“Not the selfsame. It spoke of Odran, for even in my youth his name spread fears. But not of a demon, not that I recall. It was told to me and other littles by an Old Father traveling through. In this, he said Odran had been born out of dark magicks, a mother’s pining for a son. And as in Dorcas’s tale, she pampered and spoiled him and lifted him up high so he grew proud and greedy and, having the dark in him from the womb, embraced it.
“The demon mentioned only in that he learned from one, an evil one, the power gained in the drinking of living blood, and the pleasure of the taste of living flesh. He had a fondness, the Old Father said, for young meat, so hunted for the littles who wandered too far or refused to listen to their good mothers.
“In this way he feasted, year by year, in secret until the other gods learned of his crimes from a young witch who escaped his clutches. So they cast him out, and the mother, in her despair, threw herself after him, only to be dashed dead on the rocks of the Dark Sea.”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “I had terrible dreams for nights after, with my own mother soothing me, telling me it was nonsense, just a tale conjured up to frighten children. So I believed, and now I think there was some truth in it.”
“To do these things,” Marg said slowly, “to consume another, and more, in a quest for power? The gods can be cold and they can be fickle, but this they could and would not forgive. A trust broken between worlds, and in those times to have cast him out but let him exist after such a crime? A trust that wouldn’t mend easily. So the beginning of the end of the unity of the realms.”
“That’s what Dorcas said, and Keegan agreed. The beginning of the end.”
“The demon in him makes him a demigod,” Sedric pointed out. “As you are, Breen. He would not have this known, and this may bewhy the tale of it is obscure. His powers are diminished by what he took into himself. Not increased, as he craved, but diminished.”
“So we’re on more even ground?”
Marg shook her head. “It’s never been so. You’re the light to his dark. Dark may try to smother the light, and may dim it, even shut it off for a time. But light finds its way. He fears you because he knows this.”
Rising, Marg went to the window, leaned out a little. “I think now drinking the power from my boy, my sweet babe, wouldn’t have been enough. And I think what he would have done to my son if I hadn’t waked that night.”
“But you did wake.” Sedric pushed away from the table to embrace her. “And you sent Odran back to the dark, so Eian grew strong. And his child sits here now, stronger yet.”
“It’s a weakness, Nan, and knowing it, we’ll find a way to use it. There’s more.”
As she told them of Keegan’s strategies, the plans for the cover of festivals, the aim to use the solstice, both came back to the table.
“The longest day,” Marg noted. “The strongest light. He should know this as well as we, so it’s a trap that must be well baited.”
“My own Marg, he thinks us foolish and weak. But in the end, that’s a mirror, his own reflection. The solstice is always celebrated across Talamh, but we have Breen here.” With a glint in his eyes, Sedric patted Breen’s hand. “A year, a way to mark this anniversary. Festivals, in her honor as well as the solstice celebration. I think he would find this irresistible.”
“Is she the bait now as well as the key?” The moment she said it, Marg grabbed Sedric’s hand. “Forgive me. I know you’d lay your life down for hers. A grandmother’s weakness.”
“No.” He kissed the hand that gripped his. “Strength.”
“It has to end, Nan. He has to end, and this may be the way, at least it may be the time. If he comes at us through every portal, and we don’t end it there, when?”
She laid her hand over their joined ones. “If there’s more to teach me, teach me.”
“All right, aye, you’ve the right of it. There’s always more, isn’tthere? And if this tale is true, the young demon girl, there’s a path to explore. We’ll take some steps on it.”
“I’ll find Keegan.” Sedric rose again. “See if I can be of any use to him.”
“You’re always of use. Have a care,mo chroí.” Marg rose, kissed him.
When he left, Marg patted Breen’s hand. “We’ll go to the workshop then. I’ve things that might help the walk on this new path.”
They started out, and as they approached the bridge, Bollocks sent Breen a hopeful look.
“Go ahead, splash away.”
As he did, Breen hooked her arm through Marg’s. “Don’t worry, Nan. It’s too pretty a day to worry. We’ll explore,” she decided. “And I have some good news—at least possible good news—on two fronts. The cookbook Marco started? Actually, it’s more than a cookbook, with the little stories or anecdotes or music connected to every recipe. The agency in New York’s very interested.”
“Oh, this is grand news indeed!”
“It really is. And my agent read the book, and likes it. She thinks she can sell it.”
“Oh! You’ve been here all this time and just now tell me!”
“It’s not as important as—”