Day 1 of Midwinter, Midday

Heart-shaped Pool, Midlands

Annwn

When Fí opened the tent flap, we saw a scene of complete and utter chaos. Fire raged across the long green grasses. Bodies were strewn in various states of crushed or dismembered carnage.

“This is bad,” I heard Fí say as we stepped fully out of the tent. Enormous men and women in leather armor were throwing rocks and trampling the Ellyllon and changeling soldiers.

I turned to Morias in shock. “I thought you said we didn’t have to concern ourselves with giants!”

“Shut up, kid,” Fí said from in front of me. “Unless you’re TRYING to draw the wrong kind of attention?”

Morias gripped the back of my shirt as we moved away from the Heart-shaped Pool. He spoke softly, so that only I could hear him. “These aren’t giants.”

“They sure as hell look like giants,” I whispered back to him. I motioned to my left where an enormous woman was knocking over a small tree, which she then began using as a massive club.

Morias moved closer to me, so close in fact, that if I stopped or slowed down in any way he would have stepped on my heels. “Fomorians.” His tone worried me almost as much as the wanton death and destruction surrounding us.

My head snapped back around when Fí spoke. “There’s fire.” She sidestepped a small explosion. “That means HE is here.”

Across the battlefield, I could see Tadg’s men rushing to rally points, only to be overrun by the sheer size of the attacking brutes. The Ellyllon fairies fared only a little better. Though their speed was too much for any Fomorian, it still took two or three fairies to take down a single one of the huge warriors.

I found myself pondering the Ellyllon as we slunk along the edges of the battle. Were they a race or culture amongst fairy-kind, or was it a title of sorts? Perhaps both? I knew that Fíadan used Ellyllon as a surname. The nuances of this race I hadn’t known existed until a few hours before were lost on me. Then, I remembered surviving was probably more important than etymology at the moment.

I focused back in front of me, onto the figure of Fí, who was a twirling twister of sharp bits. She seemed to know exactly when to move and exactly when to stay. She attacked with no fear and no hesitation. Her blades cut through leather, metal, flesh, and bone.

From fingertips to elbows, she was a palette of brick red and deep crimson. The color splattered across her body, even in her hair and mouth. I was in shock. Never in my life had I seen so much violence and death, and in that moment, I froze, unable to keep going.

“What’s wrong?” Morias said as he bumped into my back. I looked down at my unmoving feet.

Morias seemed to realize what was happening. “I know what you must be feeling. But we must keep moving.”

I could feel a throbbing in my temples, and my face felt numb. “I think someone cast a spell on me or something,” I mumbled, slowly doubling over.

I felt a hand on my back. “Bren, you are having a panic attack. You need to breathe.”

“Yeah… I can’t seem to do that very well right now,” I gasped.

From in front of me, I heard a now-familiar scream, then the sound of a small body hitting the ground. I looked up to see Fí lying a short distance in front of me, unmoving. Looming over her was a Fomorian warrior brandishing a bone club. On the ground nearby were two dead Fomorians riddled with gashes that had to be from Swish and Stick. It appeared that while Fí fought off two of the warriors, she had failed to strike down the last of the trio.

The surviving Fomorian didn’t wait for Fí to stir. He raised his makeshift club. I felt the world. My feet seemed to come alive, and I found myself sprinting away from Morias, toward the body of Fí.

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I had no plan, mind you, but on a Mario Kart replay, I like to think I would have looked seriously badass. On the inside, however, I was thinking, “What the hell are you doing?”, or “You have no weapon, and he is WAY bigger than you.“ Or even the ever impressive, “Ew, he looks really sweaty.”

As I neared her, I saw that Fí had dropped her blades. I could see Swish not far from her right leg. I judged the distance, realizing there was no time for me to pick it up. There was only one thing to do, so without slowing, I lowered my shoulder and ran into the brute of a man as hard as I could.

When I hit, I felt a sharp snap in my right shoulder and saw honest-to-goodness stars. It sounded as though I had knocked the wind out of the Fomorian, but when I couldn’t take in air, I realized, nope, it was me that had been knocked silly. I found myself thudding down in the grass, next to Fí’s body.

The Fomorian stood over us, chuckling to himself. “You are puny, like the fairy.”

“I know,” was all I could think to say, and it came out as a wheeze. I writhed on the ground trying to regain my breath. Unbelievably, I felt the sensation of cold slippery metal brush the fingertips of my left hand. “But at least I don’t have a sword in my chest.” I grabbed the handle of Swish and dove forward.

The Fomorian parried without visible effort, but somehow I managed to hang on to the sword. It was light, and the vibration of the parried strike vanished before it reached my hands. It was an incredible lack of sensation for having no discernible handle or grip. The white metal was painted red, but underneath the blood, I saw the white metal was tinged with blue light.

The Fomorian delivered a blow of his own, but I managed to bring the blade up just in time to protect myself. The head of the warrior’s club went tumbling off into the trees. Fí’s sword had cut it neatly in two. The warrior looked at the remainder of his club and tossed it aside, then charged me. I tried to ready myself and pointed the sword up at him as we collided. I think he hit me in the face with his fist because I suddenly couldn’t see out of my left eye.

We hit the ground in a heap as I saw a brilliant blue glow through my right eye. It reminded me of the stars I had seen the first time I collided with the Fomorian, but this time the blue color dissipated more quickly.

I just lay there. I hurt all over. Gradually, I realized that I wasn’t being strangled or beaten to death by the smelly man lying next to me, so that seemed like a good sign. I felt hands on me, and realized Morias was helping me sit up. He said something to me, but I couldn’t hear what it was.

I saw Fí stagger to her feet. She stumbled to the prone body of the warrior next to me. She gave me a perplexed look before pulling Swish out of the Fomorian’s body. There was a massive hole in his chest where I guessed the sword had penetrated. Had I done that? Had I… killed a man? A sword couldn’t make a hole that wide, could it?

Fíadan stared at me a long moment. She wasn’t trying to talk to me, but the look on her face made me think that I had done something wrong or perhaps had something in my teeth. She just stared, with a confused look on her face. It reminded me of how she looked at me after the Cailleach Bhéara fight.

We made our way to the edge of the camp, as the fighting continued closer to the Pool. Morias helped me onto the back of a horse, telling me to hold tightly with my legs and support my right arm with my left. It felt strange and every step of the mount made my shoulder throb. Morias rode behind me on another horse, and Fí flew ahead, guiding us away from the fighting.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder and could see the soldiers still battling the remaining Fomorians. It looked as though Tadg’s men would prevail in the end. But at what cost, I wondered? Then I saw him. Tadg walked alone, holding a long weapon that looked to be on a pole of sorts.

Without delay and without lifting my arm, I opened my right hand. I focused on the missing half of the Stone of Destiny, and tried to remember what it felt when the Stone had returned to me earlier. There was a tug on the inside of my chest, and I felt myself tugging back. I saw the Stone escape from under Tadg’s armor.

He didn’t appear to notice it slipping free. But surely he would have felt that pull, as I did? Then I saw what was holding his attention. He was approaching a huge Fomorian, larger than the others on the battlefield. The warrior was shirtless, save for a bulky necklace made of small bones. He had what looked to be tribal tattoos on various parts of his muscular body. On his head… did he have horns, or was that a helm? It was impossible to tell from a distance.

“Balor,” Morias said from behind me. “Son of King Neit, and Brother to Prince Elatha. Keeper of the Evil Eyes.”

I had no idea what any of that meant, but for the moment I didn’t recall the Stone, but kept it floating next to Tadg. I watched as the two men attacked each other, and I saw the red eyes of the Fomorian begin to glow.

I recalled what Fí had said the moment upon exiting the tent. She had said, “There is fire… that means HE is here.” Instantly, I understood what those red eyes did. Without hesitating, I brought the Stone up in front of Tadg and expanded it into a barrier, just as a torrent of flame shot from Balor’s eyes. Tadg took shelter behind the protection of the stone.

He looked across the battlefield in our direction, and for a split second, we locked eyes. I couldn’t say what I saw in his gaze. Was it betrayal for leaving the camp and taking back the Stone? Was it gratitude for protecting him from the flames? Something told me that one day I would get a chance to ask him.

When the flames were gone, I recalled the stone. It landed in my open palm and vibrated ever so slightly. Tadg and Balor continued their melee, as reinforcements for both sides began to arrive. Suddenly spent, I turned back to face the front of my mount and the fairy leading us to safety. Exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I felt myself slip into darkness.