“Well... I...” My words sputtered to a halt.
Silence settled around us. Since leaving London, I’d never deceived myself by seeing the impending confrontation as anything other than dangerous. Perhaps even deadly. But from Henry’s words, any chance of success, not to mention survival, seemed utterly impossible. “I... I don’t know.” My voice broke from the hopelessness that had slithered into my chest and curled around my heart.
His eyes locked onto mine, expressing a truth that left me terrified. “Neither do I, Selah. Not without a lot more help, and even then, it may not be enough to save us.”
*
On the return journey to Wexford, Ailish chattered nonstop, entirely unfazed by either the strengthening winds that whipped through the treetops or Henry’s bleak revelation. From the time we retrieved the horses from Deidre’s front garden, she attempted to relate everything she had ever heard about the Tuatha Dé sun god. Clutching tightly to Henry’s back, she explained in great detail how Lugh had been snatched from death as a baby when his Fomorian grandfather, the evil one-eyed King Balor, tried to have him drowned in a river to defeat an ancient prophecy. Lugh had gone on to fulfill the prophecy anyway, killing Balor during the second Battle of Magh Tuireadh with a spear through his eye.
Ailish laughed with delight. “What do you wager it’s the same one you got now, milord? Your first sire be known in the legends as Lugh Lámhfhada. Lugh o’ the long arm,” she added, translating the name. “He was famous with the spear and never went into battle without it.”
My gaze settled on the weapon secured to the side of Henry’s mount. A cloth had been wrapped around the tip, I assumed to conceal the persistent glow. Taken in parts, it offered nothing more extraordinary than a long wooden pole topped with a pointed piece of metal. Compared to the deadly accuracy of a broadsword or pistol, the spear didn’t look like a weapon formidable enough to bring down a creature so reviled and feared as King Balor.
A cold gust of air caught me full in the face when we left the protection of the woods. My cloak snapped, and I grabbed the woolen edges to keep them from blowing apart. Dark clouds hung on the horizon with the promise of a storm sometime this evening. Sheltered by Henry, Ailish pushed on, oblivious to the elements except for a slightly raised voice to carry over the wind.
“Lugh be a god o’ every art and craft, and a grand warrior. He led whole armies when the Tuatha Dé still lived in Ireland, but nowadays folks best remember him for siring the hero Cúchulainn with the mortal woman Dechtiré.”
I stared bleakly ahead at the town walls while she spoke, which seemed to grow taller with our approach.
“To guess it, milord,” Ailish continued, “you come through Cúchulainn’s line, him being as great a hero as any man ever saw.”
“I am familiar with the name,” Henry said.
“How could you not be?” Ailish asked, “living just across the sea like you do. Legend goes that once when Cúchulainn grew weary in battle, his sire appeared to fight alongside o’ him.”
This last bit caught me by surprise. “If only he would do the same again,” I said over the wind.
Ailish scrunched her nose in thought. “From the stories, it only happened the one time, and Lugh’s not been seen in the mortal world since. Well, except for today, I suppose.” She rested her cheek on Henry’s back with a look of pure contentment. “Might have asked for some help while you two be fighting.”
“Would that I had thought of it.” A note of regret lingered in Henry’s deep voice. “But at the time I was solely occupied with keeping my head attached.”
“Can’t blame you there, milord,” Ailish offered in consolation. “No man I know could have withstood those blows, and then to give some back like you did. It be a marvelous sight, that’s for sure.”
Marvelous indeed, and I would have preferred to ponder that particular memory, now that I knew he hadn’t really been in danger, rather than the many questions pecking at my brain. Why had Lugh chosen this of all times to appear to Henry? Did he know about Carmen? Was that why he left the spear behind? If so, the primitive weapon offered a poor substitute for the god himself, regardless of its oddly glowing head.