In the morning my parents were already gone. I went for a run and tried not to think about the way I'd been abandoned. It didn't work. My heartbeat was pounding before I reached the end of the block. I wasn't even sweating, but I was on fire. I was used to Dad taking off, but usually, he abandoned me and Mom. To have her go off with him was the worst kind of betrayal.
I'd only planned to go three miles but kept going until I was numb before heading back to the house. I went to the kitchen for water and found some cash and a note on the table. I could've guessed what it said even before I read it. There were leftovers in the fridge. Be sure to take the trash out. Fix the hole in the wall. The only piece of information conspicuously missing was when they would be back. My stomach did a flip at the thought my mom might be gone for weeks, like Dad often was.
Seamus was mucking about in the backyard. Glad for a distraction I chugged the rest of the water and went outside to see what he was up to. He came out of the shed carrying two shovels and a pickaxe. Sweet, we're going on a jailbreak.
He tossed the tools to the ground. "Help me dig a trench."
"When did you take up gardening?" Seamus ignored my question. Maybe his doctor told him he needed a hobby. I figured a little manual labor would be worth it if it got him out of the basement for a few hours. He told me where he to dig, and I set to work. It wasn't too bad because whatever we were planting only needed to be about six inches deep. And the trench went straight across the back of the house.
Seamus was taking this new hobby seriously. It was good to see him doing something other than hiding out in the basement. He probably couldn't hold down a job even if he wanted one and spent most of his time working out in our makeshift gym or practicing with his bow in the backyard. He was an expert marksman, but it still made my mom nervous. We'd work out together, he'd teach me archery, and sometimes he'd help me run hurling drills.
Hurling was an ancient Irish sport. It's a little like lacrosse but faster, more intense, and more violent. The idea was to get a ball called a sliotar into a goal for three points or over it for one point. But a hurling stick didn't have a net like a lacrosse stick. Hurlers ran down the pitch, bouncing and balancing the sliotar on the flat end of their hurley.
I watched Seamus as he tore into the ground. Mom always said he had the face of an angel, even with his scruffy beard. It was obvious he and my dad were brothers. The resemblance was unreal. The only difference was that Seamus looked about ten years older. Well, that, and Seamus was around a lot more than my dad.
When I got to the corner of the house, he told me to keep going around the side while he worked in the other direction. I found my groove and started moving faster. I was almost to the front corner when I heard the pickaxe smashing up some serious rock. Like the Union soldiers at Fort Warren, I went to investigate.
"Seamus! What are you doing?" I wasn't sure why I asked. It was obvious what he was doing. He was destroying the sidewalk that led to our front door.
"The trench has to go all the way 'round." He pointed at four shipping boxes sitting in the grass—as if that somehow explained everything.
"I don't think Dad's gonna be happy about this."
Seamus took another swing and looked up at me. "Ye da left me in charge. Not ye."
I snorted because he was right. Dad definitely said Seamus was in charge.
When we finished digging, a mini-moat ran all the way around our mini-castle. Seamus opened the boxes. They were full of iron shavings he'd bought online. Iron shavings. And not the stuff you buy at a hardware store, mind you, because iron was sometimes mixed with filler and other ores. No, sir—Seamus had to have pure iron. Why? For protection, he told me.
We planted the shavings, and then I had to fill the trench back in. After my six-mile run and Seamus's metal garden, I was exhausted. I went up to my room and collapsed onto my bed. Protection from what, I wondered. Grandpa once told me the dark creatures of the Realm didn't like iron. That's why people started putting horseshoes over their doors. Now it was just something you did for good luck—or a good laugh. I couldn't help but wonder if there was a particular creature Seamus wanted to keep out of the house. I knew I couldn't ask. I'd tried to get him to talk about whatever he was so afraid of, but he just got agitated and shut down. Maybe my uncle's condition would be part of the family revelations my mom promised to tell me on my birthday.
The next morning my uncle dragged me out of bed for a fun-filled day of exercise. It started with ninety minutes of weight training followed by a five-mile run. After lunch it was stick work with my hurley. Seamus had me fire shots at the wall of the garage, catch the sliotar on my stick, spin around, and shoot again. But I had to reverse the shot every time. Spin left, spin right, then spin left again. It took a long time before I could do it the way he wanted me to.
"Do you want to tend goal?" I asked when I finally got it right.
"No. It's no about scoring. It's about controlling ye hurley." Then he threw a second ball at me. "Now, do it again. But shoot one sliotar from the left and the other from ye right."
I caught the one he tossed at me and balanced it on the end of my stick. Of course, the one I'd just shot bounced right past me. "You mean at the same time? That's impossible."
"Aye. Tis impossible—if ye no try." He gave me a mischievous grin, went inside, and let the screen door slam behind him.
It was impossible. Every shot flew back at me. There was no time to catch and balance one ball before the other one bounced back at me. It's not like I didn't try. Even without the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin, I'd have to be wicked fast to pull off the stunt he was asking for. What the heck was he trying to prove? Granted, my uncle said and did weird stuff, but I was convinced that it somehow all made some kind of sense in that screwy brain of his. And since he couldn't explain it to me, it was my job to figure it out. So, I doubled down and kept at it.
I stopped aiming for the goal box painted on the wall. Seamus had said scoring didn't matter. Not aiming saved me at least half a second. That didn't help much, but I also didn't have to worry about a goalie. Or any defenders. So I didn't have to strike so hard. I slowed my attack, and the sliotar bounced back lazily. Then I tossed it higher and let it bounce a few times before I caught it. I still couldn't spin, but I was able to keep both balls moving. Eventually, I fell into a rhythm. I even got in a few decent turns between shots.
The back door opened, and Seamus grinned at me. I was proud to see him happy with my progress. Then he tossed out a third sliotar and slammed the door again.
*****
Seamus wouldn't make me go to school on Monday. But if I didn't go my mom would complain that I was taking advantage of my uncle. And even if Seamus thought he was in charge, my parents were counting on me to watch out for both of us. Their sudden departure might've been a test to see if I was mature enough to learn about the family dirt. I wasn't gonna take a chance on screwing up the birthday plans, so I forced myself out of bed and got ready for school.
Scott was in most of my classes, but I hadn't known him very well before the field trip. I hoped he would remember something about what happened. He didn't but seemed to like having someone to talk to for a change. It was a nice change for me too, and we hung out at lunch and between classes. It was fun to be able to tell someone about the Tuatha Dé Danann and not worry about being laughed at. I didn't want him to think I believed in demons or magic. Or fairies. So I repeatedly added, "At least that's what the legends say."
"Your grandfather's stories are awesome." Scott grinned with a genuine smile that reached up to his eyes. "Why do you act like you're embarrassed about them?"
"I don't."
He reached out and shoved my shoulder, still grinning. "Yes you do."
"Okay I do." I shrugged and looked away. "Maybe I'm getting too old for magic."
"My brother once told me you should never be ashamed of who you are."
"Sounds like good advice."
"Yeah. I wish he was here," he said with a sigh. "That's dumb. If he didn't get that job in Ireland, I wouldn't be in Boston. Either way, I miss him."
"So that's why you moved here? Because your brother went to Ireland?"
"Yeah. I'm staying with relatives. Distant relatives, I don't really know. Or like. Hopefully I'll get to visit Xander." He snorted. "I couldn't say Alexander when I was little. I still call him Xander. Dumb, huh?"
"No. That's a cool nickname."
"You know what else is cool? Your stories. They're way better than a lame ghost who practically shouted, Come get us! We're over here!" He jumped up and down and waved his arms. Scott was smart and funny—and we both hated Mrs. Donovan. "It probably would've been easier to get her husband out of that prison if she'd brought a magic spear instead of a pickaxe. I wonder where it is."
"Scott, they're not real. They're myths."
"Yeah, I know." He nodded but stared off into space as he did. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to have magic?"
I could guess how he pictured it. He was a scrawny kid all alone in a new school where no one talked to him except the bullies who tormented him. People always thought magic was the solution to their problems. They wanted a fairy godmother. They wanted three wishes from a genie. They wanted an easy solution to land in their lap.
"Nothing is that easy," I told him. "Magic comes with strings. The legends are full of stories where people get exactly what they wanted but end up regretting it later. Having power doesn't make you great. It's an obligation. Lugh didn't become king because he had an invincible spear. He got the spear because he was a great leader. I know it sucks not having your brother here to watch out for you but—"
"No, Caleb. You have no idea." His head drooped, and he rubbed his eyes. "Sorry. I know you were just trying to help." He sniffed, and a second later, his grin was back. "But are you honestly gonna try to tell me that if you stumbled across a magic weapon, you wouldn't keep it?"
"I'll pass. If I find one, I'll give it to you."
Scott's eyes lit up as if the lottery people had just called his numbers.
After school Seamus put me through another grueling routine in the weight room as soon as I got home from school. Then sent me on a three-mile run. I tried to get him to come with me, but as usual, he refused. "How do you know I'm not gonna cheat? If you don't run with me, I might run to the end of the block, hang out for a while, and run back pretending to be tired."
His eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to figure out what I meant. "Ye may be a pig-headed little bastard, but I know ye to be an honest lad. If ye say ye run tree miles, I know ye run tree miles."
I nodded slowly and ducked out the door. At the corner was a coffee shop. I laughed and jogged right past it. I was surprised my uncle thought I was so honest. And a pig-headed bastard.
Sometimes when I joked around with Seamus, I worried that he wouldn't understand and get stressed out. Other times he came up with a gem like that. It was in those moments he made me forget about his special needs. As I ran, I wondered what Seamus's life could've been like if he wasn't so afraid of the world. But he was right. I was guilty—on both accounts. I might be a real jerk sometimes, but honesty was important to me. And that was due to the legends. They weren't just exciting bedtime stories, there were lessons there too. Loyalty, bravery, respect, and generosity were the foundations of the Irish myths. I took them seriously and tried to live up to their high standards. I used to think that if I could be like the Irish warriors, my dad might actually notice me. Respect wasn't my best attribute, but hey, three outta four ain't bad.
Running "tree" miles wasn't bad, but fourteen in "tree" days was more than I was used to. By the time I finished my legs were wobbly, and I was wiped out. I went up to my room to do homework, but I was exhausted and decided to rest—you know, just for a minute. I fell onto my bed and realized that my parents hadn't called. Not that I expected to hear from Dad, but I was surprised Mom hadn't checked on us. I told myself I'd call her later, after dinner, and promptly fell asleep.
I had a weird dream about magic, elves, and leprechauns—not the kind of dream any self-respecting soon-to-be-fifteen-year-old guy would tell his friends about. The Tuatha Dé Danann offered to make a trade. In exchange for the ring I wore around my neck, they promised to tell me the secrets of their magic. I was torn and didn't know what to do. Scott was there, urging me to take the magic. But Seamus told me not to trust them. Even in my dreams, Seamus is paranoid.
Someone pounded on my door, jolting me back to the real world. The bright overhead light snapped on. "Caleb! Get up!"
I tried to stay in my dream, but it was too late. The Realm had already slipped away. And really, I knew better. The Tuatha Dé Danann were never gonna share their magic with a common mortal like me. But that thought didn't stop me from checking to make sure the ring was still on its chain.
"Get up!" Seamus shouted. "We have to go. Now!"
I sat bolt upright. My heart pounded. Seamus was rifling through my drawers and stuffing fists full of clothing into a gym bag. "Yeah. Right." I fell back onto my pillow. You have to understand. I love my uncle, but I'd already wasted a day digging a stupid trench. The points allotted for being a good nephew had already been spent.
Considering how much Seamus benches, he easily yanked me out of bed.
"What the heck, Seamus? Chill out."
"We have to get out of here." His eyes were red, and his face reminded me of Scott's the day Patrick tried to shove his head into a toilet. "I'll explain later," he added.
When I was a kid, I believed my grandfather's stories. Little people, magical creatures, and all the scary dark elves and demons. Now I knew better, but Seamus had never really grown up. He'd always had a paranoid streak—but barging into my bedroom in the middle of the night was a whole new level of crazy I wasn't used to. I figured the best thing I could do was try to talk him off the ledge. "Deep breaths Seamus. Slow down and tell me what happened."
Instead of calming down, he got more agitated. He threw a pair of jeans at me. "Get dressed now, or I'll throw ye in the car in ye boxers." It was an intensity I'd never seen before.
I pulled on my pants and grabbed a shirt. "Okay, but I'm driving. If you get behind the wheel like this, you'll get us both killed."
Seamus pulled up his shirttail and mopped thesweat off his forehead. Maybe I was slow, or maybe I was finally waking up, butI suddenly saw it. Something was wrong. I mean, seriously wrong. He looked atme with the most resolute expression that ever crossed his face. "If ye do nohurry, we'll be dead before we get to the car."