Tír na nÓg Trilogy, Book III: Tír na nÓg

City from the Other World

They rested on the moss and soft pebbled sand along the shore of the causeway early, early in the morning, after they'd granted one another's wishes and slept for a short while. Lying wrapped in Cullen's cloak, her head on his chest, Emery gazed up into the pastel-colored star-fading sky, the mists having drifted off to other shores to confuse other passersby. Cullen had one arm around her, the other beneath his neck. At peace with one another, they spoke of Mug Ruith.

"When we reached Tara, he was already there, the ancient druid," Cullen spoke quietly into the cool air. "It was as if he'd been waiting for us, and we took advantage of his presence. But what he said has since disturbed me, though I could make no sense of it until now."

Emery listened, somewhat distracted. She was still confused about the memory she'd had after she'd fallen asleep in Cullen's arms. She understood the memory itself--Setanta killing Forgall and the two of them fleeing--but why she'd had it, she couldn't understand. As far as she knew, only Charlie had been able to give her memories; had he somehow done it from his imprisonment? And if so, why would he have done it? She'd not made any sort of deal with him, so she didn't feel the need to tell Cullen about it. She'd figure it out on her own, when she had a chance to speak with Charlie.

But her husband was speaking to her, now. Lifting a little, turning toward him, she couldn't help but stare at his bare shoulders and arms, admire the strength of them. "When did you do that?" she asked, indicating his tattoos.

"These markings? It's been so long, I couldn't say."

"I like them."

Cullen smiled yet at the same time lowered his brow, as if somewhat bemused.

Emery again marveled at the fact that he was hers. This man was beautiful and powerful--why did he care about her? But it'd been Emer, hadn't it, that he'd cared about? And yet, he seemed to believe they were alike, if not the same. "So Mug Ruith, what exactly did he tell you?"

"I cannot remember word for word, but he said that a time would come when a poison made war between us. Our one hope, he said, was in--it was a word that is foreign to me. York, if I can recall it. A new York. Surely it is a word of some enchantment. The God or the druid may know of it. We--"

Emery bolted upright, her tunic flowing loosely around her. "What did you say? New York?"

"Yes," Cullen confirmed as he sat up, amazed at her enthusiasm.

"I knew it! I knew that's where Charlie took me, where those monsters were! It--it's a city where I'm--where I was from, when I was cursed. It's in the otherworld. Maybe--" She paused, suddenly remembering the talisman she wore. Removing the necklace, Emery buried it under a corner of the cloak before continuing in a hush, "Maybe we're meant to go there. Charlie was supposed to take me back to them when I was ready. But what if we go to them first, before they even suspect us? What if we're meant to find them? Can we do that? Can we kill Fomorians?"

Cullen thought over her words, never rash to respond. "If that is what is needed, it will be done."

Emery thought of the memory she'd had just a short while ago--it seemed she had a habit of asking this man to do drastic things, and he seemed to have a habit of obliging her. She sensed an uncomfortable glee in that, a pride of sorts, and the feeling upset her . . . hurt them all . . .

Quickly taking hold of one of Cullen's hands, Emery rose to her knees, looked at him in desperation. Her thoughts were tangled, but she must speak them. "Cullen, whatever this is inside of me, I'm afraid of it. It makes me feel things I'm ashamed of. And I just want you to know that if I--if I start to hurt you, I don't mean to. I promise. I'm just--I'm losing some control, and I'm afraid it's going to get worse. Whatever happens, please don't leave me. I . . . I love you."