very strong alcohol and she sputtered as she set the cup down, wiping the burning liquid from her lips. Conor looked at her and grinned.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She had her hands around her throat as if she was choking. “Fine,” she rasped.
He laughed softly, the hand on her waist moving to pat her on the back gently as she sputtered. He was about to say something more to her when Padraigan interrupted.
“Although you do not remember now, in time, it will come to you,” she said to Conor. Then her gaze traveled back and forth between the Conor and Destry, seeing two people she had known very well, once. She knew this day would come; it was crucial for her to make them understand what had happened or all would be lost. “Your name is Conor mac Aonghusa, oidhre chun an throne ard. You are a great king, my lord, Conor ard rí Ciannachta, so great that your legacy is already established and you are much admired and much feared throughout Ireland. The woman at your side is Etain, your queen, and the two of you have three sons together; Mattock, Devlin and Slane.”
Conor stared at the woman, hearing her words but beyond that, he wasn’t comprehending much. He was still fixated on the first sentence of her story.
“‘Conor, son of Aengus, heir to the high throne ’?” he repeated, almost in disgust. “Where did you get that? What in the hell is that?”
Padraigan remained calm. “Please, my lord, hear me,” she begged. “Your legacy as a ruler and warrior is so great that your brother, a vain and jealous man, began to want for the throne himself. He made a few attempts on your life but you were too clever for him. You evaded him at every turn and eventually, you banished him from your kingdom. But your brother dabbles in the dark arts, my lord; he lured you to a conference under the guise of peace and commanded his sorcerer, Olc of the Eye, to exile you into the dark mists of the nether regions. As soon as we realized this had happened, your wife sent your children into safe hiding with me. Then she took your army and went to your brother to demand your safe return, but your brother tricked her into a private meeting and his sorcerer exiled her as well. You were both sent through the doras ama, to the same nether region. But your brother, fearful that you would someday return to kill him, cast a curse upon you; you and you wife would have no memory of each other and no memory of the life you shared. You would wander in the nether region forever, ignorant of who you really were and of your mighty kingdom.”
Conor gaped at the woman as if she had lost her mind. After several moments of staring, he wiped at his goatee again in an inherently nervous gesture, and simply shook his head.
“That’s madness,” he hissed. “You’re mad.”
Padraigan shook her head. “Nay, my lord, on either account,” she said softly. “I knew what Olc had done to you; he had sent you and your wife through the doras ama at a time where the day and night are of the same. At the moment where day turns into night, the door opens to the nether regions and for a brief moment, we may see both worlds through the swirling mists. I traveled to the sacred mound when I knew this time was approaching, many times since Olc banished you both, and was able to see your wife at my most recent visit. I spoke to her, hoping she would return, and she did. She heard me and she returned. Fanacht, morrigan, gnáthlá agus oiche og ceanna; tar ar cúl do sinne.”
As Conor sat, dumbfounded and apprehensive, Destry finally spoke up. She put her hand on his enormous thigh to get his attention. “There’s that phrase again,” she squeezed his leg until he looked at her. She looked rather frightened. “That’s the woman who spoke to me from the tunnels, isn’t it?”
He stared at her, hardly believing what he was hearing. But as he gazed into her bright blue eyes, studying her, Padraigan’s bizarre story suddenly started making some
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She had her hands around her throat as if she was choking. “Fine,” she rasped.
He laughed softly, the hand on her waist moving to pat her on the back gently as she sputtered. He was about to say something more to her when Padraigan interrupted.
“Although you do not remember now, in time, it will come to you,” she said to Conor. Then her gaze traveled back and forth between the Conor and Destry, seeing two people she had known very well, once. She knew this day would come; it was crucial for her to make them understand what had happened or all would be lost. “Your name is Conor mac Aonghusa, oidhre chun an throne ard. You are a great king, my lord, Conor ard rí Ciannachta, so great that your legacy is already established and you are much admired and much feared throughout Ireland. The woman at your side is Etain, your queen, and the two of you have three sons together; Mattock, Devlin and Slane.”
Conor stared at the woman, hearing her words but beyond that, he wasn’t comprehending much. He was still fixated on the first sentence of her story.
“‘Conor, son of Aengus, heir to the high throne ’?” he repeated, almost in disgust. “Where did you get that? What in the hell is that?”
Padraigan remained calm. “Please, my lord, hear me,” she begged. “Your legacy as a ruler and warrior is so great that your brother, a vain and jealous man, began to want for the throne himself. He made a few attempts on your life but you were too clever for him. You evaded him at every turn and eventually, you banished him from your kingdom. But your brother dabbles in the dark arts, my lord; he lured you to a conference under the guise of peace and commanded his sorcerer, Olc of the Eye, to exile you into the dark mists of the nether regions. As soon as we realized this had happened, your wife sent your children into safe hiding with me. Then she took your army and went to your brother to demand your safe return, but your brother tricked her into a private meeting and his sorcerer exiled her as well. You were both sent through the doras ama, to the same nether region. But your brother, fearful that you would someday return to kill him, cast a curse upon you; you and you wife would have no memory of each other and no memory of the life you shared. You would wander in the nether region forever, ignorant of who you really were and of your mighty kingdom.”
Conor gaped at the woman as if she had lost her mind. After several moments of staring, he wiped at his goatee again in an inherently nervous gesture, and simply shook his head.
“That’s madness,” he hissed. “You’re mad.”
Padraigan shook her head. “Nay, my lord, on either account,” she said softly. “I knew what Olc had done to you; he had sent you and your wife through the doras ama at a time where the day and night are of the same. At the moment where day turns into night, the door opens to the nether regions and for a brief moment, we may see both worlds through the swirling mists. I traveled to the sacred mound when I knew this time was approaching, many times since Olc banished you both, and was able to see your wife at my most recent visit. I spoke to her, hoping she would return, and she did. She heard me and she returned. Fanacht, morrigan, gnáthlá agus oiche og ceanna; tar ar cúl do sinne.”
As Conor sat, dumbfounded and apprehensive, Destry finally spoke up. She put her hand on his enormous thigh to get his attention. “There’s that phrase again,” she squeezed his leg until he looked at her. She looked rather frightened. “That’s the woman who spoke to me from the tunnels, isn’t it?”
He stared at her, hardly believing what he was hearing. But as he gazed into her bright blue eyes, studying her, Padraigan’s bizarre story suddenly started making some
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