The souls are resisting, swatting at them with makeshift weapons. One of the birds gets too close to its intended victims, and with a leap, one of the souls grabs its feet, pulling it down. The others attack it, punching and stomping, until it twitches feebly before it stops moving. Finally, enough of the spots of unraveling start to merge, and Neit draws his sword and dives through an opening.
Rolling gracefully, he comes to his feet and begins to run. Reaching the sickly pulsing blob, he stabs downward and is rewarded with a splash of ichor, but as this one winks out of existence, another blob some distance away starts to pulse. Looking around, he takes in all of the lumps and bumps on the landscape and grimaces.
“There are too many of them,” he yells back, “I can’t kill them all like this.”
Grinning wickedly, Lir yells back, “I hope you don’t mind getting your boots wet.”
A foot of seawater rolls in like the arrival of a high tide. With it come great schools of toothy fish who scour their new “seafloor”. As each of the lumps starts to pulse, they swarm it and devour the pulsing blob. Seeing that Lir seems to be handling each attempt at reconstitution, Neit heads off to kill the bird-things. He sheathes his sword and unslings his bow. He aims, and it's one of the bird-things that falls, flopping into the water where the souls quickly attack it.
Fists and feet pummel it into pulp, and fish swarm the bird-thing, devouring it as well. Some of the souls approach him cautiously, as he aims for the next bird. Once he’s brought it down, they leap on it and pulp it, only to back away carefully as the fish swarm in to finish it off.
One of them looks at him, “You’re not Rigan. Which god are you?”
“I’m Neit,” he says as he’s trying to get his aim for the next bird.
“Our prayers have been answered,” one of the other souls says, “One of the gods has come to take us from this bastard’s cesspool.”
“We’re all here,” Neit says, gesturing at the fish, “Those are gifts from Lir. Aed is in the process of killing the spell that holds this place together. Morrighu and Nuada are helping him. Danu created the bugs that drew the bird creatures away from you. Her beetles are picking at the spell, too. That’s how I managed to get in here. Dagda, Lugh, and Midirr are keeping watch, and they’ll help if they see something they can do.”
Just then, there’s a loud squawk as one of the trees grabs hold of one of the birds that thought to roost in it and rest for a bit. The bird is still squawking as the tree opens a very splintery maw, shoves the bird in, and begins to chew slowly. Feathers drift down, and Neit glances at the crack to find Dagda concentrating fiercely.
Laughing, Neit yells to him, “Good job. Now they’ve got nowhere safe to land.”
Neit continues to dispatch the bird-things with the help of the trapped souls. When the fish have devoured the last one, Neit leads them cautiously toward the place he entered and begins to pass them to Dagda, who lifts them out through the opening Neit used to get in.
“We’ll have to get you out of there, too,” Aed says, “before I finish the unraveling. I wouldn’t want it to take you with it.”
“If you can get all of them out of there,” Lir says, “I can call in some other creatures. He’s still trying to reconstitute himself, but my other… pets are more aggressive, and I don’t want to hurt them. They’ve been through enough.”
“The easiest way is to have them repudiate Rigan and pick one of us so that we can send them on to their new afterlife,” Midir shrugs, “Who wants to come with me? Poetry, song, and lovely dance partners…”
A few of those waiting to be rescued step forward and repudiate Rigan in favor of Midirr. With a wave of his hand, they’re gone, “I don’t think I’m going to be much help here, and I should probably go and get them settled in.”
With that, Midirr is gone as well. Others step forward and repudiate Rigan, choosing instead from one of the other gods, so that the gods can send them to a vastly different afterlife. When they’re down to the last few souls, Neit clambers out of the eggshell encapsulating the demi-plane.
“Are you coming?” Neit says, reaching back for them.
“Why?” the soul says, “Why did he do this to us?”
“He always planned to do this to you,” Neit says slowly, “He wanted to consume all of you to enhance his power. We think he bred you for that express purpose. Once you were strong enough, once there was enough power there, he harvested you all and started consuming you.”
“How do we know that any of you are any different?” the soul replies.
“Other than the fact that we’ve come here to stop him,” Neit shrugs, “You don’t. You can’t remain here, though. If you do, Aed’s unraveling will unravel you too. You don’t have to accept me, but you should accept one of us.”
Sighing heavily, the soul takes his arm, “I wish I knew where my granddaughter was. She was one of Rigan’s paladins. I thought she’d be here.”
“What’s her name?” Neit says, “Maybe Lugh can check his ledger to see where she went.”
“Emlyn,” the soul sighs. Neit’s head swivels, and he stares at the soul who stares back.
“Oh, you know her,” the soul pleads, “Please… Tell me where she is.”
“You’d have to ask Lugh,” Neit shrugs, “I’m not sure what god she accepted, in the end. I had hoped that it would be me, but it wasn’t.”
“So, this was all for nothing,” the soul weeps, “She was never coming here.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Neit corrects her, “She uncovered what Rigan was up to and repudiated him over it. Without her, all of this would have gone unnoticed and continued until the last of you were consumed. She should be remembered kindly and with great respect, no matter where she is.”
“That’s fine,” a gravelly voice rasps, “I’ll find that bitch and make her pay for screwing up my plans. I had plans for that twit, Rigan, and now he’s gone. It’s not like I can start over with a new god. You don’t find those at the bazaar every day.”
While the figure rants, it begins to twist and reshape itself. Neit takes a tighter hold on it as Morrighu comes up behind it and shoves a dagger into it, and it disappears into a puff of sulfurous smoke, still ranting. Pulling a face, he grimaces, “Well, that was an interesting turn of events. Let’s get this thing unraveled so I can go home and wash the smell of that thing off me.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Emlyn returns from her swim at the fish hatchery to find a woman she doesn’t recognize sitting at her desk. The tall boots, leather pants, and linen shirt seem more suited for drills than a show. She stands and is slightly taller than Emlyn.
“Can I help you?” Emlyn says slowly, backing into the hallway.
“I’m the current Nemhain,” the woman says, holding out her hands, “The Goddess asked me to come and speak with you. She says that you’re shouldering up burdens that aren’t yours to bear. As One, I know a bit of what that’s like.”
“Forgive me,” Emlyn shrugs, “I mean no disrespect, but could you prove that?”
Chuckling, the woman bows her head, and a blue nimbus envelops her. Within a few moments, the Goddess appears. “Please tell her that you sent me here,” Nemhain says with a smirk.
“It’s all right, child,” the Goddess explains, “She’s one of my four. One of the four that you’ll be joining once you pass the test of pain.”
“You’re a bit jumpy,” Nemhain says, “You should be safe here inside the temple.”
“I’ve been approached by two other gods just there, in the hallway, since I’ve been here,” Emlyn explains, “If they can get in undetected, then I’m not sure what else might make it into the Temple.”
Nemhain arches a brow at the Goddess, who replies, “I’ve taken that up with Lugh and Neit directly. They’re both quite taken with her.”
“She told you what happened then?” Emlyn says slowly.
“Yes,” Nemhain nods, “but I think I’d like to hear it all from you. Not the short version either.”
“That’s going to take some time to tell,” Emlyn says, sitting on her bed. She pulls her knees up, wraps her arms around them, and launches into the story, starting with her plan to raise the status of her house in a single generation. She falters a bit in telling what happened to their families, particularly her own. The sun shifts across the floor as she continues to talk until she gets to the promise that she made to Dian. She’s getting hoarse, and her voice finally breaks.
“I’ve joined the others in referring to him euphemistically. That asshat meant to harvest all of you like so much wheat and, like wheat, devour all of you to increase his power. Once he was done, he was planning to change his name, infiltrate another pantheon, and start the process all over again. Even if you hadn’t killed the armies, he would have, along with all the rest of your people. Aed called it reaping his crop. We had to dismantle his afterlife and reapportion all the souls he hadn’t yet consumed. We did stop him from reconstituting himself. He’s permanently gone, this time. Aed used his power to consume all the magic that was left in the asshat’s afterlife and there was a surprising amount of it. He’d been doing this sort of thing for a very long time, even by our standards.”
“One thing you’re not guilty of,” Nemhain nods, “is genocide. Your actions didn’t kill your people. That’s not your burden to bear. The asshat did that all by himself. He was planning to kill all of you. Your actions might have altered his timetable slightly, but I don’t see how it would have changed the outcome. It sounds like you made the best of a challenging situation and that you did your best to save them. Your friend was right; you should honor them all by living long and well. Even as One of the Four, I don’t know if we could have done anything any better or any differently. Because of your actions, a great many of those souls continue. You may not have saved their mortal lives, but they weren’t extinguished completely either. If the asshat had his way, they would have been. Now, because of you, they will remain in their chosen afterlives until they decide to be reborn. What remains is for you to let go of this guilt that is not yours to carry. Do that, and I will be most pleased to have you join us. If you ever want to talk, have her call me. Even if you want to know more about us.”
Nemhain stands up to leave and takes in Emlyn’s wan face, “I’d forgive you, but you haven’t done anything that requires forgiveness.”
“Even your people honor you,” the Goddess says, “I had to assume your form to get Dian and Gwladus to speak with me. They revere you. I could take you to the Hall of Judgement and let you see for yourself.”
“That might help her see the truth of it,” Nemhain agrees.
“I’m certain that Lugh would permit it,” the Goddess sighs, “He favors you greatly. Let me go and ask him.”
The Goddess winks out and returns a few moments later, “He has granted us passage, if you want it. He says that he will understand if it is more than you can bear.”
“I will come,” Emlyn replies, “but I must change first so that they know me.” Reaching into her wardrobe, Emlyn takes out her nightdress and slips into the almost transparent fabric. With a quick rip, the sleeves are gone, and another rip reveals her legs. Eyes welling, Emlyn takes the Goddess’s hand and finds herself at Lugh’s Hall once more.
The Guardians see her and salute her. The one closest to her winks at her as he places a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Lugh has asked that we escort you to him.” Tears streaming, but otherwise erect and solemn, Emlyn walks towards Lugh’s seat of judgement. As she goes, a whisper runs through the gathered crowd. Many bow to her. Some make signs of blessing, others salute her, while more still try to touch her as she passes, but are waved away by the Guardians. Lugh comes down the steps of his throne and takes her hand.
He leads her partway up the steps, “I have brought you here,” Lugh thunders, booming through the Hall, “so that you may hear my judgment in the matter. This catastrophe that has befallen your people is not of your doing. If anything, your actions have prevented something so much worse. Let there be an end to this suffering and self-recrimination.”
Lip trembling, she nods and takes a deep, steadying breath. Gesturing to the Guardian’s pike, she says quietly, “May I borrow that?”
Puzzled, he glances at Lugh, who gestures for him to let her have it. Emlyn takes it and, for a moment, is nearly bent double with grief, but she manages to use the pike butt to start a rhythm that the waiting souls all seem to know. They begin to stamp their feet and clap their hands, struggling to add the words to the cadence of the ancient dirge. She starts off faltering, voice cracking with unshed tears. The gathered souls quickly pick it up, joining their voices to hers, and as they do, her voice grows stronger.
Ring the bells, and pound the drums
Roll like thunder, till morning comes
Turn the earth and break the soil
For our kin do we toil
Let our enemies fear and quake.
Our floods of tears and hearts that ache
Speak the words and say them loud
Wind the sheet and bind the shroud
Dig the pit and lay the stones
Raise the barrow to hold the bones
Bring the horse and bring the dog
Kill the winter-fattened hog
Drink the water and drink the wine
Carve the spruce, burn the pine
Break the sword and bring the shield
Let the tomb now be sealed
Grief bites hard, and ours runs deep
Only today will we weep
When tomorrow finally comes
Silence the bells and still the drums
Tell the gods that Cymry comes.
She repeats the last line in a hoarse whisper that rolls through the hall. With the cadence over, Emlyn sinks to her knees, prostrate with grief, and the Guardian retrieves his pike from her unresisting hands. The other souls flock to her, offering whatever comfort they are able. She catches bits of what they say, “…knew your father…”, “…served with you…”, “…friends with your brother…”, “…Rigan was going to eat us…”, “…you saved us…”. The gratitude that pours off them is almost palpable.
After a time, Lugh crouches next to her, “Now will you accept my judgement in the matter?”
Nodding, through her sobs, she relents, and Lugh signals for one of the Guardians to take her back.
“We should be singing the Dirge of Heroes for you. Not you for us,” one of the souls whispers to her, “You saved us all.” Shooing the soul back and handing his pike to another Guardian, he scoops her up gently and begins walking toward the entrance.
“Wait!” one of the souls yells out, “Where are you taking her?”
“You can’t take her,” another cries.
“She’s one of us,” another complains.
A third starts a chant, “Bring her back… Bring her back…”
Calling for silence, Lugh shushes the crowd, “Since she still lives, she must go back.”
Stunned, the crowd is silent for a moment. “If she lives, then there is still hope,” one mutters, and this murmur runs through the gathered souls.”