Midir’s trek through his younger brother’s home at Bru Na Boinne rekindled dormant hopes he should have abandoned long ago. After he won Etain’s hand, he and his new wife had stayed their first year of marriage among Bru Na Boinne’s halls. In the guest wing, he stopped at a familiar door with two interlocked swans carved upon it: their former bedchamber. He traced his fingers over their graceful necks, entwined as him and Etain had once been after he earned her affections. That year planted a still present wish that he could build a family with the only woman he had ever loved.
He came upon one of Etain’s early tapestries. It depicted a butterfly trapped under a glass globe; his beloved often envisioned herself still imprisoned like that. She saw death’s abyss as her only means of freedom from her confining husband. Freedom from his home, his protection, his love. Etain had loved him back once, before her mind splintered, and he had to keep her safe from herself. But how could he fault her? He’d condemned their only child to the same grim fate she desired, not that she would ever know.
The proof of that secret crime against his son pulsed under his arm, a book allegedly chronicling everything that could be known about the Key—the power that served as his world’s only access to the perilous mortal realm. The pages would tell how he had helped his brothers save their ancient race by trapping the Key inside his then newborn child, Daire. Worst of all, the tome would reveal how he had agreed to let his kin put a curse on the Key that would destroy it, and slay his boy in the process, when the right time came. That decision had banished any shred of the shining life he’d once imagined out of his reach forever. No matter what fantastic magic he wielded, Midir could not take back all he had lost. And attempting to salvage what little he had left only brought about more mourning.
Aengus’ study came into view. The smell of parchment and wood shavings filled the air as Midir drew near.
Solemn faced, and with a sour gurgle in his belly, he rapped his knuckles against the door. Aengus had mentioned that the gold-embossed book Midir now carried held the secret to Daire’s salvation as well. Had he given his son enough time to discover it? The soft boy squandered many of the privileges his protected status afforded him. If he could only take advantage of them, he might live past Samhain to inherit Midir’s territory.
Aengus opened the door with his yellow curls running wild, his flamboyant tunic rumpled, sure signs he’d just practiced combat maneuvers. Midir’s eccentric younger brother had been a joy to parent with his scholarly wit and dauntless heart. So much less delicate than Daire with his fastidious creativity and fragile sensibilities.
“You’re more prompt than I thought you’d be,” Aengus greeted, offering Midir a sad smile.
“Bodb won’t let this matter wait.” Midir brushed stray ringlets out of Aengus’ eyes as he set the book into his brother’s waiting hand. “To put off returning it would be fruitless.”
“It’s better this way. I’d hate to chase you down to fulfill an oath.” Aengus turned, waving Midir into the small library. “The way you snuck through my wards was impressive. I actually put work into those.”
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“Experience can still win against a prodigy’s talents, little brother.” Midir didn’t enter, but lingered in the hallway instead. “What does Bodb intend for the tome?”
“Destruction, I’m afraid.” Aengus sighed as he turned the volume over. The cover that faced Midir had his sigil, a ram, standing under Etain’s symbol, a butterfly. “A pity he still doesn’t see the value in preserving these bits of knowledge. He should know better.”
“Why?” Midir’s dread lanced into his bowels. No matter how he tried to dismiss Daire over the years, he couldn’t bear the imminent reality of his only boy laying lifeless in his arms. “Does he know anything of the cure?”
“No. He doesn’t suspect my treasonous alteration.” Aengus flipped through the blank pages one by one as if they had writing. “That ritual was some of my better work—”
“Don’t tell me.” Midir slashed his hand through the air. Aengus went silent. “The more I know, the more my loyalty oaths will compel me to confess. I’m surprised you managed to find a way around yours.”
“I owe you too much not to, especially with you begging over the lad like you did.” Aengus frowned as he paused at the mid point in the book. “Still, I wouldn’t hold out much hope for Daire’s survival. You should try to spend some quality time with him. Enjoy his final moments while they last.”
“He wouldn’t have me,” Midir scoffed. “I tried to connect with him. Lessons in basic swordplay, archery, even riding. Every time he whined to Etain, and she scolded me for ‘pushing him too hard.’”
“Both your styles of magic are attuned to the ground. Why not help him take care of the gardens?”
“You doubt Daire’s ability to save himself?”
“He’s more capable than he seems. But the command to end the Key draws on very complex and powerful magic.” Aengus shut the book with a final, hollow thump. “The cure had to be equally challenging to maintain balance.”
“Then attempting to renew a relationship with him will only skew his attention.” Midir wore at the pommel of his sword with his thumb. His eye twitched and blurred the world around him.
“Your nerves are showing.” Aengus tapped under his right eye. Of all Midir’s family, Aengus never missed that old injury making itself known.
Midir rubbed his eyelid, and the right side of the world ceased spasming. “If I start treating him as if I will lose him, then what good was it stealing the book, leaving it for him to find and decipher?”
“You gave him his best chance.” Aengus clapped his brother’s shoulder. “Now leave the rest to him.”
Midir’s stomach sank at the realization. It was like the walls of his race’s realm were closing all over again. He’d felt each of his other children living in the mortal world die one by one before his tenuous connection to them cut off. He’d stared at the only son he had left, swaddled in his arms and wailing with bits of blood still clinging to his chubby folds. He should have felt joy at holding the infant, not bone-deep despair from knowing that he would lose that precious babe as well.
“I can’t invest in him, now,” Midir said as a knot thickened his throat. “Not while knowing what’s to come.”
“At least consider it.” Aengus drew Midir into a hug, his expression far off before Midir lost sight of it. “Either way, he’ll need you when the end comes.”
Midir held his youngest sibling in a tight embrace. Aengus had always made up for his failings as a father. When Daire grew to be a boy of dreams rather than action, Aengus stepped in to teach him where Midir couldn’t. As Etain’s wits deteriorated and her hatred of her husband grew, Aengus had provided Daire companionship in Midir’s stead. Perhaps it was time to stop letting someone else take care of his family. But could he endure it if his work to restore those relationships became all for naught?
The brothers separated. Aengus conjured an arcane flame in one palm and held the Key’s tome over it. The thin vellum pages crackled first, resembling burning flesh. The wood panels holding them together followed soon after like they were fuel for a funeral pyre.