Sunday, June 26, 2011

Achtung, Baby! Part 2.

I met Ciara at the Stuttgart Hauptbahnhof as planned. As luck would have it, my connecting train from Strassbourg arrived into Stuttgart on track one, so that when I stepped off the train, Ciara was there waiting for me.

I gave her a polite greeting in Gaelic, which she responded to in kind.

"It could be challenging to find this place...", she began.

"I think this might help.", I said, pulling out the map; "Dad gave it to me for this mission," I continued, handing it over to Ciara to inspect.

I motioned Ciara to follow me to a rail map of Germany posted as a traveler's reference guide by the Deutsche Bahn.

"So, cross referencing these two maps...", I said, then ran my finger down the regional train schedules, "it looks as though the closest we can get by rail is here", I pressed a finger on the rail map, "...and from there, we'll need to rent a car to make it the rest of the way. As you can see, it's a bit off the beaten path."

Ciara agreed, and we bought open ended return regional rail tickets and boarded one of the smaller regional trains at the other end of the station. Once safely aboard, Ciara briefed in Gaelic about the vision she had received from her mother, going into more detail than she had been able to squeeze into her text message. The Germans around us raised their eyebrows a bit at the strange language we were speaking. Not every day that one hears Irish spoken outside of Ireland. For the non-mission-sensitive smalltalk, we stuck to English. This reassured our fellow passengers, who, even for the ones who didn't know it fluently, at least recognized the familiar sounds of English, even of my Irish brogue. A few of them even put 2 + 2 together and I could hear whispers of Die zwei da kommen aus Irland!

We could've spoken German, but we would be doing plenty of that soon enough. Ciara tactfully avoided bringing up the topic of Aisling or that I was no longer in possession of her carrying case.

I certainly wasn't going to bring up Laurel's reception...I'm sure Ciara wouldn't tell me anything Aisling said in confidence; I'm just grateful Ciara wasn't berating me about it now. There's a joke that women have a network that rivals the CIA. It's no joke, it's real...doubly so for scions, I think. Ciara wasn't frosty towards me, just more even keeled and strictly business. I could handle that just fine.

We reached the end of the rail line at a quaint but still sizable German small city. Luckily we were able to find a car rental agency catering to tourists wanting to explore the Black Forest. With a full tank of petrol, we headed out onto the open road. As we proceeded, the woods continued to grow more thick and dark. Even though it was a clear day with few clouds in the sky, the canopy overhead became so thick I instinctively switched on the lights.

At the appropriate spot on Dad's map, I turned off down onto an unimproved gravel road, leading deeper into the forest. As Ciara and I passed a seemingly arbitrary line on Dad's map, we both felt a chill and a shudder come over us. For me at least, it was a familiar feeling from the mission in southern California. I don't know if Ciara had ever felt such a thing before, but the way she shuddered involuntarily, I knew she felt this one same as I had.

We kept driving.

Soon, we could see the hamlet...Dörfchen as the Germans would say, beginning to come into view further up the road. Given the extreme unlikelihood of finding decent parking within the city limits, we parked on the edge of town behind an abandoned pick-up truck. Ciara investigated the truck, and noticed some tracks leading away from the truck. She found the keys to the truck and started the engine. Satisfied, she turned it off again. I got out to stretch and pointed out that one of the truck tires was...well, not precisely flat, but very low in pressure relative to the others.

I also scrutinized the tracks more closely. While I recognized the footprints of ordinary mortals, there was something not quite right about what Ciara had identified as "children's" footprints. No, given the angle of the toes, relative to the adult footprints...this was more like a creature...it most reminded me of Pondscum's tracks in the California Terra Incognita. I pointed this out to Ciara, who speculated we could very well be looking at Goblin tracks. We followed them a ways to a clearing in the forest, where we found what in the mortal world are commonly referred to as faerie mounds, a ring of toad-stools growing together. Something mere mortals would dismiss as superstition and folklore; We as Scions knew better, though. I made a notation on Dad's map, marking the spot.

Ciara and I decided to go ahead and proceed into town, on the main road. The first thing we noticed was the odd clothing of many individuals. While many were dressed in modern dress, including jeans and t-shirts, many others were dressed in far older clothes. One would almost think of Rothenburg-ob-der-Tauber, or other well-preserved medieval towns, where some locals dress in ancient garb to ply the tourist trade...but I got the odd feeling this simply wasn't the case. It looked too genuine, and the people thusly dressed were far too unselfaware. They were not, however, unaware of us. Ciara and I were definitely noticed as foreigners in their midst and definitely an object of curiosity. More disturbingly, I noticed men on duty in German military uniforms, carrying M-16A2 assault rifles. Because of the American make of the weapons, I assumed them to be ordinary Bundeswehr soldiers at first.

But something didn't seem quite right. After 1945, the Bundeswehr had quite self-consciously distanced its uniform design from more "classic" German uniform patterns of the past. These uniforms were more in line with the "classic" type and at variance with what I knew about standard Bundeswehr uniforms. It had been some time since I'd last served with German soldiers on joint United Nations operations, but...

Without drawing attention to myself, I scrutinized the uniforms more closely. They were standard Feldgrau combat uniforms reminiscent of the WW2 era. Wehrmacht?, I thought? Then I saw the telltale Armvogel, the small runic double S's on the collars...Schutzstaffel. Feckin' SS!

...only, these weren't military surplus from the 1940s. These were...must have been...replica uniforms. They looked far too new, freshly made. If I were a mere mortal and not a Scion inside a Terra Incognita, I would think "Movie?", but no, I had a very bad feeling about this. Very bad indeed. I pointed out this detail to Ciara, whispering it to her in English.

She pulled away in surprise and looked at me. "Well that's disturbing...", she said.

About that time I noticed a strange statue in the middle of the village...it was a figure of a man, perhaps in his 50s, pointing upward at the sky...the figure was encased in a triple arch superstructure that met at a single point over his head and from which a single spire rose high into the heavens. The figure was composed of one sort of metal, while the superstructure was of another kind of metal, one darker than the other. Definitely an odd objet d'art, but beyond that I didn't know what to make of it, really, other than it looked a little too modernistic and out of place in a quaint hamlet such as this.

Ciara headed off to the library to do some research, so I decided to hit the local tavern. I hadn't noticed any churches yet in this village so I decided to inquire if the barman knew if any of the locals were into worshiping pagan gods...perhaps Celtic gods? The Celts, of which the Milesians of Ireland had been but a clan, had once peopled nearly all of Europe, with settlements stretching as far afield as Bulgaria...later wiped out or interbred with the invading Germanic hordes which these people around us were mostly descended. Even the Celtic Gauls of France had seen the name of their country, Gaul, transformed to the name France, taken from the Frankish tribe of the German invaders. Those Franks interbred with the Gauls and adapted Latin Roman language and culture, producing France as we knew it today. The Romans of Hispania (Spain), too, were overrun by blond Visigoth overlords who similarly embraced Latin Roman culture and language and made it their own.

The barkeep snorted, poured me a dark local brew, and asked me how, as a complete stranger, I could ask such a patently offensive and deeply personal question...I asked if perhaps he had any Guinness on tap but he looked mystified and said no. I took a polite sip of the dark brew---actually quite good (I really do appreciate German beermaking and don't just restrict myself to Celtic suds). I apologized, explaining that I was a foreigner from Ireland and very ignorant of local customs.

The barman nodded and said that yes, indeed, there were some locals who still worshiped the old pagan gods but that that was a matter of freedom of conscience and he didn't make it his business to interrogate his neighbors about such deeply personal things.

I tried a different tac. I asked what the Statistisches Bundesamt had found during the last census taken in 1987 with respect to religion in their region. The man looked at me this time as if I were speaking Martian, or Gaelic. I knew that 1991 general census had been abandoned in the wake of German reunification, and that a nationwide census had not been conducted since that time, but perhaps there were regional reports? But it seemed the very agency name, Statistisches Bundesamt, completely baffled this man.

Keine Ahnung was das sein soll.

"I have no idea what it is you are speaking of."

"Nevermind,", I said dismissively with a wave of my hand, paid for the beer, and left, headed to the Library. Turns out Ciara had uncovered some interesting things while over there.

Achtung, Baby! Part 1.

"Ash, could you bring me my phone, please?"

Silence in my very empty feeling apartment in Lyon.

Oh, right. It's only been a few days since Dad took her from me at my layover in Shannon airport, on my way to France, not saying much, only "I cannot allow Aisling's heart to continue to be broken like this. I will return her to you when you are ready to do the right thing by her."

Jacques had been pleased to see me back in France, insisting we have dinner and sample some classic wines before we discussed any pressing INTERPOL business.

We got to that bright and early the next morning, and I've still got a stack of reports I'm filling out in English and French, reviewing casework of junior agents, that kind of thing.

I'm finding it harder to concentrate than usual. Now that she's gone, I miss her so much. I wish...I wish she were human, or had been born as one of the Aes Sidhe, like the ones I met in Mag Mell. She just...we...we just can't. We used to keep the tension in check, just the two of us...but after such an extended stay in America, after my infatuation with Laurel...our perfect little world has been off kilter ever since. I'm always saying the wrong thing, apparently.

I picked up my phone from the wet bar myself and looked at the text message that had come in from Ciara Vogel. It was a bit more intel she had gathered using her powers of prophecy and a little help from her mother. The stuff was interesting but a bit cryptic, and would require further clarification once we met face-to-face.

It was actually a good thing Gunnar got married to Laurel when he did, because otherwise I'm not sure his dad would have helped out building that massive underground complex in Ohio the way that he did otherwise. The Eye has been safely transferred there and since arriving back to France I've felt more enthusiastic and full of life again. Receiving Ciara's text actually brightened my mood; Jacques' paperwork reminded me how dull regular mortal life is, and Ciara's text reminded me just how great the life of a Scion can be. The only thing that would have made it better is if Ash had been here to read it aloud to me.

*sigh*

Pardon the pun, but I do appreciate now more than ever how much she brightens my life.

I received another text from Ciara that brought me out of my sentimental fog and back to the present. She wanted to know the best place to meet. In addition to taking Aisling from me, Dad had given me a detailed map with an accurate depiction of the location of Wolfsheim, with the cautionary note that it won't be found on any modern maps. But from the look of it, this place was deep inside the Schwarzwald or Black Forest of Germany. By the look of it, our best option would be to meet at the Stuttgart Hauptbahnhof (main train station) and pick an easy meeting place, like the platform for Track #1.

I looked up the SNCF train schedules and planned my route from Lyon to Stuttgart, with one connection in Strassbourg. I made the purchase from my smart phone. Time to gear up, grab my Interpol badge, and head out.

I called Ciara on her mobile phone to tell her to meet me at the platform for track one at the Stuttgart Hauptbahnhof. She acknowledged and we agreed on a meeting time.

Friday, June 24, 2011

a flashback

When Aisling and I first made it to Los Angeles, this Elton John song came on the radio, and I sang along with the radio, to Aisling...


Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad

Piano man he makes his stand
In the auditorium
Looking on she sings the songs
The words she knows, the tune she hums

But oh how it feels so real
Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can hear me
When I say softly, slowly

Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
you had a busy day today

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand.



I remember she wiped a tear from her eyes, hugged my neck...well, as best she could, given her size, then whispering in my ear...."thank you."

* * *

Zeus snapped his fingers impatiently...."Wake up there Irish boy, I was saying..."

I snapped back to the present, still at Laurel and Gunnar's reception, which was still going strong. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Aisling and Ciara in one far corner of the room, talking, with Aisling gesticulating wildly and Ciara looking very uncomfortable but not unsympathetic, stroking Aisling's head and cheeks every so often.

Zeus grabbed me by the chin and rotated my face gently but firmly to face his...

"...So like I was saying, I'm going to have a friendly chat with Ogma. Your being here reminds me that he and I have some catching up to do. Thanks again for adding that Tuatha spark to our little ceremony."

"...sure thing.", I said absentmindedly.

Laurel and Gunnar's Big Fat Greek (and Norse) Reception.

I stood around on the edge of things. Truth be told, I really don't like large gatherings like this, not one bit. I was in a sour mood, nursing a bitter bottle of Harp beer.

I was standing around with Jack and Nate. Last I looked, Aisling and Nevermore were laughing it up and having a good time.

I was only half-paying attention to Nate & Jack's conversation. Nate was going on and on about hooking up again with his ex-girlfriend Alli, how happy he had been to punch her douchebag current boyfriend in the face when he showed up. The nerve! Jack agreed.

Camila walked up, along with Ciara. It took me a second to notice Aisling perched on Ciara's shoulder.

"Why the long face, Brendan?", asked Camila quietly. Ciara said nothing.

I sighed and took another swig of Harp.

I looked at Camila and said "...do you believe those stories that you hear about couples...where they work alongside each other for years...they pine for finding the love of their life all alone, only to find they were right there all along?"

"I suppose it could happen, yeah.", said Camila noncommittally.

"Well,", I said, irritated, "I think it's bollocks. I can't think of a single female co-worker from GARDA or INTERPOL for whom I ever held more than a passing interest, nor any that looked at me with much interest either."

To my surprise, Aisling burst into tears and flew off Ciara's shoulder and away from me like a shot. Ciara looked at me, looked back at Aisling, looked back at me with an angry, disapproving look, then headed after Aisling, who was still speeding away...streaming a silvery mist behind her distinct from her hair. I thought that only a happened in Japanese anime....

"...what..?", I said, dropping my bottle of Harp, which shattered on the tile floor...

"Oh Feckin' hell!", I cursed softly.

I turned round but Camila was gone without a word. I found myself face to face with none other than Zeus himself. Nodding in the direction Aisling had gone, he asked me casually...

"...She's yours, right? That little sprite, I mean... Really added something to our little ceremony, a little bit of Tuatha charm...just wanted to thank you personally for encouraging her to participate...cute as a button, too."

"Yes, she is at that.", I agreed. "...a bit moody and willful at times...people say we bicker and argue like an old married couple...but then tell me it means they can tell we're close....I don't know if that's a sad commentary on the state of marriage as an institution or a compliment..."

Zeus declined to join me in speculation and just continued with the friendly questions....

"So your dad gave her to you, right?"

"That's right", I said. "When I was still a confused teen boy. Tried to hide her from my mum at first, but she was soon discovered. Luckily Dad never could keep secrets from my mum very well...she knows about all of this..."; I gestured broadly at the reception hall, indicating all the divine beings here.

"I've known Aisling for years and years...I think Sprites must age differently than mortal humans...she feels like someone who was a childhood friend...if life played out like a Japanese Anime, she'd be my soul mate or something..."

Zeus nodded and said "...Don't think I'm changing the subject, because I'm not, but I want to tell you a little story about a Greek man who once went by the name Pygmalion..."

Laurel's Big Fat Greek Wedding, Part 2.

The whole thing was a veritable "Who's Who" of the greatest of the Greek and Norse godheads in attendance. Aisling was one of the flower girls, which everyone agreed later made it even more special. She dropped smallish white flower petals that nevertheless were not inconsequential for her to heft. They floated to earth gently and airily and the effect was heavenly and ethereal.

Bit of a fiasco getting this ceremony going, though...the wedding planner called it in, someone put a divine brand on Laurel's forehead that reads "MURDERER", and like a dumbass, I pull out my badge from pure instinct and state I needed to ask her some questions before she blurted out "YOU WERE THERE!!" which snapped me out of it.

"Oh, THAT. That wasn't murder, that was counter-terrorism. Defenseless my arse. Voodoo still creeps me the fook out."

Ciara climbed a nearby building and pretended to be a potential suicide to help draw media attention away from the main event. Oh, and from the large herd of Norse livestock in the streets of downtown Chicago...yeah, don't ask. You had to be there, trust me.

After that, things went off beautifully.

It really was a nice ceremony; I teared up a bit...partly from the beauty of what I beheld, partly because it completely shattered any remaining delusion I harbored on my part that Laurel had ever felt anything for me other than professional concern as my treating physician and as a loyal platonic friend.

Object, you say? To what, exactly? I had nothing against Gunnar, still don't...he's a great guy, and a good team member. Bit impulsive and stupid at times, but I'm not one to talk either, loner that I am. They looked radiantly happy. My heart sank despite wanting to feel happy for my friends. I'm steadfastly a loner, often proudly so but at that moment I just felt...lonely. More lonely than I have felt in years.

Bachelor Party, Norse Style.

I actually don't remember much of it. Not because I drank all that much. Just that there wasn't a lot to remember. I was mostly lost in thought and a little on guard the whole time.

We took in the Cubs game. They lost. No surprise there.

When I'd mentioned to Aisling back in Berkeley that we were going to watch the Chicago Cubs play, she blurted out "Oh! That's the team that actually makes the sorry Houston Astros look GOOD by comparison, right?!?"

I chuckled nervously and looked around the room for Gunnar, who I caught glaring at the both of us. He balled his fist and made a punching motion, catching it in his other open hand.

Whaddya know, Aisling was right. Astros actually won one on Wrigley Field that night. Nate was clapping Gunnar in the back, who was crying into his beer a little..."Tough break, man...I thought for sure your boys were gonna rally in the 7th!! That triple play was BALLS, man...that ump should be fired!"

Jack was playing with his smart phone and looked up and announced to me..."Hey, Brendan...Red Socks beat the Yankees on the road."

I did a little fist pump. I can't help but cheer for Boston teams. Still a lot of Irish on them, even in this day and age. Lots of Irish (well, Irish-Americans, anyway) in the stands at their home games, too.

We went to some obscure nightclub way out on the edge of town that was a little surreal and very Norse themed. I jokingly asked if they had Mead for sale and was handed a brimming mug of the stuff before I could refuse it. I choked it down then ordered a respectable beer...to my delight they had not only Guinness but Harp and even Beamish on tap...but when I found they had Killkenny on tap, that was pure heaven...Killkenny is an Irish red ale. Killians Red, the American brew, is a pale imitator, but Killkeny, from Ireland, is the real deal. I think I even had a few Belhaven Scottish Ales for variety. I got pleasantly intoxicated but still (mostly) in command of my faculties. Gunnar looked over with mock disapproval and asked incredulously "...what? Celtic-only beer night?"

"Something like that.", I said "...helps wash away the memory of that gawds-awful Mead you folks quaff by the stein..."

Jack went off with some scantily clad woman but came back alone...and didn't want to talk about it. "Wasn't a dude, was she?", I asked. Never can tell with these Greek types. "Naw, just a little...misunderstanding. It's cool.", Jack said, nursing his next beer.

Nate and Gunnar seemed to be having the best time, trading jokes, clapping each other on the back, etc. Makes sense, those guys go back further than with Jack or me both.

Laurel's Big Fat Greek Wedding, Part 1.

Nate and I took the long haul flight from Shannon Airport to Boston out to SFO. We knew something was up, as Nate's metaphysical warning system he calls "vigil brand" had gone off...Susan, Laurel's half-sister, had been stabbed in the leg. Beyond that, we didn't know anything. Whatever was going on it would be over long before we got there.

Nate called from his cellphone as we were waiting for our flight. Susan answered and said she was ok but couldn't tell us over the phone what had happened, just please get home quickly, etc.

Gunnar, Laurel and Jack drove back to Dublin to catch an Aer Lingus flight direct to O'hare airport in Chicago. Camila also flew out of Shannon Airport but not with us. She flew via JFK to Las Vegas and muttered something about wanting to get in some hiking in the Grand Canyon. Not that Camila wasn't already laconic before, but there was any icy silence around her and the rest of the band after the conclusion of the Mag Mell operation.

We arrived in SFO and made out way out to Berkley, to Laurel's home. It looked as though it had been through a war. Out front, a very muscular man with power tools was working in the front yard. He walked up and shook both our hands, and introduced himself as Hercules, the one and only.

A small sports car pulled up across the street and Camila got out and stood around, not making eye contact with any of us or saying anything.

A chill went down my spine as a woman, dressed mostly in black, with some telltale raven iconongraphy, came out the front door and greeted us with a cool contempt.

"Hi there! Who are you?", Nate said, turning to face her, attempting to be friendly in that oddly endearing Half-Japanese, half American-West way of his. It was wasted on this one, though. Frostily, the woman introduced herself....

"...my mother sent me to ensure you complete the task that was assigned to you of late. My name...is Ciara Vogel"; noticing my GARDA duty jacket, she turned to me and asked pointblank,

"Where is the Eye now?"

"In Chicago.", I said.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief; it took her a few moments to fight back the urge to say gods only knew what before asking through gritted teeth...

"and what is it doing in Chicago?"

"...it's being carried by the crazy Ostman who unlocked it in the first place. They'll be along soon; he's getting married to the owner of this fine house."

The topic of Mag Mell came up, with Nate explaining awkwardly that Manannán mac Lir had not survived the battle.

"How did THAT happen?", demanded Ciara.

I interrupted to ask Ciara in Irish Gaelic if she spoke Irish Gaelic. She confirmed that she did.

Without making any motions with my body or head, I said very plainly, in Gaelic; "See the one in black over there across the street with the sports car? She shot him with a bow."

Ciara's eyes went wide for a moment, then her face reverted to a disapproving scowl.

"How could you let that happen?" she hissed in Gaelic, but didn't wait for a reply from me, turning to go back inside the house.

Hercules came back over to us. "Sorry 'bout the mess, by the way. You boys missed all the action. Tell you all about it once Laurel gets home."

A few days later, Gunnar, Jack, Laurel and a very uncomfortable Sly showed up in a convertible open-top rental car, with Jack holding the Eye steady, while Sly looked quite uncomfortable and contorted by the Eye taking up most of his car-space.

After some awkward introductions we held a meeting with everyone. Young Brendan Gair volunteered that he killed a "mecha-wolf", then nearly got himself killed, but Charlotte and Susan came and healed him. I got the impression being mended by two budding but older-than-him teen girls made Brendan say to himself "...totally worth it!"; He gave a thumbs up and a nod to Gunther while he related that part of his story. Gunther just rolled his eyes and looked off into space..."man, you're crazy..." he muttered. Alex was there but Jamie wasn't. It wasn't until a few days later that we were all informed the horrible truth of what had transpired to poor Alex and his twin brother and his human mother.

Ciara explained she had arrived just in time to save the kids, who testified that indeed Ciara had helped them immensely and that they probably would be dead now if Ciara hadn't made it to Laurel's place just when she did....then the proverbial Cavalry came, crashing through the roof, in fact, in the persons of none other than Laurel's divine parent Apollo and accompanied by Hercules. The mechanical abominations they had faced were of Greek origin, and all the clues fell into place regarding the UCLA incident involving Watson, etc. None of which I could report back to INTERPOL, though I keep feeling if anyone at INTERPOL would not flinch from the truth, it was my boss Jacques Lyotard. I keep having my suspicions about Jacques. If a scion such as myself could rise through the ranks in GARDA to join INTERPOL, surely a scion could rise up through the Gendarmerie Nationale to become my boss at INTERPOL. The way we keep eying each other, I suspect Jacques knows exactly what I am, just like I feel increasingly confident that Jacques is no mere mortal either.

Ciara made it clear that at least one of our band would be required by her to guard the Eye of Balor at all times until it was safely sealed away. That established, Gunnar invited us all to Chicago for his Bachelor party and to take in a Cubs game. I rolled my eyes and muttered "Jayzus, can we at least watch a Chicago team that can actually win, like the feckin' White Sox?"

Gunnar gave me an angry look but said nothing.

It was going to be in about a week. In the meantime, Gunnar stated, he let us know about what had transpired in Chicago, and also that his father had asked him to beta-test some facility in Ohio. I looked at my calendar and announced I really, really needed to get over to UC Berkley and hit the books to do some research on sealing that pesky Eye...partly to impress Ciara and partly because....well, let's just say I make it a point to stay in touch with institutions of higher learning wherever I go.

I caught up to Gunnar in a week in Chicago, landing at O'Hare airport and sampling a world famous Chicago-style hotdog when I got there.

Over much protest from Aisling, I had left her in Laurel's care for this trip...

"Sorry my dear, but this is a guys-only thing."

Aisling stomped her tiny feet and tears welled up in her eyes...she looked about to say something but couldn't decide what to say or which language to say it in...

"...There there, luv, now don't cry..." piped in Nevermore.

"tell you what, I'll take you flying out over San Francisco Bay at Dusk, often as you like...how's that sound? Golden Gate Bridge is really beautiful from the air...London Bridge ain't too shabby neither, but the Yanks build everything bigger..."

Aisling wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded vigorously.

Behind Aisling's back, I gave Nevermore a thumbs up sign and mouthed "thank you! I owe you one."

"One bottle o' Jamesons', to be precise, copper..." said Nevermore in a businesslike manner without skipping a beat. More cheerfully, he continued "C'mon, Aisling, let's ditch this bore..."

Aisling looked over her shoulder at me, stuck out her tongue, then followed Nevermore into the air to perch in a nearby tree.

I waved goodbye to Aisling. She looked into the air and sniffed. Then looked at me and waved quickly, then went back to pretending to ignore me, while Nevermore preceded to tell salty jokes from Merry Olde England...

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Musical interlude provided by U2

Aisling keeps insisting I post this, says it's her favorite song right now, so without further ado, I present to you Ireland's greatest contemporary musicians, U2...performing a (relatively) new hit, but with a classic sound that harkens back to the Joshua Tree....

Monday, June 20, 2011

Flawed Victory of Mag(got) Hell...

One of the problems with military history is that one can get too often bogged down in the minutiae of battle and miss the larger picture.

Of the Battle of Mag Mell, in which I was a marginally effective combatant, I can say this much...

We won. Sort of.

I commanded troops at the bridge defending the celestial chain that links Mag Mell to the real world known to humanity. My memory is a little fuzzy from having been temporarily lost my faculties from maggots and gods know what other vermin attempting to snack on my cerebellum. I still don't understand exactly what happened, and the more Laurel tells me, the more I don't want to know and wish I could un-hear the details I have been told.

I finally came to long enough to witness but not prevent the...assassination of Manannán mac Lir at the hands of Camila by means of a long-bow...carrying out a "hit" ordered by none other than Hades, her divine father himself. Hachiman showed up and tried to avenge Manannán mac Lir but was stopped by Hades himself, who said "Not this time." and stopped the vengeful Japanese god's massive Katana in mid-swing.

That battle drained the last of my temporary willpower...and just when I thought things couldn't possibly get worse, we were all paid a personal visit by The Morrigan and her retinue. It was explained to us that she, in partnership with Hachiman, would be taking stewardship of Mag Mell in the wake of Manannán mac Lir's death, until a rightful successor could be found. She also made it crystal clear that since we had disturbed the Eye from its original resting place, it was now our responsibility to re-seal it securely and we had one year to do so and that if we failed in our task we would be hunted down and killed by the combined forces of all of the Tuatha de Danann. Left unsaid is that I would be regarded as persona non grata with respect to other Tuatha and probably disowned by my own father as well, who would have little choice but to permit me to be sacrificed.

At least I can say I am really, really grateful The Morrigan did not choose to single me out as the sole Tuatha of our band and hold me more responsible than the others. She looked upon us all with equal disdain. How I did not crap myself in her presence I cannot say.

It was also made clear that none of us would be able to recover and restore our willpower as scions until the Eye had been safely sealed away again; this was part of The Morrigan's divine command to us, her demand of our labor in this matter.

Ogma's revelation to me in Mag Mell...

When I next slept my divine father came to me.

The two of us stood in an orchard of apple trees and oak trees. I found myself walking in stride with him feeling as if I been doing so awhile, talking of inconsequential things but not well remembering what they were.

Ogma reached out and plucked a large apple from the bountiful tree next to me and snapped it in half with his hands as if it were an orange. Inside I saw a healthy apple but at its center could be seen a black mold beginning to take root.

"As you can see son, Crom Cruach is wide spread and even now threatens Tír na nÓg. This sickness is a cancer that must be burned away."

He took a finger and I saw a small candle sized flame appear above it. He placed the finger into the apple and burned out the molded part. He then handed me the apple half and I saw that the mold was gone, but in its place a black singe of ashes sat at the core.

"Unfortunately burning out the impurities can damage that which you wished to protect. The Eye of Balor is a tool like many others but has the unfortunate side effect of tarnishing that which its gaze falls upon."

He held up the flaming finger and then extinguished the flame. There on the tip of the finger I could see a new mold growing.

"It runs the risk of infecting that which wields it as well. This is why the Tuatha locked it away, for fear that it would be a tumor that consumed us from within even if we had the best of intentions."

He took a knife from his belt buckle and separated the tip of his finger at the joint, quickly regenerating the flesh growing there, this time uncorrupted by mold.

"You must extinguish it at its source. For this reason I believe your Milesian general has wisdom and should be listened to. As for your choice between Danu and,"

he hesitates, averting his gaze from you back towards the orchard,

"erherm... The Morrigan... Well... Perhaps you have a loser's gamble on the table.
Moreover, Mannanan Mac Lir's Geas is not as simple as you believe it. He is sworn to protect Mag Mell until he dies. No God will tap the unbridled power of an Avatar so close to a Titan without something largely gained in the process. There is great fear that they could become consumed by the titan's power. They would most likely desire Mag Mell as payment and want to assume stewardship of the land. Should this happen Mannanan Mac Lir will have broken his geas causing himself great harm."

He pauses thinking for a moment.

"Perhaps a bargain might be reached? I do not know. The sea god is not a friend of mine and emotions are not something I read as easily as words. His moods switch like the ebb and tide of the ocean itself. My word of advice is this, think long on your choice. As you have pointed out both choices have great downsides. Whatever the choice is, I'm sure you will have thought through it with much consideration, son.

I am proud of the work you are doing, and the example you are setting for Aisling. You have come a long way and I can sense the growing power not only in your arms but also in your mind. I think you will find that when you awake you do so with more power than you feel you had when you laid to rest. Be well my son, hopefully I will see you again soon."

I awoke and faithfully and furiously wrote down in my journal as much of this dream as I could remember, as exactly as possible. I would need to discuss this with my team. Perhaps Nate's idea to call in Hachiman was a stroke of brilliance after all.

Into Mag Mell.

With Derek's blessing, the rest of us jumped the cliff and found Gunnar clutching the Eye of Balor and surrounded by mounted warriors pointing spears at him. A fiery red-haired woman of some Celtic race seemed clearly in charge and was interrogating Gunnar angrily in Irish, which Gunnar doesn't speak...Gunnar was trying to explain himself in English when we suddenly appeared.

I addressed the Celtic woman in Gaelic, asking her if she spoke English.

"Of course I do!", she spat back at me with a...Galway accent? "...and I want to know what this damned Ostman is doing here in Mag Mell with that accursed Eye of Balor!!"

I explained to her in brief all that had transpired with Caleb and that we could not leave the Eye behind at the Loch, it was no longer safe there. I learned the woman's name was Cordelia, and that she was a Scion of Manannán mac Lir. She was commander of the mounted cavalry here.

She demanded to know who was in charge of our group. I tried explaining we made our decisions democratically, so nobody was technically in charge, but Cordelia just scowled at us with contempt. To my surprise, Nate stepped forward and stated that he would be our group's spokesperson. Just as well. Nate might make a better ambassador, actually...we Irish can be at each others' throats often enough, and Derek and I had nearly come to blows because of our outsized egos, so maybe a neutral outsider would be best, I thought.

"Come with me", Cordelia told Nate. "The rest of you will wait until we return from our audience with Manannán mac Lir."

To the mounted horsemen she commanded in Gaelic: "Watch them until I give the all clear."

We were ushered to an unoccupied house and invited to wait inside, which we did for the better part of an hour. Nate returned and briefed us on his audience with Manannán mac Lir, and his conversation(s) with Cordelia. Mag Mell was expecting another huge push from the invading Fomorians within a week. We were given a map of Mag Mell to study by the General Staff of the human Milesians here in Mag Mell.

I say Milesians because that is the most accurate way to describe the Celtic society here. Since death is unknown here, there are Celtic persons in Mag Mell with memories all the way back to the time of the original struggle of the Milesians with the Tuatha de Danann and the peace agreement which followed. Strictly speaking, I'm half Milesian myself, insofar as I'm an Irishman, and my mother is a mortal Irish woman, a Celt. There were Irish here from nearly all periods of Irish history who had by accident or intent found their way to Mag Mell. There were men who had fought at the Battle of the Boyne, right down to men who had fought alongside Michael Collins, in the original IRA.

One thing Derek had warned us about was that firearms and explosives do not work in Mag Mell...the magic of this place utterly prevents them from functioning. So I would rely on Gae Bolga in the battles ahead in this place.

We determined that recovering the original Chain of Lugh, which was believed to be hidden in a nearby temple outpost that had been overrun by Fomorians recently, would be a great morale boost to the Milesian and Aes Sidhe troops in the battles ahead. I reluctantly agreed to let Aisling fly with Nevermore on a reconnaissance mission to the outpost, to determine the Chain's most likely hiding spot. Aisling had always been nervous around Nevermore, but Laurel reassured her, as did Nevermore himself. When they came back, Aisling seemed quite happy and seemed to have had a grand adventure. She reported faithfully what she had seen and I planned the outpost raid with Camila and Jack.

It was agreed that I would fly and carry Camila to the outpost and wait for her in the foothills. Jack would make his way overland, through the mountains to join us.

However, Camila radioed for help in searching for the chain not long after going inside. Jack and I managed to sneak in--just barely--without being spotted. I found a mangy, dying dog that I took to be the Hound of Lugh. I determined sadly the creature did not have long for this world. We found a brilliant tapestry that seemed to depict the chain but could not seem to locate the chain itself.

Camila called Gunnar on the walkie-talkie and elaborated what we'd found so far. Gunnar asked around among the Milesians and Cordelia, and told Camila to have another look at the tapestry. To my amazement, Camila took her combat knife and stabbed the tapestry and began to pry and tear, and before long what I took to be an embroidered image of the chain revealed itself to be the actual Chain of Lugh, embedded in the fabric itself. We exited the outpost unseen and made our way back to camp.

We planned for battle. One of the Milesian generals raised a point that the others dismissed and chided him for bringing up again. It was new to our band, so we pressed for details. The Milesian general stated that what was really needed was a fertility god to re-vitalize the land...that would ensure long term success in our venture. Nate volunteered that his divine Dad was a fertility god. I averred that the Tuatha de Danann had its own gods for fertility...but when I thought about the two options...Danu or The Morrigan....neither seemed quite right. The look of horror on Laurel's face and Nevermore's involuntary squawk at the merest mention of The Morrigan gave me pause. I decided I needed to pray to my father Ogma for some divine guidance.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

The Cliffs of Moher, entrance to Mag Mell

We decided that it wouldn't do to leave the Eye where it was. The last thing we wanted was for it to fall into mortal hands and end up in a museum where it would be easy pickings for the next Fomorian with bright ideas or any other ambitious Titanspawn who had done his or her homework on Irish lore.

I let the rural Irish family from County Sligo know that the all clear at been given and they could return to their country home. True to my word, I left my credit card info and opened a tab at the nearest pub and said each member of the family could have a pint of whatever they liked on me.

We made haste to the Cliffs of Moher, reaching them close to sundown that day. It was clear the park was closed for the day, the parking lots were empty, and most of the tourists were looking into where to have their evening meal and take in some traditional Irish music for their evening's entertainment.

The internet just doesn't do the Cliffs justice. They must be seen to be believed.
We knew this to be the way to Mag Mell, but just how wasn't precisely clear to us at the time.

We crossed over into the park but were accosted by individuals I took to be from the National Parks & Wildlife Service, in Irish Seirbhíse Páirceanna Náisiúnta agus Fiadhúlra (SPNF).

I pulled out my GARDA detective's badge, with the rank of Inspector clearly emblazoned on it.

"GARDA." I said, "...this is an official investigation."

The rather attractive dirty blond man who seemed to be in charge squinted at my ID and noticed that there were closed dates of service on the badge (which was true, since I was at present working for Interpol).

He also didn't like my accent.

"You're a long way from Dublin, copper; and it looks like you're not exactly on the GARDA payroll at the moment.", he sneered. "Care to try again?"

"Y'know, you're right...I keep forgetting when I'm back in Ireland I still have to show THIS.", presenting my Interpol ID, with active dates.

The man tilted his head back and laughed a deep belly laugh...then looked at me sharply "and if INTERPOL needs to be investigatin' these here Cliffs, then I'm the next feckin' pope I am...clear out of here, and take your stinkin' clueless Yankee friends with ye." He took a look at Laurel and said "We don't want your kind around here."

"You FECKIN' racist gobshite...!" I flustered..."...you ignorant feckin' culchie and self-important National Parks & Wildlife two-bit pen-pusher...." I bellowed...

His face turned red and he clenched his fist, but before he could swing at me Laurel gently took him by the other arm and said persuasively "Let's talk...I've come all the way from America to see these cliffs...I'm just a California girl, what can I possibly do to harm your national treasure here...?"

They continued walking into the sunset, nearing the Cliff's edge.

I was distracted at that moment when one of the Scion girls Nate and I had talked to in prison back in the 'States--I forget which one--came bounding up out of breath and talking really fast about how Nate had sent her from Russia to warn about something or other and...

About that time our friend from the National Parks & Wildlife Service had returned and was reaching for a gun and I stood between him and the girl and said "She's cool, she's with us."; He put the gun away slowly, then extended his hand to me.

"Name's Derek. Scion of Lugh."

I shook his massive hand, and he squeezed pretty damn hard.

"Brendan," I said, "Brendan O'Shea. I really am a GARDA Inspector and I really am presently with INTERPOL, but I'm also a Scion of Ogma..."

"Tuatha..." he said with a nod and a smile.

Derek's smile drained away when we explained to him about why we were here, that we had the Eye in tow, etc. He motioned for us to follow him to the edge of the Cliffs.
As we walked, he gave us an update on Mag Mell and explained his duty is to guard the entrance; he was duty bound by a holy Geas to do so.

Derek explained that to reach Mag Mell, we had only to think of it and then step off the cliff; that simple, really.

"Right. Off I go then." said Gunnar, who was hefting the Eye of Balor, and jumped right off the cliff without another word.

Derek was dumbfounded and taken aback...

"...is he crazy?! He must be out of his head!", Derek managed at last.

"We know." I said, with a shrug. "Damned Ostmen, what are you going to do?"

Well, Eye never heard such a thing!

Nate texted Gunnar along with a iPhone photo of the cloudy remains of what used to be Caleb. Gunnar came riding back over the hills and pulled the bike to a stop near us.

After a short discussion, we pulled up the echo-location equipment and managed to find the cover to the tomb of the Eye and unearth it and set it aside. Without further ado, Gunnar, who had the key (Luc's ring) with him, jumped down into the darkness. I remembered he has this weird ability to see through darkness, fog, and other things that might obscure normal vision. I heard Gunnar grunt a bit when he hit the bottom.
Must've hurt.

After a few minutes, I heard Gunnar's voice...."Uh, Brendan...I need your help to read this shit"

"Be right down.", I said, activating my flying ability once more and gliding down the shaft, police flashlight in hand.

The writing around the chamber was not only in Old Irish, it was in Ogham script, same as the writing on Caleb's sword. I read carefully and translated as I went. Very cryptic, apocalyptic-type warning, but this was definitely the right place.

The Eye was rather plain and seemingly of concrete, or rather, not unlike the way the skin of a Fomorian might look. It was clear where the iris was, presumably the focusing point of its destructive power. It seemed not to be active.

Gunnar hefted the key in front of the Eye and said "and we'll make sure this (key) stays away from that thing..."

...and in so doing, we both heard a rumble turn into a high pitched whine and detected a faint glow that hadn't been in the chamber before that briefly overpowered my flashlight's output before settling back into near darkness.

Luck of the Irish. Happened right in front of me. Feck all...
Dad's gonna be pissed.

Caleb goes Down

I guess I remembered my basic field concealment lessons from my time in the Irish Ranger Wing and my UN deployments in Africa and Asia. All of us, even Jack, managed to conceal ourselves adequately to set up a decent ambush on our Fomorian foe.

We unleashed a volley of .223 calibre hell that mainly annoyed Caleb and caused him to jump off his motorbike and assume a fighting stance.

Jack took this as an invitation and performed an impressive flying leap, driving his knees down hard on Caleb's thick skull, followed by his fists. That dealt some real damage and Caleb bit some dirt after that. Caleb bull-rushed Jack, grabbing his head and using it like a bowling ball. The rest of us charged in at that point.
I hurled Gae Bolga straight and true, but it merely glanced off the Fomorian and clattered uselessly on the dry bed of the loch.

I cursed then took a flying leap but interrupted my arc and activated my flying ability...my tatoo glowed a soft blue underneath my clothes and I hung there in midair, took a bead on Caleb, and let loose with another volley of fully automatic rifle fire, again to no effect.

Camila took aim and let loose with her Barrett sniper rifle, but Caleb shrugged off even that .50 calibre round. Jack continued to trade blows with Caleb, and Gunnar jumped into the act, clenching Caleb and holding him so Jack could get in more effective blows with his fists. Nate jumped in and grabbed Caleb as well.
Gunnar had had to let go of his axe to get his arms round Caleb, so Laurel rushed up, grabbed the axe and swung it at Caleb, but the blade glanced off his rock-like Fomorian skin. I advanced closer and emptied the magazine on the M-4 carbine, again to no effect. I threw down the carbine and pulled up my pistol-grip shotgun on its sling, racked the slide and fired pointblank. Again the feckin' Fomorian gobshite shrugged off a blast from a 12 gauge buck-shot round like it was a mosquito bite...

Hell with it; I jumped in and put a police hold on Caleb myself. We may not be able to deal much damage but we can hold him down and keep him from acting, too. Gunnar managed to rifle through Caleb's pockets, found the key and a leatherbound journal and then jumped away, grabbed Caleb's motorcycle, gunned the engine, and headed for the horizon. Nate also had a stroke of luck and managed to not only shoot Caleb's obsidian Katana out of his hands but grab it himself. Try as he might, Caleb could not get it back from Nate, who taunted him in a very deadly game of "keep away". He cursed the worst curses I've ever heard in either Gaelic or English and will not be repeating here. Fully spent, Laurel was able to lock eyes with Caleb and transfix him with her Serpent's gaze.

"Your turn, Brendan. Payback time." said Laurel with a wicked grin.

I grabbed Gae Bolga from the dusty bed of the Loch and rammed it into Caleb's chest. I could feel the spear unleash its many spines inside Caleb's torso. Still fixed in Laurel's gaze, utterly unable to oppose me, I ripped Gae Bolga out of Caleb, along with several internal organs. Caleb's eyes went glassy and he toppled over and Nate swung down with the Katana and lopped his head off, while Jack stomped Caleb's torso, breaking back ribs and making a fine mess.

We were enveloped in a cloud of poisonous gas as Caleb's body half disintegrated, half exploded...it's the Fomorian way of death and not unexpected...

We debated whether or not to remove the Eye from its resting place, but it was clear from all the equipment lying around that this Irish scientific team was well on their way to finding it themselves if we didn't, and that just wouldn't do.