Page 43 of Evil Eyed
I nodded, gnawing my lip. “They fell like they were just toys, but the small stone was still standing in the center. Then it was gold, shining like Ivarr. That’s all I remember. Was I not supposed to fix the stone?”
“Most of our knowledge of Cromm Crúaich was lost long ago,” Warwick said. “The only tale I know is fragmented at best, but he was supposedly brought to Éire by the Fomorians.”
“Balor’s a Fomorian, right?”
Warwick nodded. “There is little that Evil Eye fears but I would hazard a guess that he knows all too well the power of Crouching Darkness. He was the head of the gods, lost long ago on the seas of time, yet his power still lingers.”
“The only tale I’ve heard is Tigernmas,” Doran said. “Keane, do you know it?”
“When Tigernmas was king, a Fomorian ship arrived,” Keane replied in a soft, sing-song voice. “They demanded a share of Éire’s wealth, but when Tigernmas refused to pay tribute, they sent dark druids ashore carrying an idol of Cromm Crúaich. Some say there were twelve bronze idols of other gods as well, which is why Cromm was known as the head of the gods. To appease them, Tigernmas built a temple. When the people refused to bow before the foreign gods, the priests demanded the sacrifice of every firstborn child, or the crops would fail and the animals would wither. Some say the skulls of the sacrifices were dashed against the idol on Samhain to appease the god for the rest of the year.”
My stomach heaved and I swallowed hard, remembering the dark stain I’d seen.
“Furious and afraid, the people fought back, some flinging themselves against the idols and rocks, trying to break their power. Three fourths of all the men of Éire died that night, including Tigernmas.”
“Holy fuck,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“The Fomorians left but they didn’t take their dark god with them. He continued to be revered—and feared—for centuries, until he was supposedly driven out by St. Patrick. He destroyed Cromm’s idol and the other twelve stones sank into the earth.”
Aidan snorted. “Of fucking course. Let me guess—they built a church there too to sanctify the demons.”
Keane chuckled. “Supposedly, though mysterious dark figures are still seen on the hill, especially around Samhain.”
“And I put him back into place.” I curled against Doran, hugging myself, my teeth chattering again, though I wasn’t cold any longer. “Is there still a stone circle in Ireland for him?”
“I know of the plain where Magh Slécht supposedly was, but there be no stone circle in the mortal world,” Warwick replied. “A nearby village has a stone that the locals claim to be part of Cromm’s original statue, but it’s quite large and round, like a giant’s head.”
I shook my head. “The thing I saw was smaller and flat. I thought it was some kind of tombstone at first. It was heavy enough that I could barely lift it.”
Doran rested his chin on top of my head. “I know you’re afraid of what you saw, love, but you must remember thatyoupainted it. You saw something at the height of your magic before the changeling affected you. It was a message you left for yourself, not some trap you should fear.”
“But what does it all mean?” I winced at the hint of a wail in my voice. “I don’t understand what Cromm has to do with Evil Eye. Am I supposed to use that power somehow? But how can I if the twelve stones fell down? How do I help Vivi if the circle was destroyed? Boss Man said to come to Dún Bhalair, but I don’t know where that is or how to get there.”
Warwick snapped his fingers and a scroll appeared in his other hand. He spread it open on top of the island. Ivarr gave me a hand up and we all gathered around.
The scroll was an ancient-looking map of an island—Ireland, I assumed, though I sucked at geography.
“Today, it’s known as Tory Island.” Warwick pointed at a tiny dot off the north-western coast of Ireland. “Various groups fought over the island until Evil Eye rose in prominence and took control of it. Dún Bhalair means Balor’s Castle. There are jagged cliffs on three sides, making it nearly impenetrable. The jagged stones are still called Saighdiúirí Bhalair, or Balor’s Soldiers.”
“Is the island inhabited?” I asked.
“Aye, to my knowledge. Pirates used the island for centuries. Today, the island isn’t known as Dún Bhalair, so that’s not where he wants us to go.”
I pulled my phone out and Googled for pictures of the island. “He wants us to go to the Faerie equivalent.”
“Fuck that shit,” Aidan retorted. “He’s damned near invincible on the mortal plane. Even if we can get into his realm in Faerie—which there’s no guarantee even you or the leprechaun can pierce the veil to Dún Bhalair—there’s no hope that we can defeat him in his own place of power.”
“He’s right,” Warwick replied, shaking his head. “Think how hard it was for me to enter his warded place of power here. I fear even me gold oath wouldn’t be strong enough for me to come to your aid in Faerie.”
“I don’t have a choice.” I flipped through several pictures, getting a feel for what I needed to draw. “I’m going to get Vivi out, one way or the other.”
Aidan closed his fingers over mine and forced the phone down to the island, trapping my hand beneath his. “Listen to me.”
He didn’t yell. He didn’t curse. In fact, his voice was flat and devoid of emotion, making it all the more terrifying.
“If we go to Dún Bhalair, the best-case scenario is we all die in minutes of our arrival, including your friend. Worst case…” His jaws worked, his eyes flashing like slivers of glass. “We’re prevented from entering with you. We die on this side of the veil, knowing that you need our assistance. Feeling what you feel. Hearing you scream. Feeling your pain. What the changeling did to you is nothing compared to what Evil Eye can do. Not even Warwick will be able to help you.”
My vision swam with tears, my throat aching. “What choice do we have? Give me another option. A plan B, C, or D that we can try.”
