"What do you see?" I asked. I had kept the [Diadem of Focus] equipped so what I was seeing and what Caraid was seeing were distinctly different things. I could feel the difference in the prevailing magic, but I couldn't see what was going on without removing the Diadem, and I wasn't willing to risk that yet.

I could also hear music that seemed to interweave with illusion and glamour, the sound of magic and music blending in concert to try to enthrall the listener. Additionally, I could see rivers of magic streaming in eddies, currents forming to give substance that held a glamour anchored to this place.

But for all the wonder of this kaleidoscope of sight, sound, and music, I was immune. What I saw was a city in disrepair, neglected and abandoned. A ghost town that was swathed in the magic of illusion that the Diadem was keeping me from experiencing. What I could smell and taste carried the distinct odor of carrion.

"Do you remember the summer when Ryu turned five?" Caraid asked, beginning to paint a mental image. "That moment of timeless satisfaction, that instance of halcyon perfection that you spent with him, ignoring kingdom, court, and duty simply because he was a small boy recently discovered and acknowledge as your grandson and heir?

"The days of idyll and leisure, you and he shared. The months spent idly, indulging a young boy and showing him that for all the changes that he had experienced. For all the fierce and fearsome responsibilities, he would have to shoulder as your heir. There was one person that would stand with him, support him, protect him, and believe in him.

"This city is a reflection of that time. A glamour that evokes those days and recreates bits and pieces of that summer spent in peace. The illusion beckons, it calls to you, and it uses the very memories of that perfect summer to entrap and enthrall.

"What I see is a deadly trap. A trap woven from memories of contentment," Caraid explained, his eyes slightly unfocused as our shared memory were gathered and extracted by the spell to give weight and substance to the glamour that was Limerick.

"What I see is bittersweet. A time that can never be regained. Memories laced with melancholy because we can never go back," Caraid continued. "I see that moment of time when your heart was overflowing with joy. Filled and satisfied in the simple pleasures of childhood delight."

A trap that used our own memories against us?

It made a certain sense, the Leanan Sidhe were the precursors for the Siren's that tempted sailors to their death. Olympus had stolen the idea and the curse from the Tuatha de Danann. The Goddess Demetre created her curse on a group of women for failing to keep the Goddess Persephone safe. That Hades abducted and spirited her away was punished by a curse modeled on the one that Branwen had crafted.

The difference between a Siren and a Leanan was that Siren's used the magic of their voice to seek out and lure people to their death, the Leanan Sidhe used their talents for illusion and glamour to entice individuals into forming soul bonds. Bonds that would still lead to death, but slowly. Their life energy, their vitality, and emotion drained from them over time.

Both killed their victims. The Leanan just took longer to accomplish it, almost aging their victims like fine wines in order to prolong the connection and extract every emotion. The Leanan were only really alive after they had claimed a person as soulbond. A fake pseudo-life, built on the feelings and experiences of the person they had entrapped. Without that connection, they existed in a two-dimensional world of gray. Emotionless, they watched as life passed them by.

"Do you think she is working alone, or have the Unseelie involved themselves in this, teaching the Leanan Sidhe how to siphon the nexus?" I asked.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Just one person. Perhaps she got the idea from the Unseelie, but I doubt she is being controlled," Caraid answered. "The Leanan Sidhe do not share. Unlike the rest of Sidhe, who consider sexuality fluid and the enjoyment of diverse partners an expression of freedom, a reflection of our nature and fertility aligned proclivities, the Leanan are serial monogamists.

"However she is doing this, the Nexus has replaced the need for a bonded companion, and until she has drained the pooling magic completely of all vitality and magic, she will remain fiercely territorial, protecting, in this case, the Nexus she has bonded with. She will attack without cause or warning if she believes someone is encroaching on that which she has claimed.

"If a Leanan Sidhe has managed to form a bastardized version of that connection with the Nexus, and is stealing the magic, you can expect immersive illusions that try to trap you. Glamours moored by reality"

"Is the glamour affecting you at all?" I wondered.

"Not really," he assured me. "I can see it. I can feel the pull. But even in this body, I am still a member of the Hunt. My ties to Gwyn ap Nudd and my responsibilities as a member of the Hunt protect me from this type of mental attack."

We seldom spoke of the time he spent riding as a member of the Hunt. Over the past few decades, he had only been called to serve twice, but each time had left a hole in my psyche. It was as if a part of me had been amputated or something had lobotomized my brain. I could function, but it was painful and lonely. I spent as much time poking at that missing part of me when he was gone, flexing my mental and magical muscles as I searched for what was missing as I did anything else.

My discomfort and distraction were remarked upon each time. And there was nothing I could do to soften the schism that occurred when our souls became disjointed. Maybe if Caraid was called to serve more frequently I could develop a resistance, but he wasn't, and I would rather deal with the occasional feeling of discomfort and distraction than to have him answering the call of justice more often.

Caraid was proscribed from speaking to me about much of what he did, especially those times he went missing. He barely spoke of his responsibilities and his sacrifice, or what awaited him if I ever died. And I allowed the issue to rest, refusing to discuss my feelings of guilt about him or his situation, or how deeply honored I felt that he would sacrifice his existence, his chance of reincarnation, or his seat in the Summerlands for me.

He was a member of the Hunt now. That was unchangeable, his connection to Gwyn ap Nudd unassailable. The only mitigating recompense from his sacrifice was that even if I were to die, he would continue as a member of the Hunt.

That might have been of more solace if I hadn't known that the Huntsmen lived in limbo when not responding to the call for justice. They were not allowed to dream as they waited for Gwyn ap Nudd's horn to sound and for them to be called to ride. They simply existed as part of the gestalt that made up the Over-mind of the Hunt.

Those brief moments of life, when he was separated from me, were filled with death, war, and bloodshed. They called the Hunt to demand justice. They existed to offer vengeance. They acted as instruments of blood and death, and as a member of the Hunt, Caraid would never know love, joy, peace, or hope.

He had sacrificed himself. Joined the Hunt in my place. And there was nothing I could do, nothing I could say, that would repay the sacrifice he made for me. That sacrifice was why I was so determined to restore the Sidhe, to wake the Tuatha de Danann, to leave a world better than I found it.

I wanted his sacrifice to have meaning. For my life to have enough importance to serve as proof that the gift he gave me by accepting Gwyn ap Nudd's deal was worth it. That I would serve as the bridge that sent shock waves throughout the universe.

That was why I had accepted the quest to travel to this world. I would change the course of history for our people and our Gods. The Sleepers would awake.

"Do you notice the taint of the undead?" Caraid asked me.

I extended my senses as far as I could, ignoring the scent and taste of carrion to see if I could detect any touch of death or demon magic. I couldn't. As far as I could tell, the city before me was empty.

"How would undead be roaming around a Sidhe city?" I asked. "Even one abandoned like this one shouldn't have been infested with that type of death energy."

"I'm not sure, but the undead are here," Caraid replied.

"Do you think the Leanan opened a portal to an under-realm when she bonded with the nexus?" I wondered.

"No," Caraid decided after a few moments of reflection. "There is something of a Divine influence intermingled with the death magic I am detecting. I can't be certain, but I believe that influence is linked to Hades or Hel."