Eire of Aggression
Book four of the Eire series
By Gavin Green
Copyright 2015 Gavin Green
Also by the author:
Eire of Intrigue (book one of the Eire series)
Eire of Mystery (book two of the Eire series)
Eire of Hostility (book three of the Eire series)
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely imagined. Any resemblance to real people or situations is a wild coincidence. If you know someone who closely resembles any of the characters, I'd like to meet them.
Dedication
To Cassandra, who understood without me having to say a word; to Lora, always there whether I needed a hand or not; to Pete, a friend with envious character; to Rachel, the navigator for when my boat drifted off-course; to Mike, who manages to be both wise and disgusting at the same time. And especially for anyone that knows who these people are, because I sure as hell don't.
1
A three-fingered, gloved hand gripped its owner's forehead as if in pain. The velvety dark material of that glove shimmered in the glow of a single flickering candle, sharp in contrast to the pale blue skin it held. Enochia Eversight lifted her head from her hand and let both arms slump onto her rune-covered alabaster table. The weariness of her unnaturally long and slender face bore comparison to the faded, tattered shawl that covered most of her lean torso.
She leaned back into the cushions of her Victorian-era chair with a sigh; her lids hung heavy over large cobalt eyes that had seen much. Her vivid hair, which ranged in hues from royal blue to aquamarine, fanned out against the padded backrest, but otherwise defiantly kept its naturally spikey shape. It was the only part of her left with any endurance.
Enochia's potent ability of far-sight, like any fae gift, required glamour. A danger in using her gift while depleted of it might lead to misinterpretation. That couldn't be afforded at this stage of events. As of late, the seer had harvested little of the precious energy, more concerned to discern what she could of Ballaghadaere's fate. She didn't fool herself into thinking that the pursuit was for benevolent purposes; she was one of the rare practical fae.
As a whole, the village and surrounding lands was a rich in warm spirits and goodwill - that is, precious glamour, and therefore valuable. It was also near to her own haven, as well to a few other fae whom she thought well of.
One of those respected fae was Aldritch of the Old Wood. He was formerly considered a wanderer, hermetic and enigmatic. With the onset of danger to his human progeny, though, that looming dryad had confined himself to the area they called home.
Enochia thought that the very recent conversation she and Aldritch had shared showed his growing anxiety and uncharacteristic care for their well-being. She couldn't empathize with his turmoil, and didn't choose to try. Perhaps other fae with mundane offspring had the same familial emotions, but that was their self-imposed burden to bear.
What troubled Enochia was that when she warned Aldritch that someone of his blood might fall victim in the dark times to come, he didn't even consider that he was included in that grouping. That elder's devotion to kin might be admirable to some, but it was clouding his normally good wisdom and sense of self-preservation.
Then again, she thought, Aldritch's grandchildren merited protection, if not at least some consideration. For humans, they were talented, as well as being fonts of glamour. The seer reluctantly concluded that Jack, Kate and Jane were worthy of an effort, but their mater, Cora? The problem of that ungifted human could be easily solved. But that was no longer for her to decide.
The human that Enochia did have a vested interest in was Brody Lynch. He was also the primary reason for her depleted energy. The seer knew from early in that man's life that he had a role to play in the events to come. Her gradual influence for him to make decisions he otherwise wouldn't have was draining; mostly because of the grace he was bestowed. Ragnar of the Red Rock was Lynch's benefactor, and the human was given a measure of the troll's vaunted iron will and innate mental defenses.
Recently, new visions had come to Enochia that involved Lynch, and she had been attempting to ply suggestions into his fortified subconscious ever since. Efforts on his behalf sapped her; she hoped he was worth the strenuous endeavor.
Other matters had also kept Enochia's keen interest, thus siphoning even more of her reserves; namely, the war party. After learning early on that Saraid of the Moon Glade was gathering a force, continuous attempts had been made to glean any strategies from its commanders. But to no avail - the glamour of so many gathered obfuscated any chance to glean sight or tactics.
The seer had been refocusing her efforts on where the war party's portal might appear. Thus far, she could only see tall grass and gray skies - not exactly helpful, considering it was Ireland.
Enochia had to rest some hope in what information was offered to her. Her servant, Harkin, had been sent to the Lore on numerous occasions to learn of any gossip from fae villages or groups of low-borne. Through a random insight, she was made aware that the elder troll Ragnar would soon have information worth bartering for.
Most importantly, the recently-titled sprite Oriana Solemn Sight still acted as a spy within Saraid's ranks. She stealthily had sent messages through Lore spiders that were sent to Enochia's holdings, where the seer could mentally decipher them remotely from her Verden haven. Oriana was the main reason why so much was known of Saraid's militia thus far.
While thinking of that brave fae, another vision came to Enochia. However, in her weakened state, the revelation was indistinct and fleeting. The ambiance it carried implied that some minor aspect was overlooked; Enochia felt no guilt for failing at the impossible task of seeing every possible outcome. All she could ascertain was that a subtle, lesser matter - a personal betrayal - had already set in motion a dire course of events.
As she looked out from her shadowy parlor into the lit hall through the open doorway, Enochia assumed that her servant was just beyond. With her allowance, he was allowed to read from her gathered books and tomes which he'd organized on shelves in the entry hall. "Harkin," she said in a tired whisper, knowing his sharp ears would hear, "come to me. You are needed."
The harpy, dressed as always in his crimson vest and trousers, stepped almost immediately into the doorway. His ash-gray hair hung over his face, although his dark eyes shone through the strands. He held his pale, mottled wings to his sides in a submissive pose as he replied, "I am here Mistress."
"There is a matter to be seen to, although it will only be retaliatory. The damage has already been done and its effects are in play."
Harkin knew better than to ask about any of her vague statements, which were plentiful. One instance of overstepping that boundary was enough; being made to think he was a rooster for an entire Verden day was a lesson not soon to be forgotten. "Of course, Mistress; I will do my utmost."
Enochia weakly nodded her head. "As you always have, my faithful servant, but your role in this matter is only that of a messenger. While I normally could communicate with my spiders and not use you for such trivial tasks, I am currently taxed. And so, I must tear you away from your reading and studies."
"Of course, Mistress; I would rather be serving you than myself."
"Very well, travel to my holdings and pass word to any of my lingering familiars to contact Oriana. She will be either on her own holdings harvesting glamour, or once again on Saraid's land near the war party. She is to initiate the secondary objective she aptly named 'the scoundrel'. Afterwards, return here for another simple task."
"Yes, Mistress, I shall see to it directly and return with haste."
Just as Harkin was about to step away, Enochia added, "Ah, and Harkin, add the
recommendation that Oriana find a proper assistant beforehand. Her purposes would be better served for it."