Caleb McCallister and the Sword of Light

Chapter 3

"You're going to find out soon enough."

I tried to read her face. "Are you serious? Or just trying to make me feel better?"

"We think you're old enough to understand things we couldn't tell you about when you were younger. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but your dad is planning a family trip to celebrate your birthday. When you turn fifteen, you'll know more about Dad's job than you ever wanted to know."

"It's taken long enough. Why not just tell me now?"

"Not until your birthday. Now let's put on a smile, go have some tea, and hear all about Gorias. Shall we?"

I was unconvinced. My dad had missed so many birthdays I didn't think he even knew when it was. November first wasn't just the day after Halloween. It was a major event in ancient Ireland. It marked the end of the summer harvest and the start of the Celtic new year. Given his passion for the legends he ought to be able to remember that I was born on Samhain for crying out loud.

I gritted my teeth and carried the tea tray to the living room. Dad already had his nose back in his journals. He'd already forgotten me, and I seriously doubted the so-called surprise was his idea. If anything, my mom was making the arrangements or, at the very least, had somehow planted the idea in his head. But I could play along, if only for my mom's sake.

"So, Dad?" I said, tearing him away from his work. "You were about to tell us about Gorias. Isn't that the city where Esras created The Slaughterer?" I said it just the way Scott had at the fort. "The spear that never missed and always returned to its owner."

I held back a grin when my dad sat up in surprise. "Yes, Caleb. 'In Gorias, to the south, the city of fire. Where tales of magic are told and sung by a choir. In Gorias was crafted a magical spear. Lugh's Spear of Fire ignites Fomorian fear.'"

"That's lovely," my mom said. Then she grimaced. "And frightening. Where is it from?"

"It's a Celtic poem that wasn't written down until the ninth century, but I believe it's much, much older. It's been on my mind lately."

My clothes had dried long ago, but the chill was still with me. I took a long sip of my hot tea and savored its citrus aroma. "Esras was like a poet or teacher or something. Right?"

"He was. But he was so well respected that the people made him king. He ruled Gorias for many years." Then Dad told us the story of how Esras had created the spear. It was fashioned from an Irish yew tree which was as poisonous as it was magical. The weapon eventually ended up with Lugh—and that, my friends, was how Balor, the Evil Eye, was defeated.

Once my father started, he could go on forever—even if he couldn't bring the stories to life the way my grandfather had. He told us more about the ancient poem that had grabbed his attention. "The origin of each of the Four Treasures is described in detail," he explained.

"The Four Treasures and the four mystical cities are mentioned in a bunch of the stories," I said. "What's so special about this one?"

"Ahh! This particular source goes on to credit the Four Treasures with the rise of the Tuatha Dé Danann. But more importantly it warns that the forces of darkness might someday use the same artifacts to come to power."

A shiver went through me as if a Fomorian army was gathering outside our door—just waiting to take over the world. Listening to him brought me back to when I was little. When the stories felt real. Without saying why I wanted to know, I asked, "Wasn't there a legend about mermaids?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You mean the merrow? A merrow is sort of like a mermaid but not nearly as nice."

"Yeah. That's what I meant."