“Then release her,” I said. “Faelan wants me. Here I am.”
“Let her go,” Kellen growled, a few steps behind me. My sons had turned back into wolves, and they both growled and howled as they approached—though there was something different about their howls, something plaintive and worrisome. I couldn’t take my gaze off Greagoir, but I sensed movement as if an army was slowly, stealthily creeping toward us. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I braced myself to fight whatever might be heading our way.
Friend or foe, I didn’t know and I didn’t care.
Only one enemy mattered.
The fiend right before me.
“Let her go or I’ll make sure Faelan knows about your great failure,” I said, inching closer to him.
Greagoir flinched, just a bit, and his head lifted away from Isleen so he could speak.
“What failure?” he asked.
“This one.”
Before those words even left my mouth, I kicked Isleen out of his grasp. His thick claws left long deep scratches on her throat and her blood began to pour out onto the snow. It was a risk I had to take and I hoped that Kellen would be able to pull her to safety and stop her bleeding, because I had other things to do.
I swung my blade, the sword that had belonged to my enemy but now listened only to me. My song rang out as my blade whistled through the air in a bright silver arc. Snow and ice and frost grew around Greagoir until he was encased in a hard, icy shell.
He screamed and fought the ice, but my song kept it in place.
My blade continued to swing, a song of death that came to a crescendo when it sliced through his neck. His expression froze, wide-eyed, mouth open in a scream that would never end, and his head stayed where it was for one impossible moment. Then it flew off his body and through the night air.
At that same moment, an army of wolves howled around us, their unearthly cries piercing my soul. The wild dogs raced out of the trees, first fighting over Greagoir’s head until it was completely devoured, then they ripped Kellen’s cloak to shreds and ate Greagoir’s heart.
Finally, they charged, all at once, leaping at his frozen body until the ice casing shattered. They snarled and growled, taking large bites, chewing and fretting and swallowing. Bones cracked, leathery flesh shredded, muscles tore and snapped. It all happened within a matter of moments. Before any of us could step out of the way, Greagoir vanished, bit by gruesome bit, until finally, the army of wolves loped off into the shadowed woods, their bellies full.
The leader paused and looked back at my sons.
He howled, long and soulful, and my boys returned the cry. But thankfully they stayed with me.
When all the wild wolves had fled, there was nothing left of Greagoir. Nothing but the arrows that Kellen had shot at him.
The wolves had denied their natural instinct to attack the wounded Isleen, whose blood now stained the snow. I said a long, heartfelt blessing upon the pack and its leader.
Then I turned toward the child.
She wasn’t moving.
Sixteen
Tears ran down Kellen’s face as he tried to stop Isleen’s bleeding. He’d ripped the hem off her dress and fashioned a makeshift bandage from it, but already the fabric was soaked through and dark red.
“I can’t—it’s not working—” Kellen said.
“Here,” I said. I put my hand on Isleen’s throat and I conjured all of my magic, singing and casting a spell at the same time. “Help me, lads,” I told my children. “Say a spell and a prayer for her, quickly.” Then I commanded Isleen. “Look at me, child, and listen, this song is for you—”
My song rose and fell, it wound around us and it rang from the top of the mountain to the deepest valley, it made all the rivers shiver and all the rocks tremble, it stopped every hunter in his tracks, it woke every sleeper in her bed, it made all the woodland creatures stop and listen. No sound was uttered anywhere on this mountain, save my song and the song of my children, our voices blending perfectly, the harmony sounding like a choir of angels.
Isleen looked at me, her eyes dark and heavy with pain. She blinked. She almost fell into the long sleep of death, but I pulled her back. It was as if one of my hands reached into the abyss and refused to release her.
She might pull me with her, but I would not let go.
I sang until my entire body ached, until the stars in heaven shimmered in time to my song, until a whirlwind of ice and snow and frost swirled around us— Come back to us, child, come back now—
She blinked again, long and slow, her mouth opened.
You will live, Isleen, a long and prosperous life—
Her bandage came undone and slipped to the snow.
This is your world, come back, stay with us—
The long claw marks on her throat began to fade away.
Countless blessings await you and your children and your children’s children. Come back—
She glanced up at her father and gave him a small smile. One of her hands reached out to him and he gingerly took her in his arms. Her other hand reached out and took mine. I held it fast as I continued to sing, noting the color returning to her cheeks, the warmth of her touch, the shine in her eyes.
Kellen lifted his gaze to look at me, his eyes wet with tears. When he spoke, it was the first sound I allowed anyone or anything to speak throughout my song.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I nodded.
But I heard something else in his words. Something silent, something I think may have been growing between us since I first heard his voice, back in the cave.
I don’t know how or when it began, I only know that I felt it too.
It was as if there was an unspoken vow between us.
Something beautiful had been born on this most horrible night, when evil tried to reign and rule and destroy.
On this night, love conquered all and it drove the darkness away.
Seventeen
The next few weeks passed swiftly as Kellen and I took turns tending to Isleen. I wasn’t completely certain she would recover. When she began to push us away and walk about the cottage on her own—that was when I knew she would be well soon. Her voice remained a whisper for a very long time and, later, when she became a woman it had a low dusky quality to it that would cause many a man to stop and listen, spellbound.
‘Tis often the side-effect of magic.
My sons had it too, though in a different way. They never lost their love for their wolf fur. It got to the point that I often had to remind them to dress in Tuatha de Danann skin when they were inside the house.