oh angry one. Time for you to go on to your next conquest.”

“I do not accept failure,” Dughall hissed. “Someone took that torc, and whoever has it can’t be far away from here,” he said.

With that, he turned on his heal and ordered Macha and the Dark Wizard to come with him. He would find that torc if it was the last thing he did.

14. Search For The Torc

Dughall tromped through the thicket, back to the Great Hall. When he got there, he expected to see his men finishing off the last of the women he had ordered them to kill. Instead, he saw his soldiers fleeing. Grown men, running and screaming like little girls.

“What is the meaning of this insubordination?” he bellowed as he charged up the steps of the Great Hall and opened its doors. Inside, he saw piles of bodies, mostly his own soldiers, lying in heaps. And there, at the center of it all was Bian Sídhe. Like her sister Lianhan Sídhe in her fearsome aspect, Bian Sídhe had large red wings covered in scales like a dragon. Her long, dark hair whipped wildly about her head and shoulders. Full of anger and fury, her red eyes shot torch like flames at all that stood in her path.

The women warriors and faeries stood behind her, guarding the younglings, arms still drawn. And fighting at Bian Sídhe’s side was Madame Wong, still hurling her little body about and swinging her swords. Any ill-fated man who happened to get close would either be incinerated by Bian Sídhe or sliced and diced by Madame Wong.

Dughall now understood why the men fled. There was no point in fighting more. As he left the Great Hall, Dughall barked out the order for his soldiers to torch the place. “Burn it all down,” he yelled.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Macha curtly said.

“Macha. Again with the ‘I wouldn’t do that’,” said Dughall. “Okay, why? Why should I spare this pathetic group of shacks?”

“Because there may be clues here. Clues about the torc and where it has gone. Clues about the portal and how to get in,” she coolly replied.

In his anger, Dughall hadn’t thought of the possibility that he could still find the torc there.
Yes, search for clues and find the torc. Its power would be his.

Dughall, Macha, and Cian split up and searched the sleeping huts and other buildings for clues. Macha happened upon Saorla’s own small thatch-roofed cottage. As she rifled through her belongings, she came upon a small leather-bound book with vellum pages, way at the back of a high shelf. As she opened the book, she knew she had found exactly what they looked for.

She quickly flew to Dughall with her prize, her wings a shimmery luminescent orange. “Here,” she said as she flung it at Dughall.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Open it and see,” she said. “That is, if a brute like you can read.”

“Of course I can read, you impudent insect,” he snarled.

As Dughall opened the book, his eyes grew wide. He couldn’t believe what he had. All that he had hoped for and more. This was a written guide for the secrets of the Sacred Well. In his hands, he held immortality.

“Macha, you endearing little gnat,” he beamed. “I shall spare your life after all,” he said.

“How kind of you,” Macha retorted.

“What does it say?” asked Cian.

“What does it say? It holds the key to the whole thing, old man. According to this, it wasn’t the torc at all. That sly minx. Putting all off the trail,” he said as he poured over the pages.

“What is the key, then?” asked Cian.

“A chalice,” replied Dughall.

“A chalice?” asked Cian.

“Yes, old fool. Is there an echo in here? A chalice. A cup,” replied Dughall.

“That doesn’t sound right. It may be a trick,” said Cian. “When I was a Druid Priest, I don’t recall ever hearing about a sacred chalice. The torc yes, but not a chalice.”

“Well, this was a well kept secret then, wasn’t it,” replied Dughall. “These deceitful women, they hid their secrets even from you Druids,” he said.

“But if the key to the portal is a chalice, why did she hide the torc?” asked Cian.

“Who knows, maybe it has some magic to it too. But I’m not interested in charming little spells. I will find this chalice,” Dughall said. “I will find it, and when I do, I will open the portal once again and then I will have all that I desire.”

“A chalice? What is he talking about?” asked Jake.

“Yeah, you never mentioned a chalice – whatever that is,” questioned Fanny.

“A chalice is a large cup. But, ah my dear mistress, how clever she was,” Hindergog chortled. “She made this up, dear ones. There was no chalice.”

“Oh my god, she lied,” I said.

“Yes, she lied and what a beautiful lie it was. Dughall began a quest to find this ‘sacred’ cup, a quest that would last a lifetime,” said Hindergog.

“This chalice, this isn’t the same chalice as they tried to find in the Crusades, is it?” asked Jake.

“That young lad I do not know. I wish I could answer all your questions children, but sadly I cannot. Here is where my story comes to a close. My sight – all that I have seen – I could see because I am the keeper of the story of the High Priestess. When Saorla died and the torc hidden, my ability to see into your world faded.”

“But I have so many questions Hindergog. Like how is it that this dude from over a thousand years ago is a threat to us now? And where is the torc? And when I find it, where is the portal and how do I get in?”

“I don’t know, Emily,” Hindergog said sadly. “I wish I knew, my young Mistress, but I do not have the answers to all your questions.”

“But you must have some idea,” said Jake. “Any clues you can give us. . .”

“‘Us’,” I said.

“Look, we’ve got to find this guy,” said Jake.

“I don’t really see why ‘we’ need to do anything,” I said. “Look Hindergog, this is a gripping story and all. But I’m just a fourteen-year-old girl who’s flunking at least three subjects. I’m not really up for a quest to save the world and all,” I said.

“Miss Emily, you may not have a choice,” replied Hindergog.

“What do you mean, munchkin?” asked Fanny.

“Dughall may be a killer, devoid of human emotion, but he is exceptionally smart. He may track you down, Emily. He won’t take any chances that Saorla’s descendant will outwit him this time,” was Hindergog’s answer.

“What do you mean, ‘Saorla’s descendant?’” I asked.

“Yeah, you never did explain exactly how Emily relates to all this,” said Jake.

“Well you are Saorla's descendant, of course. You have Priestess blood running through your veins,” answered Hindergog.

“But Saorla died,” I said.

“Jeez Em, weren’t you paying attention?” asked Fanny. “Sorcha. She’s your ancestor. She lived.”

We were all quiet for a moment as we reflected on all that Hindergog had said. Of course. Sorcha - the daughter of Saorla and Cathaír.

I hurled questions at Hindergog. “Tell us more about Sorcha. What happened to Cathaír when he left the Grove? Did he go to Sorcha? Did he hide the torc?”

“I know child, so many questions. But I do not have time for additional tales. I must spend my last seconds telling you valuable information,” said Hindergog.

“Where did Cathaír hide the torc?” asked Jake.

Hindergog was beginning to fade.

“Hurry,” I said. “Before you disappear, you’ve got to tell us where the torc is and what to do with it when we find it.”

“I don’t know where the torc is my young mistress,” said Hindergog.

“What?! You don’t know where it is? You start us on a wild goose chase, and you don’t even know where to look for the stupid thing,” I snapped. I was so mad at that little guy right then, if he were in the flesh, I probably would have tried to strangle him.

“Please, calm yourself young Emily. I don’t know exactly where the torc is, but I do have some clues.”

“Great, a madman is trying to screw up the whole world, and we have to go on a scavenger hunt,” said Fanny.

“The torc’s residual energy from Saorla allowed me to “see” what it saw for a brief time after Saorla’s body died. Cathaír went north and east for three days, past the Slieve na Caillaigh hills and Loughcrew. He thought to bury the torc in a place no Christian man would search. He buried it underground at a Christian church on the sacred land of fair Tara. I can see a cross – what has come to be known as a ‘Celtic cross,’” said Hindergog.

Hindergog was but a wisp, hardly there at all.

“Hindergog, wait. You can’t fade yet. Tell us where to find Dughall and how to defeat him. And what do I do with the torc and where is the Sacred Grove and how do I. . . ”

“Fair Emily, in my last seconds, let me tell you more about the dark one. His soul has spent over a thousand years in the land of Umbra Nihili, waiting for this opportunity.”

“Umbra-what?” asked Fanny.

“Opportunity for what,” plead Jake.

“To achieve finally all that he desires. He wants to come to the Netherworld and thinks he can achieve his goals here,” said Hindergog.

“But how will he do this?” asked Fanny.

“He’ll be coming after the torc too, won’t he?” I asked.

“He spent his life searching for the chalice in the belief that it was the key to opening the portal to the Netherworld. He has given up on the ancient key to open the portal. His eyes are set on a modern key.”

“Modern key? What is this key?” asked Jake.

“There is a machine – under the ground of the old world – very large – trying to turn mysteries and magic into formulas. . .”

Hindergog was breaking up and fading in and out. We still needed him desperately. He was speaking in riddles. I needed straight answers.

“What machine Hindergog? Where is he?” I pled.

“Follow your heart Emily. Remember, you have the blood of my beloved mistress in your veins. You will know what to do. Listen to the hawk. . .”

That was the last thing he said and then disappeared just as quickly as he had come. The three of us were alone, staring stupefied at the place where the image of Hindergog had been, alone in the quiet with only riddles to keep us company.

15. Puzzles

I was never good at puzzles. It infuriated me that this freaky little thing would leave me with so many unanswered questions.

“What the. . .?” said Fanny.

“I know,” I said. “‘Listen to the hawk’. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”