Consciousness came slowly, accompanied by a full body ache punctuated by sharper pains. Even breathing hurt a little and his senses felt like he was wrapped in cotton wool.
What the bloody hell hit me?
“Phelan?”
The voice was familiar—it felt familiar, anyway. The name was just beyond his grasp.
He made a sound that was half a groan, half a hiss, trying to shift his weight and lift his head—neither to any avail. “What hit me?”
“He’s awake,” she said, relief flooding her voice. Who was that? Why did she sound so familiar?
“Good,” another woman said.
His throat tightened. Brighíd. But she’s dead…am I dead, too?
Hellfire and ashes and monsters and gods.
“How did you know where to find it, Matt?” Neve’s voice. He would recognize his cousin anywhere.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to ask me that question,” the man his cousin had called Matt answered.
But that’s Ciar’s voice. What the hell is going on here? He struggled to open his eyes. It was like they were glued shut somehow, and they ached fiercely. He groaned quietly.
“Easy,” the first woman’s voice soothed. He found himself relaxing by degrees at the sound, relaxing even more as her fingers combed through his hair and brushed along the flesh of his face and neck.
But I can’t remember her name. Why can’t I remember her name?
I’m the bloody Taliesin. It’s my job to remember these things. It’s the burden that Seamus gave me—carry the stories. Remember. Teach. Learn.
Bloody hellfire.
“Is someone going to tell me what happened or not?” he rasped, fingers tightening in the blankets. He was warm, almost too warm, but a chill ran through his body right down to his core. It was the most bizarre sensation he’d ever experienced and he wasn’t sure if he liked it at all.
“You were sundered,” someone else said. “Now you’ve been put back together again. How do you feel, cousin?”
He sat straight up, eyes flying open and immediately tearing up at the light and the pain. “Seamus? Déithe agus arrachtaigh, I’m dead, aren’t I?”
His dead cousin—the Taliesin who had been—laughed, and for some reason, Phelan O’Credne didn’t find the sound comforting at all.
Gods and monsters. What in bloody blazes did I run afoul of and what have I gotten myself mixed up in this time?
