sense. He remembered the first time he had seen Destry; he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He said once that an angel had walked into his midst and that’s exactly what it had felt like. Her lure to him had almost been magnetic, it had been so strong. Even as he gazed at her now, it was the most natural of things being with her, as if they were meant to be together in every way. He couldn’t explain it better than that.
Conor exhaled heavily, rubbing at his forehead as his brain tried to process what he was being told. At some point, Destry was going to want to know what Padraigan was telling him. He didn’t want to answer her now because he didn’t have any answers himself. His gaze moved back to the tiny, wispy woman.
“Those mounds are burial chambers from long ago,” he told her. “They’re not doorways to the nether region.”
Padraigan lifted an eyebrow. “They were not built by men,” she said. “They were built by gods. When the sun is just so, the doorway opens. It opened today when you and your queen stepped through. I called to you and you came.”
Destry squeezed his thigh again but he put a big hand over hers, stilling it. He wanted to make sure he was absolutely clear on things before he started translating because, quite honestly, he was rather overwhelmed by it all. It was crazy, interesting and oddly believable all at the same time. He looked at Padraigan with a mixture of suspicion, disbelief and fear.
“None of that makes any sense,” he told her. “Destry is not my wife. I only just met her. And we have lives; I remember where I was born and I know my parents. How do you explain that?”
Padraigan lifted her slender shoulders. “Rebirth.”
His brow furrowed. “Rebirth? What does that mean?”
“It means that your transition into the nether region saw you reborn,” she murmured. “You returned as an infant and grew into the man you are today. That is why you only remember your life in the nether region. But you are still our king; you are still Conor ard rí Ciannachta, and we need you here.”
He just stared at her, hard. “Conor, High King of Ciannachta,” he translated softly. He had to admit, he liked the ring of it. But that didn’t dispel the fact that it was nonsense; his logical mind just couldn’t give in, not yet. “I’m not a high king. I’m not anything. You must have me mixed up with someone else.”
She smiled faintly. “May I ask a question, my lord?”
“Go ahead.”
“How do you explain your appearance outside of the doras ama? You said yourself that nothing looks as you remember it. Would the nether region change so much in the blink of an eye that you would not recognize it?”
He sat back, regarding her, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy them both, mostly because he was feeling a great deal of horror in the realization that any answer he could come up with lent credence to her story. But something in his brain, some small and tucked away place, was telling him that what the woman said just might be true. It was more a feeling than anything else and he was resistant to it. But that resistance was fading.
“It’s a great story, I’ll give you that,” he put up a hand as if to block her out. “And I appreciate your hospitality. But Destry and I need to get to a hospital. If you don’t have a phone we can use, do you have any neighbors with phones?”
Padraigan’s gaze was steady. “If I can prove to you that what I say is true, will you believe?”
He lifted his eyebrows and scratched at his head, showing signs of restlessness and exasperation. “Sure,” he said. “Go ahead. Do your worst.”
Padraigan stood up and disappeared into the small room where she had retrieved the cups and pitcher. When she vanished from view, Destry turned to Conor and squeezed his big thigh again.
“Now will you tell me what she said?” she hissed.
He nodded his head, putting his arm around her shoulders to calm her down. “I think
Conor exhaled heavily, rubbing at his forehead as his brain tried to process what he was being told. At some point, Destry was going to want to know what Padraigan was telling him. He didn’t want to answer her now because he didn’t have any answers himself. His gaze moved back to the tiny, wispy woman.
“Those mounds are burial chambers from long ago,” he told her. “They’re not doorways to the nether region.”
Padraigan lifted an eyebrow. “They were not built by men,” she said. “They were built by gods. When the sun is just so, the doorway opens. It opened today when you and your queen stepped through. I called to you and you came.”
Destry squeezed his thigh again but he put a big hand over hers, stilling it. He wanted to make sure he was absolutely clear on things before he started translating because, quite honestly, he was rather overwhelmed by it all. It was crazy, interesting and oddly believable all at the same time. He looked at Padraigan with a mixture of suspicion, disbelief and fear.
“None of that makes any sense,” he told her. “Destry is not my wife. I only just met her. And we have lives; I remember where I was born and I know my parents. How do you explain that?”
Padraigan lifted her slender shoulders. “Rebirth.”
His brow furrowed. “Rebirth? What does that mean?”
“It means that your transition into the nether region saw you reborn,” she murmured. “You returned as an infant and grew into the man you are today. That is why you only remember your life in the nether region. But you are still our king; you are still Conor ard rí Ciannachta, and we need you here.”
He just stared at her, hard. “Conor, High King of Ciannachta,” he translated softly. He had to admit, he liked the ring of it. But that didn’t dispel the fact that it was nonsense; his logical mind just couldn’t give in, not yet. “I’m not a high king. I’m not anything. You must have me mixed up with someone else.”
She smiled faintly. “May I ask a question, my lord?”
“Go ahead.”
“How do you explain your appearance outside of the doras ama? You said yourself that nothing looks as you remember it. Would the nether region change so much in the blink of an eye that you would not recognize it?”
He sat back, regarding her, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy them both, mostly because he was feeling a great deal of horror in the realization that any answer he could come up with lent credence to her story. But something in his brain, some small and tucked away place, was telling him that what the woman said just might be true. It was more a feeling than anything else and he was resistant to it. But that resistance was fading.
“It’s a great story, I’ll give you that,” he put up a hand as if to block her out. “And I appreciate your hospitality. But Destry and I need to get to a hospital. If you don’t have a phone we can use, do you have any neighbors with phones?”
Padraigan’s gaze was steady. “If I can prove to you that what I say is true, will you believe?”
He lifted his eyebrows and scratched at his head, showing signs of restlessness and exasperation. “Sure,” he said. “Go ahead. Do your worst.”
Padraigan stood up and disappeared into the small room where she had retrieved the cups and pitcher. When she vanished from view, Destry turned to Conor and squeezed his big thigh again.
“Now will you tell me what she said?” she hissed.
He nodded his head, putting his arm around her shoulders to calm her down. “I think
Similar Books
