‘I have a family, and a wife I miss so much,’ he said.
Britha nodded. She could hear the sadness behind his words. She could also hear the honesty, and it sounded raw to her.
He turned to look at her. ‘And I think your heart – no, not your heart, maybe somewhere lower – wants another.’
Britha blinked at him. She was trying to think what she had said or done to give herself away. Was she under the control of magic? Had Bress done something to her and Teardrop could sense it?
‘We weren’t talking of hearts…’ she started.
‘We were talking of desire. Love Bress or help your people. Trying to do both is folly.’
‘I don’t lo— I have to have that power.’
Teardrop rubbed his eyes. He could feel it moving in his head. At times the pain was close to unbearable. Just after he had joined with it he had screamed and screamed, trying to claw it out with his fingernails. Now he just felt so tired.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. The price is too much. It would consume you. What you think of as you would cease to be.’
‘So who did you use to be?’ she asked.
Teardrop looked back at her, anger in his expression. You told her too much, old man, he thought. You gave her enough to hurt you. There was no triumph in her eyes.
The figure exploded out of the water, crossing the narrow strip of shore on all fours to where they stood. Pale skin in the moonlight as the figure leaped at Britha. Caught completely by surprise, she was carried to the ground, the figure on top of her. Britha was appalled to feel fingers under her robe, on her sex. A mouth on hers, a kiss that tasted of the sea, familiar except for needle-like teeth and the taste of blood and meat.
Teardrop was moving towards them, staff in his hand.
Britha fumbled for the iron-bladed knife in her rope belt. She grabbed her attacker by its long dark hair, yanked it back, and brought her head up and its head down at the same time. Britha’s attacker’s nose crashed into her forehead. There was a satisfying crunch and Britha felt something warm on her head. She stabbed at the figure with the blade but it had rolled away.
Teardrop reached them and raised his staff. Britha was also aware of the sound of someone sprinting towards them along the shore. The attacker leaped high into the air, legs curled tight under its body. Long, thin but powerful pale fingers ending in black claws grabbed the staff in mid-air. Both legs straightened into a double kick that caught Teardrop in the face and chest. He went flying, hitting the ground hard enough to wind him.
The figure landed on the ground just as Fachtna charged, his gently singing silver-bladed sword held high. The figure rolled towards Fachtna with incredible speed, closing the gap, grabbing the surprised warrior and then rolling back, using his momentum to throw him. Fachtna hit the ground face first.
Britha was on her feet, slashing with the knife at her attacker. The figure was bent low, hair covering its face, naked, obviously female. She hissed, backing away from the iron blade. Blood pouring from his face, Fachtna was back on his feet, angry, sword in hand and looking to hurt someone.
Teardrop, more cautiously, was trying to flank their attacker. His jaw hadn’t just been broken, it had been powdered and was hanging loose from his face. He’d heard and felt ribs crack and found himself short of breath. He felt bones grinding together in his chest as they healed rapidly. It hurt. A lot.
The attacker flicked her hair back and Britha saw Cliodna, almost. Britha stepped back, shocked by the changes wrought in her lover’s flesh. Her features were drawn back, angular, predatory. Lips opened to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. The gills on her neck sucked down air. Her body was leaner, there was something about it that made Britha think of a sword or a spear, with spikes of bone sticking out of newly formed fins on her forearms and lower legs, a spur of bone sticking out of each heel. She looked like a weapon now.
Teardrop also took a step back. In a language she was sure she shouldn’t understand, Britha heard him beg a many-faced god for protection. Even Fachtna, as his damaged features rearranged themselves back to their original positions, looked unsure.
‘Teeth and claws, and you won’t look so pretty, sword-slave,’ Cliodna spat at Fachtna. The warrior was ready to attack but his normal arrogance was absent.
‘Is this a festival of rapine?’ Britha demanded, furious at the attempted violation and appalled at what had become of her lover.
‘I wasn’t trying to—’ Fachtna started.
‘Quiet,’ Teardrop told him.
‘You spread your legs for him.’ Cliodna jerked her head at Fachtna. ‘And him!’ She jerked her head at Teardrop.
‘I didn’t!’ Britha protested.
‘Not for want of trying!’
Fachtna spared a moment to glance at Teardrop. Teardrop was aware of it, rather than saw it. That was a future conversation he wasn’t looking forward to.
‘You left me!’ Britha practically screamed, furious at herself for the tears that came unwanted to her eyes. Fachtna, while readying himself to attack Cliodna, was also listening hard to what was being said.
Realisation spread across his face like a sunrise. ‘Oh really?’ he said.
‘Be quiet, Fachtna,’ Teardrop said.
‘And what of Bress?’ Cliodna hissed, her face a mask of malice. Britha felt like she’d been slapped. Both Fachtna and Teardrop turned to look at her. She could feel the judgement in their glares without having to look at them. ‘Just can’t keep your legs closed for the Otherworld, can you?’
‘It would seem that—’ Fachtna started.
‘Fachtna!’ Teardrop shouted.
But that was it for Britha. The words were little more than magics woven to wound. She could see the intent. Anger overcame hurt.
‘What, you spurn me so you can follow me and then throw my actions back in my face? Do what you please. Look what you’ve done to yourself! You are nothing in my eyes.’ Cliodna was not the only one who could weave those magics.
‘You swived Bress?’ Fachtna demanded.
‘No. Now be quiet, boy,’ Britha answered in the voice she used on arrogant warriors. Fachtna’s conditioning to obey whatever passed for the dryw where he came from silenced him.
Cliodna was suddenly in front of Britha. She tried not to flinch, tried to meet her eyes. The black pools that she had once found deep and beautiful now seemed alien and hard.
‘Then why can I smell his stench in here?’ she asked, pointing at Britha’s head. ‘And hear him here?’ She pointed at Britha’s heart.
Britha had no answer for herself, let alone her former lover. Tears were trickling down her cheek now. She flinched as Cliodna moistened her fingertip on the tears. There was something obscene about Cliodna’s long tongue as it protruded between her teeth to lick at the tears, seeming to savour them.
‘You’re a pure-blood servant of the Muileartach, aren’t you?’ Teardrop asked quietly. There was fear in his voice.
‘Not so pure now, witch-boy. Tell me, does it hurt, slowly being eaten from the inside?’
Teardrop swallowed hard but said nothing. Fachtna was resisting the urge to look at his friend.
Cliodna turned to stare at Britha. ‘The Dark Man comes. Water and earth mean nothing. All women must feel the boots of the sky gods on their necks. It has been this way since Marduk struck down Tiamat. Run and hide while you can. I am only a weapon from this time on, nothing more.’
Cliodna turned, practically running on all fours, and leaped into the water, her sleek form making a minimal splash as she disappeared into its blackness.