Day 17 of Midwinter, Midday

Túr Crochta, The Deep Realm

Annwn

I met my king and foster father for the first time only a few nights after the Cold Moon. My heart ached remembering that it had been Tethra, now resting broken at the bottom of the Well of Wisdom, who had brought me to the Deep Realm to recover from the injuries I had sustained in Hy-Brasil.

Though my memory is spotty of those first moments with Neit, I remember him looking at me the way a father would have looked at any of his newborn children. Yes, Neit had been a hard man in both voice and deed, but he had also had a softer side to him that very few people had been privileged to see. I remembered how my eyes had traced and memorized the creases of his wrinkles when I couldn’t yet speak during my recovery.

My eyes had traveled along the signs of age and laughter up to the shaved parts of his scalp, decorated in traditional bluish-green ink. Despite not knowing their meaning, I had known immediately that the tattoos were important to him and to his people.

The three separate sets of knotwork seemed designed to catch the eye and add to his overall ferocious image. I later learned that these tattoos were important parts of the Fomorian leadership hierarchy. Any warrior, man or woman, was honored with a tattooing ceremony after an important milestone in their life.

I had awoken, as I had expected, in the Hanging Tower prisons. Ironically, I was in the same prison where Tadg had been kept in his short stint in the Deep Realm. Heavy manacles wrapped around my wrists and ankles, the chains barely long enough to reach from the wall to the bed that would serve as my only comfort.

There were no bars here, only chiseled-out lava tunnels of impenetrable stone. The thick door to my cell was fashioned of the cold iron that was nestled, in abundance, in the stalagmites and stalactites of the Deep Realm.

My head and other wounds inflicted by Ethlinn and Indech seemed to have mostly healed. It seemed that Ethlinn hadn’t been trying to kill me, so much as stop me from attacking Corb. I supposed that I had, after all, gone against a direct order from the Mná na Mara. Dubhlinn had decreed that the duel was over and for the ensuing fight to cease. I had played into Corb’s hands by going after both Indech and Corb, just as he had predicted I would.

I could hear the march of feet just outside my cell and straightened up just as Ethlinn opened the door. The large woman was mute, or at least, I had never heard her speak. The pervading belief was that when she had been forced to pick between life with her son, Lugh, and life with her mother and the Fomorians, she had done so grudgingly and at a deep, personal cost. I couldn’t imagine the pain she felt at having to make that choice, or the pain she now felt staring at the face of her son’s killer.

She stared at me, her gaze hard. Moments passed, neither of us moving or speaking. I could have shared my regret about what I had to do, but I knew my words would change nothing. She already knew Lugh had attacked Tethra and me in the wilds of Emain Ablach…and that my actions had saved Tethra’s life. Even so, I knew that if I were in her shoes, I would have had less restraint when facing a loved one’s killer.

I wasn’t sure what she was waiting for until more Fomorians entered my cell. I wondered if her presence was mostly to ensure that I was still locked up. Then again, it might also be to make it painfully clear to me that I would lose body parts if I were to attempt anything foolish… like attack any of the people who had just entered my cell.

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Indech stepped past Ethlinn, setting a chair directly in front of me. I noticed the chair remained just outside of my reach. An uninjured Corb sauntered to the chair, where he casually sprawled.

“Hail, Maccán.” Avoiding his eyes, I watched as others filed into my cell. The newcomers held chemicals and instruments that I recognized as those that would be used in Corb’s tattooing ceremony.

“I have come here to share important news of our war effort,” Corb continued, as the men with him began to carefully shave the parts of his head where the tattoos would go.

“You’ve come to gloat,” I snapped.

He chuckled, waving a hand at my chained state. “Gloat? You are insignificant and unnecessary to my rule. I do not need to gloat.”

“Then why are you here?” I demanded. I believed him and found myself surprisingly curious as to what his answer would be.

He shrugged. “Because I can’t kill you.”

So, he did know what would happen if he tried to kill me. He continued, “But I also can’t have you running around all over Annwn, exposing our secrets to the enemy.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said, raising my chin in defiance.

“The way I see it,” he said, “I can either lock you in this box for all time, or…you can help us with the boons you stole from Ethlinn’s son.”

“What is it you think I would ever do to help you?” The men had completed the preparation of the bluish-green solution. They began jabbing long, iron needles into Corb’s scalp, then quickly rubbed the solution across the small punctures. I watched the mark of a Fomorian king begin to take shape, my heart aching.

“Not just me,” he said, preening at my interest in his scheming. “You would be helping our war efforts. Tomorrow morning, we will meet the combined forces of Falias on Mag Mór. We have heard, by way of the Gorias beacon, that the four cities are sending armies to the Great Plain so that we can finish this war once and for all.”

“And despite knowing you will be hopelessly outnumbered,” I said, “you are still planning to follow through with this?

He nodded, his eyes alight. “I know that they have figured out we have the beacon. They have broadcast this plan for all to hear, especially us. And we will answer the call.”

Of course, he would answer the call. I was certain that King Nuada knew it, too.

“What I would like,” Corb continued, “is for you to use those highly valuable boons of yours to assist with the war effort.” He grimaced as the long tattoo needle reached a sensitive part of his scalp. He turned, snapping his hand out to backhand the man administering the dye.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” I said. “I will never help you.” Corb opened his mouth to say something, but I wasn’t finished. “And you don’t have enough men to contest the combined armies of the realm.”

He thought for a moment, wincing as the tattooing resumed. “You have lived among us long enough to know that Fomorians always answer the call of war. You can either help your adopted brothers and sisters, or you will watch them die.”

I looked feverishly around the room, searching for anything I could use as a weapon, but they had left me with nothing. No Fragarach. No spear. No armor. I had my Control Energy boon, but it was not trained the way Bren had trained his to shoot forth energy projectiles. With all my powers, I could do nothing to stop Corb, and he knew it.

I snarled, straining against the manacles that bound me to the wall, feeling the slightest bit of give to the metal. Ethlinn quickly stepped forward, leveling the tip of her sword at my throat.

“If he continues to strain against his bindings,” Corb said softly. “You have my permission to remove the offending arm or leg.”

I stopped struggling and looked up at the large, stone-faced woman. I couldn’t get a read on her. I had never known her to follow anyone, with the exception of Neit. Had she simply transferred her loyalty to Corb, despite what he had done to Tethra?

Corb stood, despite the knotwork tattoos being nowhere near complete. If the artists were irritated by the constant distractions or interruptions to their work, they didn’t show it. Instead, they quietly rounded up their equipment.

At the door, he turned back to face me again. “You have until Nightfall to decide. Think hard about what you are prepared to do for the people you claim to love.” His laughter trailed behind him as he walked away from my cell, the others trailing behind him.

Ethlinn lingered for a moment, her dark blue eyes staring into my own. They reminded me of Tethra’s, which had seemed a bottomless blue. The larger woman continued to consider me. I couldn’t decide if she wanted to say something or was thinking about whether to follow through with the threat of cutting off an appendage.

She cleared her throat to speak, the sound gravelly from lack of use. “The Mná na Mara has come to a decision about your fate, Cai Maccán. Ready yourself for what is to come.” ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ noveⅼfire.net