Eight – 01

Phelan grated out a curse in his native tongue, glaring at Cariocecus as the blood drained from Marin’s face.  Thom sheathed his sword without thinking and went to her, ignoring everything else.  Something inside Matt made him think that he should go to them as well, but one look from Jacqueline ended all thoughts of moving.

“Hold him still,” she said, nodding to Phelan.  “Jay’s going to start cutting and it’s not going to be pleasant.”

“You can’t numb him or anything?”  Matt asked, looking dubiously at the wound.

“With what?” she asked bitterly.  “The snow?  That’s about all we’ve got right now.”

Matt muttered a curse under his breath.  She was right, of course.  He hadn’t been thinking.

“Just do it, damn you,” Phelan said, gaze flicking toward J.T. and Jacqueline for a moment before he resumed glaring at Cariocecus.  “And since you’re the apparent expert on power transference, you keep explaining.”

Matt leaned down against Phelan’s shoulders, holding him in place while Jacqueline and J.T. got ready to cut the spearhead out of him.  The wound was still bleeding and looked painful, the skin around it smeared with enough blood that it was hard to tell if the flesh was already inflamed or worse.  Matt had to look away, focusing instead on Cariocecus, who actually looked contrite for once.

“I suppose this wasn’t the best time to bring it up,” he said.

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now,” Phelan said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.  “You might as well—”  He gave a strangled cry as J.T. started in with the razor-sharp scalpel, jaw clenching and lips thinning.  Matt winced sympathetically.

“You might as well keep talking,” Matt said.  “You’re really the only one who could explain right now.”

“Not so,” Cariocecus said, his boldness already fading.  “Neve could probably—”

“No,” she said softly as she limped closer, leaning heavily against her crutches.  “I couldn’t.  None of that was ever my forte.  I was the one that had to keep track of artifacts and prophecies, not people and prophecies.”  Her gaze drifted to Cameron for a moment, raking over him as if reassuring herself that he was all right.  There was blood on him, but it was hard to tell if any was his.  He was steady enough on his feet, so if any of it was, it couldn’t be much.

As Matt’s gaze drifted toward Thom, though, he realized that his brother-in-law was leaning as much on Marin as she was leaning on him.

They’re both hurt.  Shit.  We can’t do this over again.  Not if shit’s going to keep coming, keep hitting us.  He swallowed bile and hoped against hope that it wasn’t as bad as he feared.  The amount of blood on Marin’s clothes told him it might well be worse.

“Tell them, Cariocecus,” Neve commanded.  “Tell them what we all want to know.  What do you know about these children we’re carrying—how do you know that theirs is going to be powerful?”

“It’s the bloodlines,” Phelan interrupted, speaking through clenched teeth.  “The bloodlines coming together would make a difference without a doubt.”

Cariocecus studied him for a moment, looking vaguely puzzled, then shook his head, returning his attention to Marin and Thom.  “There have been stories,” he said slowly.  “Stories passed down through the generations about what will happen when the world breaks, what will happen with those who have managed to survive, like all of you.  It’s said that children will be born with power that far outstrips any power that’s been seen since the times of old, since the death of Atlantis.”

“Atlantis is a myth,” Matt said, a queasy feeling settling over him.  It has to be.

                Isn’t it?

“That’s not entirely true,” Kellin said, chewing her lower lip.  “While a lot of what we thought we always knew about it may well be, there’s no proof that it didn’t exist.”

“But there’s no proof it did,” Matt said, regretting the words as soon as he’d said them.  This isn’t an argument you’re going to win, especially when you’re kneeling on the shoulders of someone that’s older than the dirt beneath your feet.  Stop thinking in terms of what’s impossible.  Focus on what there is to be learned.  He took a deep breath.  There’s a lot to learn.

“It did,” Neve said softly.  “It’s where Ériu came from.  It’s part of why so many wars happened when Phelan and I were much, much younger than we are now, why everything broke down.  There was too much imbalance, too much jockeying for power.”

“There are some that would say it started long before the fall,” Cariocecus said, sounding vaguely regretful.

Thordin snorted humorlessly and shook his head.  “More than some.  It’s probably true.”

“What does this have to do with our children?”  Marin snapped, her face pale as she leaned against Thom.  “Mythology become real is all well and good, but it doesn’t help us understand what’s happening in the here and now—not at this point.”

“They’ll be responsible for rebuilding the world,” Phelan whispered, almost too quiet to hear.  He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, body tense as J.T. kept on working on freeing the spearhead.  “For good or for ill.  Every power that’s out there will want them—either to control them, to guide them, or to kill them.

“That’s what’s important, leánnan.  That and nothing else.”

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