Chương 54: Party

When occasion called for it, it seemed that Láthair Maol really did know how to throw a party. The entire town clogged the square and not a drop of brandy, beer or wine was spared. The news Cian delivered was as welcome as it was unexpected, and this was a people now facing freedom in a way that they had never thought possible. So of course, the entire town got rip-roaring drunk.

Kelly and her part-time minstrels carried the night, wheeling out tune after tune, but the night grew long and it seemed their repertoire was short, as Miriam definitely caught some repeats. Luíseach apparently had a few more bottles of Fourth Ring wine and in spite of some early reluctance, Róise found herself three sheets to the wind, dancing a jig with Cormac as the whole town sang bawdy songs.

No amount of drinks had any effect on Sol, but he seemed to be having a great time - Kelly had lent him her bodhrán drum and he was merrily pounding away at it.

"Do we really have time for this?" Miriam asked Cian. She was nursing quite a nice beer, leaning against Luíseach's general store, but her heart really wasn't in the festivities. She had a ticking clock that she had known was coming at some point, but hadn't really considered might start affecting her so early. Eoin had said she might not last a year - she supposed she had thought of it like a hard cut-off. Not this slow drowning into haze.

"We all train in different ways," Cian said.

"In a few more moments you and I will break away to do some more training for you. But this is for those two." He pointed at Cormac and Róise.

"Getting Cormac drunk two nights in a row might not help as much as you'd think," Miriam remarked dryly.

"Ha! I think we're about to see the results of my clever manipulations." The boy floated up above the crowd a little and nodded.

"What you can't see is what Cormac is doing - what he's almost always doing."

"What's that?" Cian smiled fondly.

"Róise is wrapped nearly head to toe in golden threads. It would take a sea dragon pouncing on her to make her lose her balance at this point, no matter how drunk she gets. What I've noticed is that his fórsa weaving gets denser and denser the more he uses it on behalf of other people - pretty standard for a Saint Adept. It works particularly well when it's Róise." Miriam had to admit that made sense.

"And Róise? I'm quite enjoying seeing her tipsy, but how will her Adept class…" Ah. There it was. During one loud song as Róise thrust her tankard into the sky, belting out the lyrics at the top of her tiny lungs, the town square started to sway with the power of a new Folksong technique.

As I went home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be Well, I called me wife and I said to her will you kindly tell to me Who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be?

Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, still you can not see That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me Well, it's many a day I've traveled a hundred miles or more But a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before The song continued for seven verses, each with the husband finding more and more obvious signs of his wife' s infidelity and the wife coming up with more and more ridiculous explanations for them.

Miriam burst out laughing, but now the whole town was full of things that weren't as they should be. The river was no longer a river but a road, which a dozen people tried walking on and fell straight into. Another dozen partiers found their glasses, mugs or tankards were full to spilling over, only to completely upend them into their mouths and remain continually thirsty. Róise herself, to all those who saw her, looked no more harmful or threatening than a small child who had gotten into her mother's wine.

"It's an illusion technique!" Miriam exclaimed.

"That's incredible. Did you know that would happen?" Cian was squinting and smiling at the same time, but he shook his head.

"I had some ideas of what might work, so I had Kelly put a couple of likely candidates in rotation. I had no idea which song it would be, or the effect it would produce, but this is likely to be a handy one. It's actually not pure illusion - it's a mind manipulation technique. We're going to have a lot of fun with this one." A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"What's the name of it?"" Seven Drunken Nights." Cian laughed, pleased with himself.

"That's a good night's work done, I'd say. How about you and I traipse off into the jungle a bit and see what trouble we can get into?" Miriam was surprised.

"Now? It's night. I thought you said the jungle was more dangerous at night."

"Aye, I did." His eyes twinkled mischievously. Then Cian cocked his head, as if hearing something worrisome in the distance. After a moment he shook his head dismissively and turned back to her.

"But you're more dangerous now too, aren't you?" Miriam flexed the fórsa in her veins and shook off the stupor she'd wrestled with since the sun started going down. She'd been aching to give her body some action all day.

"You'd better believe it. Lead the way!" ✧✧✧ Maitiú was bleeding badly. He clawed his way back to the bare stone of Scior with his one good arm, the other mangled to the point where it might have been difficult to identify what limb it used to be. He gasped, every breath bringing shards of glass to scrape his lungs. He was very clearly dying. The trip from Láthair Maol to Domhain had been easy.

First Ring monsters were little more than tall grass in his way and he barely had to stop running before making it to the second bald spot. Filled with an energy and vigor he had never known before, he pushed on immediately towards Scior. Here the way started to get tougher - the creatures more resilient, more clever. One giant tarantula managed to skewer him in the upper thigh with a razor-tipped mandible, but it had healed fairly quickly, thanks to his new Third physiology.

The path after Scior was nothing short of a death trap. He ran from great lizards with steel armor, from an octopus with cat legs, from a fire-breathing crow, through which all attacks phased through harmlessly. Worse, he could never quite get his bearings. He felt so many times that he must be close to the edge, only to stumble back into Scior. It was as if the jungle itself would not let him go.

"That gods-damned Cian," he had muttered. Finally, his stamina had worn out and he missed a critical dodge from the attack of a huge wolf-like creature with two heads. It had gnashed his arm to pieces and clawed daggers into his chest. How he escaped it was a miracle he could not explain, but it was the only thing that allowed him to make it back to safe territory. Just so he could bleed out and die there instead.

"Not fair," he muttered to himself.

"Just not fair." He could see the pool of blood growing underneath him as the light grew dim. All he had to do was stay here forever, some detached part of his brain scolded. A life of captivity, but it could have been comfortable. He'd gone and messed that all up.

"You've made poor use of my gift, it seems," an old gravelly voice said. Maitiú struggled to turn his head.

"Help me," he croaked.

"Please." In front of him suddenly was an old man with a white and gray beard. On his head was a circlet of vines and hawthorn. He wore ceremonial robes that hung in drapes to the ground. In spite of the look of a stately elder priest, he had a malevolent light in his eyes that made it seem as if his great age were just a con.

"I did help you. Then you ran right into the lion's den and fed yourself to the lion."

"I just wanted… to get out of here." The man looked around the bare rock of Scior with disdain.

"I can't blame you. Whatever has he done with the place? Oh. Well, here. I will heal you, just because you'll die before we finish our conversation if I don't." Maitiú screamed as the flesh of his arm began to knit itself back together in a grotesque animation of tendons rewrapping and bones unshattering.

"Oh, do keep it down," the man said.

"I am not helping you altruistically. I never do anything altruistic. I want something for my time."

"Yes," Maitiú sobbed.

"Just save me and I'll do what you want." The old man's eyes burned as he grinned - a grin that seemed somehow familiar.

"I have not paid attention to this part of the Tír in… oh, it must be thousands of years now. Then I felt the Drop being absorbed and my interest was slightly piqued. I take a closer look and I find many, many interesting things here on this dung heap of an island. Not least of which is my arrogant little whelp, trying to reject me! He remade himself into something very unlike what he should have been. I'm all for a little teenage rebellion - but only if I'm the rebel!"

He chuckled at himself for a little while before continuing.

"It's time he was taught a lesson and brought to heel. And you're going to help me do it."

"Why? How?" Maitiú asked, drawing breaths that were less and less painful.

"Why, is because I wish it. How… is here." The old man stomped on the rock below his feet.

"Dig down deep and you will find more than enough power to escape this wretched place. Enough power to join me in the Celestial Court, even!" Suddenly Maitiú understood who he was speaking with. He struggled to his knees and bowed his head to the stone.

"I will do anything you ask of me, lord." The old man seemed to grow twenty feet tall, his fórsa towering over Maitiú. He seemed pleased.

"Pledge yourself to my service then, Maitiú. Formally, in the old way."

"I swear to serve. I swear to… to give my life, and after my life I promise my death. You shall have no desire I shall not seek to quickly fulfill." Maitiú stumbled, the words of fealty he had learned in grade school tumbling out in the wrong order. The old man's smile grew more and more sinister, his power enveloping Maitiú whole.

"I pledge my loyalty to you. The Eternal King Cianán."