Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dublin, Ireland
March 26, CY 1, 2012 AD

Neil Perry crouched in the bow of a longboat launched from Loriesha. He watched the schooner retreat astern, then turned his attention to the approaching shoreline. A long line of chalky cliffs stretched for some distance as a white wall shining in the deepening twilight.

He resisted the urge to check his absent watch. It had been battery-powered and he'd left it behind in Mountain Ash. The time was of little consequence anyhow. Things were done on a more-or-less event-oriented schedule. He guessed they'd hit the water-line with barely enough light to see. A sliver of the crescent moon hung in the sky. He grinned.

“I feel like James Bond,” he said

“How's that?” Chloe Agnew asked from a seat behind Neil's.

“You know, dangerous missions into unfamiliar territory, high-end weaponry...” He brandished the small composite crossbow he carried. “...covert operations...”

“Covert operations?” Chloe protested. “Have you actually watched any Bond?”

“Of course I have,” Neil retorted.

“Then need I remind you,” said David Downes, “about the tank though the streets of Moscow? Or pulling a small jet plane up to a petrol station? Or the parasail with the Union Jack emblazoned on it?”

“James Bond,” said Andreja Malir, “leaves a trail of wanton destruction, broken bodies and broken hearts.”

“Well...ai,” said Neil, “but he's the best black-ops secret agent MI-Six...oh, bother, just let me have my delusions for the nonce, will you?”

“Just don't let it distract you,” said Chloe.

“Don't worry, I...squirrel!”

“Cheeky.”

“Let's focus, shall we?” said Orla Fallon from near the stern. “And keep our voices down.”

“Do you really think,” said Chloe, “that anyone's going to be watching the sea from a golf course?”

“Who knows?”

“Please don't start singing.”

Orla cocked her head in the gloom, her hair shining slightly.

“It's not that I dislike that song, it's just...well, it would be distracting. And your voice carries. Sing it when we return, okay?”

“Very well,” said Orla at length.

Neil glanced back at shore. “Right, people. We're nearly there. Does everyone remember the route?” Grunts of assent circulated about the boat. “Good. Remember, we'll have to rope up first thing. Once Orla raises the invisibility spell, no one will be able to see us, including each other. It'll be just like we practiced. Any questions?” There were none. “Good.”

He turned back toward shore. The cliffs towered above them. They'd have been dwarfed by the cliffs of Dover, so perhaps “towered” was a bit of an overstatement--darkness seemed to amplify such things. “Be ready,” he whispered.

After several long moments, the boat lurched slightly, its keel grinding against the sand. Neil and his party bounced out of the boat. Neil at once shoved at its bow, pushing it back out to sea, its now lone occupant straining at the oars. He exhaled, feeling the tension of the situation. The boat was leaving for the mother ship and wouldn't return until just before sunrise some eleven hours later. It was do or die.

No one spoke a word as everyone roped up, just as they would were they climbing a mountain. Chloe took point. They'd gone over their route on the map, but she knew the immediate territory better than anyone. Like they'd practiced during the trip from Scilly, she'd use rope tension to guide the others. Neil took second position, followed by David Downes and Andreja Malir, Orla bringing up the rear, staff in-hand.

Neil tested everyone's ropes mainly by feel. It was dark enough that the cliff above them stood out only as a grey wall against the night. It wouldn't be long before it would vanish completely. He grunted at a motion of dark against dark as Orla made the necessary gestures and heard the utterances accompanying her activation of the invisibility spell. Neil briefly wondered why invisibility was really necessary. Even with the faint moonlight, he could barely see. Yet he knew it was likely their route would bring them within the light radii of multiple campfires, torches, and so forth. Even with the death of electric lighting, they were still skirting the southern edge of a 1.8-million-person population center, which meant an extreme likelihood of running into someone.

He felt the rope go taut, pulling him to the left and down the beach toward the cleft in the scarp they'd seen during their approach. It didn't take long to reach it. They slowed down, the rope tension leading him and the others up and a bit to the right. Their way was initially steep and strewn with rubble and vegetation, their footing unstable. Twice, he nearly rolled his ankle. Once, Chloe slipped and he had to catch her, nearly dropping his weapon.
After maybe twenty feet, the grade eased. He heard and felt gravel crunching beneath his feet. It sounded loud in the silence, a silence that was downright eerie when one considered that there should have been a lot of city noise. A marina lay just to the south and a set of railroad tracks barely 500 feet from where he stood.

Chloe pulled them further to the right and up a grade. They followed what might be called a Jeep track for another thirty feet before negotiating a barbed wire fence. They crouched on the verge of the Woodbrook Golf Course. Neil briefly mused on the fact that it was unlikely to be used as such for a very long time. That was just as well. He disliked golf anyway and felt it to be a severe waste of space. Now, however, he was glad of the large expanse of clipped grass. It would make the next leg of their journey easy and quiet.

They stood still for a minute or two, listening in the darkness. There was nothing, no sound at all, not even the hooting of an owl. It made Neil uneasy. He'd made remote observations from Loriesha. Those had been difficult with the setting sun in his eyes, but he'd needed to make sure he and his party weren't going to be stumbling into any knots of refugees. Though it had been a week and a half since Earth had Shifted, the situation back in Wales had led his father to believe both that people might not be inclined to stay in their homes, especially those that had been destroyed by fire, and that the army might have decided to make use of places like golf courses. Fortunately, there'd been little indication that Woodbrook had become anything other than just another tract of lawn.

Satisfied, Neil gave Chloe the signal, tapping gently on her shoulder. Then they were on the move again, Chloe pulling them toward the left and in the general direction of the M-11 road.

Neil's party came to a halt near a roundabout along Dublin Road. The place normally controlled traffic leaving and entering the M-11 limited-access road. A small, raised brazier stood at the edge of the circle of green at the roundabout's center and supported a small campfire that cast limited light. Even that small bit of light seemed to cut through the utter darkness. It was currently guarded by four men wearing the uniform of the Irish army. Neil took in a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it back out.

The invisibility spell Orla had woven around him and his party allowed light to bend around them. That had the general effect of rendering them invisible, but only more or less. Invisibility, in point of fact, was really nothing of the sort. In reality, they'd appear as a sort of distortion, blending into their surroundings, making the spell more of a camouflage. They could still be seen, in a manner of speaking, but only if the viewer were looking for them. Even then, the eye would tend to slide off of them as a function of the way the light bent as it wrapped.

Uncle Howell had gone on to explain it further, but a lot of the physics went over Neil's head. He supposed he might have grasped more of it, had he actually been paying attention in secondary school physics class instead of focusing on the botanical studies and building his databases for the Ingarians. There were occasions, like the one before him, when he'd wished he'd made different decisions, but he otherwise never regretted doing what he'd done. Every time he'd had doubts, all he'd had to do was to look at an Ingarian and all those doubts had been summarily shattered.

Neil brought his mind back to the present. It was time to test that invisibility. He tapped Chloe on her shoulder and felt the rope tighten as she advanced. They kept to the edge of the asphalt to avoid any unnecessary gravel-crunching. Neil felt nearly everything through the soles of his soft leather shoes. “Shoe” was a bit of an overstatement, in his opinion. They were more like what Americans called “moccasins,” only more form-fitting. They were the next best thing to going bare-footed. Neil kept his weight mostly on the balls of his feet, rather than walking with the usual heel-toe stride. Their footfalls were nearly silent that way.

He kept his eye on the soldiers' crossbows. Evidently, they'd discovered the uselessness of gunpowder. Apparently, there was some sort of curfew. That, or people were beginning to riot as food ran low. He supposed both were likely. He didn't bother to look at the ground. It was dark and he couldn't see his own feet anyway. In truth, he wasn't sure how he could see at all. Clearly, there were a lot of other things about how magic worked that he didn't understand. Maybe the Ingarians were right. Maybe it was enough to accept that magic worked without trying to grasp how it worked. He was pretty sure that was going to become quite relevant in the Shifted world.

Neil tightened his grip on his own weapon, which he'd spanned and loaded shortly after leaving the golf course lawn. It didn't take long to pass through the roundabout and there was no sign the soldiers had any idea he and his party were ever there. He had a brief urge to carve “Neil was here” onto something...maybe the dead lorry just visible at the edge of the firelight. But that would make noise and draw undue attention.

Ignoring the usual traffic control laws, they padded along the off-ramp and onto the highway. Like they'd seen on the large highways in Wales, the roadway was peppered with dead vehicles. Many of them sat on the road shoulder where their drivers had coasted them after their engines had stopped. A few of them sat in the middle of the road. There was just enough moonlight to see that much, but not enough to see any details and Neil was glad of that. He wasn't sure he wanted to see charred skeletons staring out at him. That would have made him feel like he was in a zombie movie. On the other hand, maybe such things would further cement in his mind that the world was, in fact, post-apocalyptic.

Neil tapped Chloe on the shoulder, signaling her to pick up the pace. They'd need that in order to make it to Knocklyon and back before dawn. The moon would be down by midnight and Neil wanted to make as much use of its limited light as possible. That meant pushing for a good two-mile-an-hour pace. He could easily do three on his own in full daylight. But he knew going two in the dark roped together would be a challenge. Still, they didn't know what they'd find once they'd reached Chloe's house and something told him they'd need as much time as they could. After a couple of minutes, everyone found their walking rhythm. Neil had to admit that it was a lot like Norse footslogging. That made him smile.

Neil glanced westward from his position near the intersection of Knocklyon Rd. and Idrone Ave. The crescent moon sank toward the horizon. He figured they might have a half-hour of usable moonlight left, for all the good it would do them. A crescent didn't yield much of it anyhow.

As he'd hoped, their passage from shore had proceeded without incident. That hadn't done much to ward off the heavy sense of foreboding that still clung to the back of his mind like so much slug slime. When they'd begun their trek, candle and lamp light had shone from at least one window in most houses. As the hours and distance had crept by, the lights had gradually gone out as people presumably went to bed. A few remained lit. Neil supposed that while there was likely some sort of curfew in effect, people otherwise set their own schedules.

He knew the feeling. He'd had a designated bed time as a boy, but had often secretly read or played computer games after retiring to his room. He suspected one or both of his parents had been aware of it, but they'd never said anything. After the Ingarians had essentially crash-landed in his living room, his late-night activities had turned to botanical research.

They'd passed several more sentry points along the way. Each one seemed intended to control people's movements, and would probably remain that way until things settled down. Neil figured that sort of thing was only natural in an emergency. Yet he also knew full well things weren't going to settle down. He and his had simply and quietly padded right through, twice within inches of one of the soldiers.

Neil could see the fear in the eyes of the men posted at each sentry point, even in the yellow light of the fires—some oil-burning, some gas-fed--that illuminated those intersections. He didn't know what they'd been told and he'd had to fight the urge to ask. Just that thought alone amused him. He imagined a supposedly well-trained soldier shrieking like a little girl from a disembodied voice coming out of nowhere.

Hopefully, they'd find Chloe's mum and sister and they'd have some useful information. Otherwise, the tension was so thick, he could have cut it with a knife and he wasn't even an empath!

“Something's not right,” said Chloe softly.

Neil almost jumped and he had to physically restrain himself from crouching down. Not that it would have done any good, even if they hadn't been invisible. He also wanted to shush Chloe, but there was something in her voice that went far beyond the underlying nervousness they all felt. “What?” he asked quietly.

“Don't know,” she replied,

Neil exhaled in frustration, then mentally centered himself. “I need more than that,” he said calmly.

“What's that smell?” she asked.

“Burnt stuff,” said Andreja. “Old oil...jet fuel...wood...”

“How do you...?” David asked.

“My uncle's an aircraft mechanic.”

“And burnt flesh,” added Orla.

Chloe gasped and Neil felt the rope tighten so abruptly, he nearly lost his balance. Chloe pulled them through the darkness and around the corner. Neil glanced to his right at the several torches that burned here and there in the parking lot of the Knocklyon Shopping Centre...or, rather, what had been such.

It was hard to see much. He could make out a large tent, probably guyed to concrete blocks, a pile of metal at the far end of the parking lot, and a low hump of something covered with a large tarpaulin. Several soldiers strolled about on patrol. Otherwise, the place was a mess. He couldn't see much of the building, but the distinct tang of recently-burned wood, presumably petroleum products, and God knew what else, hung in the air like a fog.
After another hundred feet, Chloe yanked them to the left. The faint light from the nearest torch behind them was enough to see a pair of entry pillars supporting a gate. A small sign on one read, “Idrone House.” The right half of the wrought-iron gate was bent inward. A large branch, probably from one of the nearby trees and easily large enough to have caused the damage, lay across it. Neil heard Chloe utter a soft squeaking sound as they quietly negotiated their passage, being careful not to make any noise.

The vegetation next to the street blocked much of the meager firelight from the mall behind them. In front of them, the white front of Idrone House, Chloe's home, shone dimly in the darkness. It stood out from the night as little more than a rectangle of grey. At least, it should have been a rectangle. Its north end looked like it had been chewed by something very large. Neil suddenly had a very bad feeling.

Chloe shrieked in alarm. Neil felt the rope jerk, then stop, accompanied by a series of vibrations. He felt the invisibility spell fall apart from around him.

Neil had just enough magical ability to detect when magic was being done, but that was about it. He'd tried to explain to several people over the past several days that magical ability was not quite like in “Harry Potter,” despite what Uncle Howell had said at the meeting. In those books, one could either use magic, or one couldn't. The reality was rather more complicated. It was still true that one could either use magic, or not. However, even if one couldn't, a mage could still devise a magical tool to be usable by a non-mage. Furthermore, magic-users possessed varying levels of power and various specific abilities. Magical ability really had a lot in common with non-magical ability—music, hand-eye-coordination, numbers, people skills, athleticism, and so on.

Neil saw Chloe run toward the house, visible as a shadow within shadow. He grunted, untied himself, then pelted after her.

“NO!” she shrieked as she ground to a halt in front of the front door.

“Keep it down,” growled Neil through clenched teeth as he nearly skidded to a stop behind her.

Chloe tried the door, but it was locked. “Mum!”

Neil clamped a hand over her mouth. “I said,” he said as he leaned his head toward her ear, “shut it. I know you're afraid for your family, but going bonkers on us won't help. Now, get a grip. Can you do that for us?” He felt Chloe lick his palm. “And stop that,” said Neil, undeterred by the licking. Chloe grunted and Neil removed his hand, then wiped it on his trousers.

The others trotted up to them. “Door's locked,” said Chloe, her voice trembling.

“Do you have a spare key anywhere?” David asked.

“No.”

“Does anyone know how to pick a lock?” Andreja asked.

“Move,” said Orla sternly. Neil had to literally pull Chloe out of the way.

The tip of Orla's staff glowed green for a moment. Then a blast of magical energy shot soundlessly out of it and hit the door. The door creaked briefly, then shattered inward with a loud CRACK-POOMP. Hundreds of shards of wood bounced around inside the house.

“Orla!” scolded Chloe. “That door was solid oak!”

“Nalf,” oops, said Orla. “Sorry.”

“Well, that had to be noticed,” said David nervously.

“Then we'll have to hurry,” said Neil. “And we should still keep it down.”

Without another word, they all slipped inside. Shards and splinters of wood crunched under their feet. The unmistakable odor of burned, but water-doused, wood filled the air, underlain with the stench of rotting meat.

Neil heard rustling as everyone unshouldered their packs and placed them against a wall. There were more sounds as everyone rummaged for the magically-enchanted torches everyone carried. Neil was glad they didn't need to carry batteries.

“Ileha,” said Chloe. Greenish-yellow light appeared from the business end of the formerly battery-powered torch she held. The others did the same, except for Orla, who kindled a greenish glow at the end of her staff.

“I'm rather jealous of that, by the way,” said Andreja to Orla.

Orla chuckled slightly. “I'd teach you how, but it's rather complicated.”

Neil pulled the wide elastic band holding his own small, now magically-powered, LED head-torch over his head. “We split up,” he said.

“What?” said Andreja.

“What do you mean, 'what?'” said Neil. “It's not like we're going to encounter the undead or anything.” He picked up his crossbow and held it at the ready. “But you never know if someone's going to try to konk you on the head.”

“What?” Chloe protested. “It's my house!”

“Yes, but we broke and entered. And your family doesn't know the rest of us.”

“Well...” Chloe turned around. “Mum! Naomi!” she yelled.

“Stop that!” barked Neil. “We don't want to be heard from the street. The torches will be obvious enough, but someone has to actually be looking to notice those.”

“Fine,” grumbled Chloe.

“Now, everyone, pick a place. Go in twos if you can.” He crept off toward the living room, the yellow-green light of his headlamp sweeping back and forth. Glints of glass gleamed in the light.

Neil toed some of it, but it was stuck to the floor. He knelt down and poked at it. It was partially melted and the flooring was heavily charred. He frowned and looked up. He was glad to have a head lamp, as it shone exactly where he looked and left both his hands free. It was only half as bright as the LED's had been under full battery power, but he wasn't about to complain.

The light glinted off of something else across the room. He walked over to it, glass crunching under his feet. It was a good thing his uncle had put a durability spell on his shoes, else the glass could easily have shredded them and then his feet.

Something large, metallic, and heavily scorched sat at the far end of the room. It was roughly cylindrical and maybe a meter across. Another large piece of metal protruded from its top. Beyond it, a large gash was visible in two exterior walls, as though a track-hoe had been busy dismantling the building. That was preposterous, as Chloe's family had been living there and the place had historical significance.

Neil looked up to see an equally large hole in the ceiling. More scorched and melted metal and charred wood was visible. It was clear what had happened. An aircraft had crashed. Based on the nature of the damage to the house, Neil surmised the primary impact site was across the street at the shopping center. He shuddered as he realized the large, low, tarpaulin-covered lump was probably several rows of bodies, probably unidentified, pulled from the crash.

Then part of the plane had sheered off, hurtled across the street, severed the limb that had damaged the gate, crashed into the house, and caught fire. How that fire hadn't burned the whole place down, he didn't know. The wet smell told him it had probably been raining at the time, or at least fairly recently. But rain alone would hardly have been enough to extinguish a fire caused by burning jet fuel. A local fire department could have put it out, but that would have necessitated both enough sustained pressure in the municipal water supply--which would have been possible perhaps for a few days following the Shift event—and some means of delivering that water.

Based on what Neil had seen in Wales, where the plumes from fires had risen continually for days, he suspected that most fires had simply burned themselves out. The smell of smoke and ash outside had been quite powerful and suggested widespread damage throughout the neighborhood. But under cover of darkness, it had been impossible to see the extent of that damage. He supposed that the rogue shard of airliner could easily have severed at least one water pipe, which could have subsequently extinguished the resulting fire, but would also have gone dry when the water pressure dropped. On the other hand, wouldn't that much water have prevented the fire from starting in the first place? He supposed those questions may well remain unanswered.

A yelp from the other end of the house caught his attention. He turned and pounded his way back across the broken glass and debris, which poked his feet horribly. Sounds of rapid foot-falls sounded from the main staircase as he ran past it. Rounding a corner, he skidded into what had been the kitchen, from the look of it. Everyone's lamps cast deep shadows around the room.

Half its exterior wall and part of an interior one were missing. From the look of things, something had blown in from the impact site, swept through the kitchen, and torn out through the back wall. A beam had fallen from above and pieces of wood and brick, probably the remains of a fireplace, lay scattered about. Some of it was scorched. The smell of rotting meat was quite strong. Chloe stood near the center of the room, gazing down at something, and hyperventilating.

“Ya-Chloe?” said Neil. “What is...” His voice trailed off as his own eyes found what held Chloe's gaze. It was something small, not much larger than a rugby ball, with long fur and...bones. It looked like the remains of a small dog. He peered more closely at it, willing himself to ignore the smell. A few flies skittered over the carcass. Were it midsummer, there would likely have been maggots, as well. He pointed at something on the body. “That looks like a bite mark.”

Chloe squeaked. “You mean...something...ate...Mipsey?!”

“Looks like.”

“I knew it,” said Andreja. “It is the Zombie Apocalypse!”

“Don't be silly,” said David. “Zombies aren't real.”

“Yes, they are,” said Neil.

“What?!” said David, Andreja, and Chloe in near-unison.

“That's what Uncle Howell says, anyway. He's been known to pull my leg from time to time, especially when Mari and I were children. But not lately, and not about that. And there's something migldi magldi in his voice when he's joking.”

“So there is a Zombie Apocalypse, then?”

“No,” said Neil. “If there were, we'd have encountered at least one by now. No, I think a living person got hungry and ate the dog.” He peered at the animal again. “Doesn't look like they even cooked it first. Poor guy.”

“Girl,” growled Chloe. “Mipsey's...was...a girl.”

“Right...girl...sorry. So who ate her, where are they, and why did they just leave her here?” Neil stood up and looked around the room. The side of a kitchen island protruded out from the debris pile like boulder amid a rock-slide.

“What's that?” Andreja asked, pointing at something near the edge of the debris.

Neil craned his neck slightly. Then, “Bollocks!” He scooted over to where a human hand protruded from the base of the pile. It was covered in blood, making it blend into the darkness. He gently pressed his index and middle fingers to its wrist.

Chloe gasped. “No. No! No, no, no...”

“They're still alive!” sad Neil. “But barely.” Then he began to quickly move bricks, tossing them toward the back of the room. Andreja and David stepped in to help. “Be careful. We don't want to undermine whatever this is holding up.”

Chloe began to cry.

“Ya-Chloe,” said Orla quietly, “that's not helping.”

Brick by brick, Neil, David, and Andreja uncovered an arm, the head, and shoulders of a young woman with dirty-blonde hair and a face that looked not unlike Chloe's. She lay on her side. There was blood caked all around the young woman's mouth.

Chloe let out a sigh of relief and started to cry. She leaned forward. “Naomi?” Then she pointed at her younger sister's mouth. “She...she ate...Mipsey?!”

“Looks that way,” said Neil. “Probably kept your sister alive.”

“But...”

“Later, ya-Chloe,” said Orla.

“Her pulse is weak,” said Neil. “She's mostly-buried and I'm half-afraid to move much more of this debris. Some of it looks like it's propping up part of the floor above and some of the kitchen chimney.”

“We can't just leave her there,” said David.

“No,” said Neil, “we can't. But we also don't know the extent of her injuries and moving her could kill her.”

Chloe squeaked.

“We have to try,” said Andreja.

“She's right,” said Orla. She held the glowing end of her staff up to the wreckage and examined it. “Ya-Neil, how much clearance do you need?”

“Not sure. To get her out, maybe a centimeter. But like I said, moving her could kill her.”

“If we keep her neck immobile,” said Andreja, “could we move her then?”

“But her spine...” began Chloe.

“Mine was broken,” said David. “I think they can fix hers if it's broken, too.”

“So long as it's not broken above her heart,” said Neil.

Chloe squeaked again.

Neil exhaled and scratched his head. “Ya-Orla, how good are your medical skills?”

Orla gulped. “Erm...well, Sophie helped me refine the stasis spell.”

“But can you tell what's wrong with her?” Neil nodded toward Naomi.

Orla knelt down next to Neil and laid her hand on Naomi's forehead. “Well,” she said after a few moments, “her spine's intact. That's all I can tell you. My best guess is that all of this fell on top of her and she was just stuck here. But I won't know for sure until we get her out. I'm rather surprised she hasn't suffocated to death.”

“Can you lift any of this?” Neil asked.

“Ai.” Orla stood up and jammed the glowing end of her staff into the debris pile.

Neil began to move bricks just enough to free Naomi's other arm. “Ya-David? Would you give me a hand?”

David handed his torch to Andreja and squatted down next to Neil. David grasped Naomi's outstretched arm just above the elbow, and Neil grasped the still-buried one just below the shoulder.

“I want you to pull,” said Neil. “Gently, though. We'll come straight out and into the other room. Try not to bend anything.” Then he nodded to Orla.

Orla leaned on the staff. At first, nothing happened. Then the pile of bricks and timber started to vibrate.

“Pull,” said Neil. At first, Naomi didn't budge. The vibration quickened and suddenly, the entire pile shifted noticeably upward. Naomi's body abruptly lurched outward and Neil nearly fell over.

“Hurry up,” Orla grunted.

Neil and David pulled Naomi out of the pile and through the door, Chloe on their heels. He heard a loud CLUNK, followed by some clattering, and another set of footsteps. The green glow of Orla's staff soon filled the room.

Chloe knelt down and took her younger sister's hand. “Naomi?” she said softly. “She's cold!”

“Probably shock,” said Neil.

“That's bad, innit?” Chloe asked.

“Yes,” said Neil, “very.”

Chloe squeaked.

Neil carefully rolled Naomi onto her back and gave her a cursory examination. “Extensive bruising...possible broken ribs and internal injuries...broken legs...severed foot...blood loss...probable dehydration and oxygen deprivation. And that's just what I can see. She's in bad shape. She'll make it, but only if we can get her back to Loriesha.”

Chloe began to cry.

“Ya-Chloe,” said Orla, “I need you to stand back.”

Chloe shook her head.

Orla took her friend's chin firmly between her fingers. “Your sister needs magical medicine. I need to put her in stasis. It's what Sophie did to me, Marido, David, and the rest when they found us in Pontypridd. It's the only way she'll survive the trip back.”

Chloe nodded, laid Naomi's hand gently across her chest, and stood up.

Orla knelt down, placed a hand on Naomi's forehead, and muttered something under her breath. After a minute, she stood up. “There. Now let's go find your mum.”

Neil led the way up the stairs. “Remember,” he said once he reached the top, “the floors of both wings are unstable. The north was hit by an airplane engine and probably a piece of wing. There's extensive fire damage downstairs, which is likely to be even worse up here.”

“Mum's room is this way,” said Chloe, as she gestured toward the north wing.

Orla and David slipped past Chloe and down the hall. Neil saw David disappear into a room. A moment later, Neil heard the clatter of a dropped torch and the erratic motion of its light. David reemerged and vomited against the base of a wall. Chloe rushed down the hall and ducked into the room herself. Neil saw the light move again. Then Chloe screamed and the light again fell clattering to the floor.

Orla rushed into the room, followed by Neil. What he saw challenged his own normally strong constitution. The room was a complete mess. One wall and part of the floor were gone. The entire room and all its contents—furniture, a bird cage in the corner, photographs on the wall--were badly charred.

A figure lay curled up on a bed in the middle of the room. Neil rushed over and felt for a pulse. After a few pregnant moments, he whirled around. “Ya-Orla! Get in here! Now!”

Orla sprinted into the room, knocking Chloe over on her way to the bed. She skidded to a stop at Neil's side and immediately repeated what she'd done to Naomi minutes before.

Neil turned around, strode back across the room, took Chloe by the arm, helped her up, and dragged her out into the hallway. The smell of bile tinged the air. He grabbed both her shoulders. “Ya-Chloe? That's your mother in there, innit?” Chloe nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Then I want you to listen to me very carefully. Your mum's barely alive. In fact, she's nearly dead. She has...twenty minutes...at most.”

Chloe's tears started to flow like a pair of rivers.

“Ya-Chloe!” growled Neil. “I need you to focus! In the care of what was so-called modern medicine, she'd have no hope. Fortunately, Sophie can handle this. It's still going to be tricky and she's going to need help, but we must get her back to Loriesha if she's to live. Here's what I want you to do. Find us a sheet. Then gather up whatever family heirlooms you want to preserve. Keep in mind that you have to carry it. David and I will carry your mother downstairs. After that, we'll need a way to transport her and Naomi back to shore.”

At first, Chloe stood there.

“Night's wasting,” said Neil. “We have six hours to retrace our steps and I hope I don't have to remind you of what awaits us on our return trip. You have a half an hour. Ya-Andreja, ya-Orla, would you two please help her? Extra hands will make this go faster.”

Chloe nodded, then went to it once Neil had released her. Their three lights disappeared into the bowels of the house. Neil reached into his hip pack and pulled out the small bundle that protected his magic mirror. He drew it out of its padded wrapping, sat down on the top stair and activated it.

After several moments, his uncle's face appeared in the glass. Howell smiled. “Good to see you, ya-Neil. How are things?”

“Not bad, all things considered.” Neil proceeded to update his uncle on their progress and on the situation. “Have that boat waiting for us at melgen as planned. I'll let you know if we're going to be late.”

“Good,” said Howl. “Don't get yourself killed. Your mother wants me to remind you that if you do, she'll make sure her ghost haunts yours in the hereafter.”

Neil chuckled. “Give my love to her, would you?” Howl nodded and the mirror again reflected Neil's own image. He re-stowed it and exhaled. He didn't want a boring life anyway.

A half-hour later, Neil stood in the drive outside Idrone House. He paced back and forth in the darkness. “What's taking her so long?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe we should have helped,” said David.

“We'd have been in the way. Besides, the three lightest people are in there and the structural integrity of that building still makes me twitchy.”

“Didn't your uncle say the Ingarians had two hours?”

Neil nodded.

“And isn't our deadline more or less arbitrary?”

Neil nodded again.

“So relax.”

Neil hrmphed and looked out toward the street. He was rather surprised none of their activity had attracted any guests. He looked up as three people lugged several large packages through what had once been the front door and off the low porch.

“What the bloody hell's all this?” he said, gesturing at the packages.

He was pretty sure he already knew the answer. For the last half-hour, he'd been listening to animated female voices echoing from inside the house, voices that belonged to Chloe arguing with Orla and Andreja over what they should bring and what they shouldn't. They'd even spent time during the voyage from Scilly going over exactly the sorts of things that should be saved and what should be left. Neil supposed there was a certain amount of emotion involved and he had to remind himself that much the same sort of thing had happened back in Wales prior to his own departure. In his case, though, the Ingarians in his family didn't have much of any sorts of possessions, let alone multiple generations of heirlooms, so the decisions had been rather simplified.

“They're the things I'm bringing,” Chloe growled.

“And foodstuffs,” said Orla brightly, “including several gallons of some exceptionally good vinegar.”

Neil shuddered, then exhaled and forcibly calmed himself. “Right,” he said, motioning to the trunk, bags, and boxes the three women had deposited on the ground, “open them up.”

“But...” Chloe began.

“You know our agreement, ya-Chloe. I have final say over what goes and what stays. Remember, we still have to transport all of this...” He nodded at the packages. “...and your mum and sister all the way back to shore. And there are only five of us.”

Chloe glared at Neil. A moment later, she ducked back into the house.

“Bloody hell,” grumbled Neil.

After a few minutes, Neil heard a sound off to the left, then a set of multiple foot-falls. There were two soft ones and four...oh, she couldn't be serious. Chloe walked up, leading a donkey.

“You've got to be kidding,” said Neil.

“She'll carry it,” said Chloe.

“How the hell are we going to get this past all those check-points?”

“We can make her invisible, can't we?”

“Yes and no,” said Orla.

“What?”

“First,” said Neil, “we'd never be able to disguise her hoof-falls, even if we were to wrap her hooves in cloth.”

“Second,” said Orla, “the invisibility spell and the stasis spell aren't compatible.”

“What? You mean it's one or the other?”

“Exactly so, ya-Chloe.”

“So we're going to have to fight our way out?” David asked.

“Looks like,” said Neil.

“I only know one offensive spell,” said Orla, “and it's lethal.”

Neil exhaled. “Then I guess there's nothing for it,” he said. “But we're still going to have to prune your packages. That donkey can't carry your family and your stuff both.”

“There's a cart in back.”

Neil sighed. “Of course there is,” he said, making no effort to keep the eye-rolling out of his voice. “Fine, go get it. And while you're doing that, I'll edit.”

Chloe and David disappeared into the darkness while Neil re-lit his headlamp and began to go through Chloe's packages. By the time she and David had returned with the cart, Neil had cut the intended load in half. Chloe began to protest. “Look,” said Neil, “if you can convince me that we really need to salvage things like...” He picked up something from his reject pile. “...a pair of four-inch stiletto heels, I'll change my mind.”

“I wore those to my first formal dance,” said Chloe.

“Not good enough,” said Neil bluntly as he dropped the shoe back onto the pile. “Look, we discussed all this as we sailed and you agreed. I don't expect you to be happy about it, but we do have to be practical. We said books and heirlooms. And a pair of designer pumps doesn't count.”

“You're a man.”

“Well,” said Andreja, “I'm not. Yet I agree with Neil. You'll have to let a lot of this go.”

“We're forging new lives,” said Orla. “The old world is dead or dying and it won't be long before a lot of it's remembered as a dream, if not forgotten entirely. You'll make new memories from new experiences.”

“Trust her, ya-Chloe,” said Neil. “She knows a thing or two about that.”

“Besides,” said Orla with a twinkle in her voice, “real mermaids don't need high heels.”

Chloe groaned and seemed to deflate in the darkness. “Fine. I'll do it your way.”

“Are we still going after her father?” Andreja asked.

Neil sighed. “Not sure.”

“I want to,” said Chloe, “but Mum would throw a fit if she were to wake up on the same ship with him.”

“She'd get over it,” said David.

Chloe laughed briefly. “You don't know Mum.”

“We're burning darkness,” said Neil. “If no one else objects, I say Mister Agnew's going to have to fend for himself. Naomi and Adele need medical attention and the stasis spell won't last forever. Neither will cover of darkness. We need to go.”

Without another word, they hitched the cart to the donkey, loaded their packs, Chloe's belongings and her unconscious family into it, and started off down the drive.

Chloe looked back and started crying. Orla stepped up beside her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “It could have been worse,” she whispered.

“How are we going to get through the gate?” Andreja asked.

Neil walked up and pulled on the un-damaged side. It opened a few inches, then jammed against the branch. “Bother,” he muttered. “Ya-David, would you give me a hand with this branch?”

David stepped over and the two of them lifted. The branch didn't move. “I'm beginning to think,” said David breathlessly, “that the whole bloody tree fell down.”

“You might be right.”

“Well, ya-Neil,” said Orla, “you may just get to make your own James Bond movie after all.”

“What?” said Neil.

“Move,” said Orla.

Neil and David stepped out of the way. “James Bond taught us two things,” said Orla.

“Which are...?” Andreja asked.

“Never let them see you bleed.”

“Shouldn't be hard in the dark. And the other?”

“Always have an escape plan.” A blast of magical energy, accompanied by a greenish halo, shot out from the end of Orla's staff. It hit the gate, tore it off its hinges and dragged both halves, along with the branch, noisily across the street, coming to rest somewhere in the darkness.

“I'm glad you're on our side,” said David.

“I'm beginning to think,” said Chloe, “that we never really knew you at all.”

“Are we going to chit-chat,” said Neil, “or are we going to put at least some distance between us and whomever's about to respond to that?”

Neil readied his crossbow and took point while Chloe led the donkey along behind him. Its hooves and the cart it pulled made far too much noise for his liking. Anyone trying to kill them could have done it blindfolded...well, maybe.

They were barely halfway between the drive and the intersection with Knocklyon Rd. when Neil heard shouts coming from the direction of the mall parking lot. He grunted. “A little faster, yashanli,” he said.

He heard footsteps running in the direction of Idrone House. He didn't think it would take long for whomever owned them to notice the donkey and cart, even in the dark. “Ya-Orla?”

“Nonfuth,” no problem, she said.

After a minute, Neil heard yelps of pain and confusion coming from behind them. The sounds faded as he and his party retreated along Scholarstown Rd. He was really beginning to wish his uncle had managed to get his magical doors to work again and something told him he was going to be doing so many more times over the next several hours.

“Remember,” said Neil over his shoulder as they rolled up several minutes later to the roundabout marking the junction of Scholarstown Rd. and Orlagh Grove—which still made him chuckle--“the official line is that we're evacuating.” It didn't hurt that it was the literal truth.

A soldier stepped up to them, cross-bow at the ready. “Out a little late, aren't we?” he asked.

Bollocks, thought Neil, just like at Culverhouse. “Depends on your point of view,” he said. He wished he'd paid a little more attention to his father and learned some diplomacy skills. If the elder Perry was unsuccessful talking his way around a division of hot-shot soldiers, what chance did a young man like himself stand?

The man's eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, thought Neil, wrong thing to say. “And just what point o' view would that be?” the soldier asked.

“The point of view of a few people just trying to get out of your hair,” said Neil. The soldier peered at Neil. “Fewer people,” he added, “fewer problems.”

“I'm not at liberty t' comment on that, sir,” said the soldier. He looked past Neil. “What's in th' cart?”

“Our things,” said Neil. “Just personal effects...nothing that would interest you. That is, unless you have a thing for women's night-nothings.” Neil knew there wasn't much of that in what Chloe had salvaged, let alone in what had cleared Neil's screening, but it sounded good.

“Let's have a look anyway, shall we?”

“No!” Chloe stepped forward. “There's...there's nothing you need to see.”

Neil cringed inwardly, hoping his slight twitch would go unnoticed in the firelight. The soldier turned his attention to Chloe. Neil tensed and prepared for a fight. He didn't think it would last long, nor would it likely go well. There were four soldiers and each of them had better aim and was better trained. He had five, including Orla. She alone was worth at least ten combatants, but only if she acted first.

The soldier's eyebrow went up. “Chloe? Chloe Agnew?”

“Do...do I know you?” Chloe asked.

“No, but me daughter's a fan o' Celtic Woman, an' you in particular.”

“Oh.”

“Wait here.” The soldier turned and jogged to the center of the roundabout.

Neil and Chloe exchanged glances. Neil raised an eyebrow and Chloe shrugged.

A minute later, the soldier returned with a piece of clean, white paper and a pen. He handed them to Chloe. “I don' suppose I could get yer autograph?”

Chloe smiled. “Erm...okay.” Chloe took the pen and paper, then paused. Neil exhaled and turned to present his back to Chloe. She took the hint and used it as a writing surface. After a few moments, she handed the pen and paper back to the soldier.

“Shame about yer house, Miss Agnew,” said the soldier.

“Yeh...” Chloe's voice trailed off as tears rose up in her eyes.

Orla stepped into the light and put an arm around Chloe.

“Orla Fallon?” said the soldier.

Orla sighed, extended her hand and raised an expectant eyebrow. Neil rolled his eyes and turned his back as Orla took the pen and paper, added her own signature and a short message to Chloe's, then returned it to the soldier. He looked past Neil again into the dark. “Who else is there?” he asked.

David and Andreja stepped forward. Orla introduced them. The soldier shrugged and again proffered the pen and paper and the pair added their own names.

“And the others?” the soldier asked.

“Erm...” David havered.

“Mairead...Marido,” said Chloe, “is on a ship off Bray, Hayley's on another in the Scilly Isles, Lisa Kelly, Meav, and Deidra weren't on tour, and the others...” She choked up.

“Bus crashed,” said David.

“Oh, bugger,” said the soldier.

Neil tensed. He didn't like dispensing so much information. It tended to complicate things and things were complicated enough already.

The soldier exhaled. “I'm afraid I'm still goin' t' have t' see what's in th' cart,” he said.

“What is this,” said Andreja, “the bloody Spanish Inquisition?”

“If 'twere,” said the soldier, “you wouldn't expect it.”

“We already don't expect it,” said Neil. “None of us expects any of this.”

The soldier nodded and moved toward the wagon. Orla stepped in front of him and leveled her staff at him.

“I'm very sorry,” said Orla, “but we just as insistently cannot allow you to look at what we have in there.”

The soldier didn't appear deterred. Instead, he pointed his crossbow at Orla. Neil swore to himself. That man had no idea what Orla could do and that made both of them highly dangerous to each other.

“Please,” said Orla sternly, “we have no quarrel with you. Do not give us one. I only know one offensive spell and it's lethal. Do not force me to use it.”

“Spell? Are you witches?”

“It's my family, okay?” Chloe blurted. Neil stiffened. He was sure the situation was going to explode at any moment. “My mum and sister,” continued Chloe, “are in that wagon and...unconscious. We're taking them to Bray where we'll board a ship and they'll get help from a powerful magical healer! Please let us pass!”

“Think of your daughter,” said Neil. “Do you really want to orphan her? Because that could easily happen. There's been far too much death in the last week and a half. Please...I don't know what your orders are and frankly, I don't much care. But at least try to be part of the solution. You have a choice here. You can either contribute to the deterioration of the situation, or you can take steps to improve it. If you let us go, I'll share with you what I know about what's happening. You might not believe it, but it'll be the honest to God truth. And no, we're not witches.”

Motion at the edge of the fire's light radius caught Neil's eye. He half-turned as one of the other soldiers raised his cross-bow. Neil saw Orla pivot and level her staff at the man. A high-pitched sound, not unlike the sing of metal wheels on railroad tracks, filled the air.

Moments later, the man's cross-bow and its loaded bolt shattered into thousands of splinters. He yelped in pain and alarm.

“I said,” growled Orla, “you shall not pass! What part of that do you not understand?” Neil was very glad she was on his side.

The soldier seemed to deflate. Neil couldn't see the expression on the man's face. He was still back-lit and the fire from the torch in the center of the roundabout had killed his night vision. After a moment, he shifted his crossbow and extended his hand. “Lieutenant Andrew O'Malley,” he said.

Neil shook O'Malley's hand. “Neil Perry.”

O'Malley looked over at his comrade. “You okay, Private?” he asked.

“Aye, sir,” the Private responded. O'Malley made a dismissive gesture and the other man retreated to the roundabout.

“Fine,” said O'Malley. “I'll escort ye to Bray. But just so ye know, I'm gonna catch a frightful lot o' flak o'er this. It could cost me career.”

“Believe me,” said Neil, “your career is the least of your worries.”

“But if yer wrong,” said O'Malley, “I'll personally arrest the lot o' ye.”

“I think I can live with that. Just no peeking in the wagon.”

O'Malley's eyes narrowed. “Besides yer family...an' I'm not sayin' I quite believe that...an' heirlooms, what else ya got back there?”

“Vinegar,” said Orla.

“Why?”

“I drink it.”

“Eh?”

“She...erm...drinks it,” said Neil. “Don't bother about it. People drink far more vile things in other parts of the world. Fermented yak's milk in Mongolia, for instance.”

O'Malley shuddered. “Right...got it. Well, then follow me. An' don't fall behind.” He turned and strode off. “Shamus, yer in charge.”

“But, sir...”

“Ye heard me, lad. I'll be back by shift change and then we can pretend this never 'appened, got it?”

“Aye, sir.”

Neil wasn't sure that was even possible. How were they going to pretend that? There was physical evidence, after all. The shards of crossbow all over the ground...which Neil supposed to could swept up. The ruins of the Idrone House gate and the shards of its front door...which were a little harder to explain. At least, Neil figured, he wouldn't be the one to have to explain it. He and his would be long gone by then.

“Ya know,” said O'Malley as the donkey cart trundled over the rubble strewn across the beach just north of Bray, “what with Chloe shriekin' all th' time an' Orla blastin' ev'rything in sight, it's a wonder the whole bloody Dublin Division ain't on our arses already!”

“I told you,” said Orla, “I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around.”

“No, you don't,” said Chloe. “You're mild-mannered and...oh, balls, I give up.”

“Orla's just blowing off steam,” said Neil.

“From what? PTSD?”

Neil peered at O'Malley in the pre-dawn gloom. “You have no idea,” he said after a moment. Then he turned to Orla. “Ya-Orla! Fughleha, miflik!” Signal flare, please!

“What's...?” O'Malley hadn't even finished the question when a bright green orb shot out from the end of Orla's staff. It arced high up in the sky, and hung there. “Huh.”

“And now we wait,” said Neil.

“Wait fer what?”

“You haven't been paying attention, have you? We have someone in a rowboat...ah, there they are.” Neil gestured toward the breakers. The longboat from Loriesha crashed through them on an intercept course.

“That wasn't there before,” said O'Malley.

“Yes, it was,” said Neil. “It was cloaked.”

“Cloaked? As in, Star Trek cloaked?”

“More or less. But this was magical, of course.”

“Of course.” They eye-rolling in the man's voice was obvious.

“You still don't believe in magic, do you?” Orla asked.

“Erm....”

The boat rode the last breaker into shore and ground to a halt on the sand. Neil and David grabbed the gunwales on either side of the bow and hauled it another meter onto the beach. “Right,” said Neil, “you know the drill.”

“Hold this,” said Orla, thrusting her staff into Neil's hands. He took it. He could feel the magic pulsing through it. Orla had told him she'd made it as a magical transceiver of sorts. But even if he were a mage himself, Orla had fashioned the staff such that only she could wield it. It was quite ingenious, really. Or maybe that was the only way she knew how to do it.

Neil stood there as Chloe, Orla, David, and Andreja walked briskly to the back of the wagon and carefully maneuvered Naomi out of it, then across the beach and into the boat.

“What's that?” asked the rower.

“My sister,” said Chloe.

The trio repeated the procedure with Adele. “Don't look,” said Chloe sternly.

“Why? Is there...?”

“Just don't!” snapped Chloe.

The four continued loading the bags, boxes, and packages from the wagon.

“Erm,” said the rower, “I didn't know there would be all of...this.”

“Neither did we,” said Neil. Frankly, though, he hadn't been at all sure what they'd find, let alone what they might be bringing back to Loriesha.

“Well,” said David, brushing his hands against each other once he'd stowed the final package, “I think that's it.” Truth be told, it had only taken one trip each. Neil's no-nonsense practicality had whittled it all down quite a bit back in Knocklyon.

Neil handed Orla's staff back to her as she and Chloe jumped into the boat. He turned to O'Malley. “As agreed, the donkey and cart are yours. Just...use them wisely, okay?” He turned and braced his hands against the gunwales. David and Andreja joined him as they shoved the boat back into the sea. Neil jumped in, then looked back. David and Andreja tarried at the surf line.

“Well?” Neil called. “Don't just stand there!”

“We're staying!” said David.

“What?!”

“We're staying,” repeated Andreja.

“You're not serious!”

“We're Dubliners,” said David, “born and bred. We're more useful here anyhow. We have information and Andreja can do magic. That's worth something and if it can help keep our countrymen and women from starving, than that's worth fighting and dying for!”

Neil knew they were right. It took guts, though. On the other hand, he wasn't entirely sure what he and the others were doing didn't require at least as much guts. He dug into his pouch, pulled out the magic mirror, and waved it toward shore. “You remember how to use this?”

“I think so,” said Andreja.

Neil flipped it through the air like a frisbee. Andreja caught it expertly. “Stay in touch!” Neil called. He hoped his uncle really could make more of the things.

He, Orla, and Chloe sat in the boat, watching the shoreline recede. “I guess it really was like a James Bond movie.”

“How's that?” Orla asked.

“In all nice and quiet, then we shoot our way out.”

That brought a chuckle from Chloe. “You know,” she said, “Lisa likes...liked...James Bond...a lot. I suppose something like this is...somewhat fitting, don't you think?”

Neil nodded. “Indeed.”