Day 18 of Midwinter, Sunrise

Mag Mór, Tir Tairngire

Annwn

I hadn’t wanted to send Fern and Monty away, but had known they would be powerless against the Bánánach. Hopefully, they would be able to assist Fíadan with whatever enemy she chose to engage with. I had hoped that after Cai and I were done taking the brunt of the oncoming spirits, I might be able to check in on all of them.

At least Morias hadn’t come to fight. Hopefully, he was safe back in Gorias, sipping tea or drinking his favorite cider. I felt a brief and nearly irresistible desire to go back to the days when it was just the two of us before all of this otherworldly craziness. But it was too late for that.

I hadn’t been on the front lines long. One minute, Cai and I were trying to give the outnumbered Fomorians a fighting chance; the next, I found myself nearly overwhelmed by the buzzing vibration trying to pierce my mind. Such was the effect of the Mark of the Bodach curse, but even so, the telltale hum of the Bodach had never felt this loud and clear, not even at Brú na Dallta.

I paused, thinking… Bánánach. Bodach. It occurred to me there were a lot of “B” bad guys here, but then, I didn’t make this stuff up, and it was no wonder I felt confused sometimes as to which was the escaped death spirit from Uffern and which was the hive-minded copy of an Old Power / Old God / Síorláidir.

I clutched my head with one hand, guessing the sheer volume of the hum meant that there were hundreds of Bodach running around the battlefield. I knew, immediately, that I needed to leave the front line and draw them away from the others. Because if there was one thing I knew about all of these enemies, it was that they could spread their kind simply by injuring someone. If we managed to win this battle, we would have some serious cleanup to do.

I shifted to the north, stepping away from Cai and even Brigid. I found myself on the extreme opposite side of the battlefield from Fern, Monty, and Fíadan. My route had led me nearer to Nuada and someone that, if I squinted just right, looked kind of like Tadg, except uglier and more awkward. The king had a red glowing brand on his forehead that, upon first glance, filled my notifications full of his wrongdoings. And my, oh, my, was it a long list.

I hadn’t seen many of Nuada’s brothers since the battle had begun, but there was so much going on that I knew it was easy to lose people in the fray. I did manage to spot the very edge of the skirmish at the back of our army, where the fianna and fae were battling it out with the fachan and trow. From here, it appeared to be an even worse bloodbath than the front line. Changelings crawled over the bodies of friend and foe alike as they continued to fight.

A massive number of Bodach were killed indiscriminately as they followed me to the edge of the battlefield. Some of the creatures would be on me in seconds, others might take a while to get to me.

In my hands, I held the Dagger of Transmogrification, transformed into a single nunchuck, and the Silverwhite Yang stick of Growth. So, for once, it looked as though I had an actual set of disconnected nunchucks. They glowed with magical energy as I determined to use them as a focus for my boon magic. After that, it was up to me to control the Stone of Destiny. Assuming I could actually manage to control all of them at once, I would be a triple threat.

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The first of the Bodach lunged at me, long hair matted with sweat and blood, claws swiping for my throat. Up close, they were even worse than I remembered. Their faces were twisted into something feral, their eyes shrunken like beads pressed into too much flesh, and their fingers were gnarled into sharp weapons.

I caught the Bodach’s strike with my nunchuck and cracked the other end across its jaw. Bone gave way with a snap. As another Bodach rushed me, I willed the Yang Stick to its full length to drive the tip through its chest and fling the body back ten feet. Huh, I thought, looking at the Yang Stick. It appeared to be surprisingly effective when fully extended.

The hum grew louder, becoming low and guttural. The sound vibrated through my skull, so deep my teeth ached. The hive was talking.

“Join us,” hundreds of voices said, layered into one.

“You again,” I muttered, tightening my grip on the weapons. “You never call just to check in, do you?”

The Bodach spread wide, circling, but the hum pressed harder inside my skull. “She gathers the Powers and the Treasures to her to lead her grand army.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” I slammed the Yang Stick across another monster’s ribs, then spun the nunchuck to crack it down. Nuada’s brand had confirmed that his intentions had been anything but virtuous, plus I also now knew that Danu had been pulling his strings the whole time. Was the hive mind saying…

“Wait. Are you saying you’re all working together? Seriously?” The hive mind shoved images into my mind. The Old Powers as they once had been. The first Síorláidir of the realm. Balanced. Equal. Opposed, but not evil. The whirlpool inside of Uisneach and the way those first gods changed the flow of water to serve their purposes.

“No… HER purpose,” the Bodach said in its humming voice of hundreds. “Join us or die.”

I didn’t have time to think. More claws raked at me, and behind them I knew there would be dozens more…too many to fight head-on with my nunchuck and the Yang Stick.

The Stone quivered in the air above my head, eager. At my thought, it shot forward, swelling to the size of a war club before slamming into the nearest Bodach. The creature’s chest caved in with a sickening crunch as the Stone shrank again, darting back toward me.

Another thought, and it flattened into a wide disc, slicing through three more of the monsters before snapping back into a sphere. I barely had to guide it; each command I gave was met with fluid precision, as if the Stone knew what I wanted the second I thought of it.

A Bodach lunged for my side. The Stone stretched into a jagged spike mid-flight and punched clean through its ribcage, then snapped back down to the size of my palm as it zipped once more to hover over my shoulder.

The hive shrieked, and I willed the Stone forward yet again. I didn’t let myself stop. If I stopped, the tide would bury me. I staggered north, dragging the horde with me, until a flash of light nearby caught my eye.

Nuada, cutting a path through the Bodach with the Sword of Light, his silver gauntlet gleaming as he swung. Beside him fought who I realized WAS Tadg, striking with a ferocity that surprised me. Father and son, shoulder to shoulder, their blades carving through the swarm and creating a space around their whirling blades.

Hope swelled, and I felt a smile start to curl my lips. At last, we might be able to turn the tide.

Then Tadg moved. It was quick—too quick for a changeling. Tadg’s blade swept low, then up, severing his father’s arm just below the elbow. Sparks burst off the sword when it clipped the edge of the silver gauntlet. Nuada roared in shock, clutching the ruin of his limb.

And Tadg… Tadg didn’t hesitate. He reached down to tear the Sword of Light from his father’s fallen arm and drove it forward, plunging the blade through Nuada’s chest. The sword blazed with a flare of light so sharp that I had to shield my eyes.

The Bodach froze mid-step, the hive momentarily stunned into silence.

I rubbed my eyes, temporarily blinded, and switched to the same sort of energy sight I used when I was in a trance. With it, I saw the outline of Tadg looming tall over his father, the Sword blazing in his grip. Nuada staggered back a step, blood and light pouring from him, his face twisted with shock and heartbreak.

Tangled energy flared from Nuada as his life slipped away. Yet the greater horror was that the Sword of Light now belonged to the thing that I knew was no longer Tadg. What stood before me was a corrupted Síorláidir wrapped in Tadg’s skin, moving him like a puppet in a flesh suit.