Truthseeker

Twenty-Three

“When in doubt, go to an expert.” The platitude, murmured under her breath, had a ring of truth to it. At Kelly’s suggestion Lara had begun an Internet search for mythological weapons. Within minutes she’d found herself lost in a maze of fictional weapons from online role-playing games. Living, breathing humans, she’d decided, were likely to be much more helpful, and she’d borrowed Kelly’s car again to make the journey up to Cambridge.

The building that housed Harvard’s Celtic Studies Department was a beautiful old pillared home. Lara peered at it through the Nissan’s windshield, wondering if she would be able to hold a discussion about legendary weapons without compromising her truth sense, then shrugged. She would certainly never find out sitting in the parking lot. A sense of propriety made her knock on the building’s front door, though she let herself in immediately.

A young woman with her hair in a ponytail blinked up from where she sat reading on a comfortable-looking couch. “Hello?”

“Hi. My name’s Lara Jansen. I’m here to see …” Lara hesitated, unwilling to even attempt the jumble of letters that made up the director’s name. She glanced at the office listings instead, where “Pádraig hÉamhthaigh” was emblazoned in the leading slot.

A sympathetic grin flashed over the girl’s face. “It’s pronounced ‘Heafy,’ if you can believe it. Pawrick Heafy, pretty much. He’s from Ireland himself, from one of the areas called the Gaeltacht, where people still speak the old language as a matter of course. I think he keeps the Irish spelling just to make people panic when they see his name written down.” She got to her feet as she spoke and led Lara to the converted house’s upstairs, where she knocked solidly on a closed door. “Professor Heafy, Lara Jansen’s here to see you.”

The door swung open a few seconds later to reveal a slender older man with a beaky nose and thick white hair. “So she is. Have you finished that translation yet, Alison?”

The girl waved the book she’d been reading. “Still working on it. It’ll be done by week’s end.”

“Which week’s end?” the professor asked drily, and Alison grinned as she scurried back downstairs. “Well, come in, Miss Jansen. You’re the young woman who went missing in Boston, are you not?”

Lara tried not to wince at the recognition as she followed Heafy into his office. “I am.”

“And you returned with an abiding interest in Celtic folklore. I suppose you won’t be telling me how that came about.” He gestured to a well-worn leather chair, its arms and seat alternately shining and dull with use, and sat down on the other side of his desk. Lara spent a few seconds studying a wall of haphazardly arranged books, then shook herself and offered the professor a brief smile.

“I was exposed to some while I was gone. I have a lot of questions, Professor, and I think some of them are probably a little strange.” Music chimed disapprovingly, and she made a face. “Maybe very strange. Do you know anything about a place called Annwn?”

Heafy’s eyebrows elevated. “The Welsh land of eternal youth, sometimes called the Deep or Drowned Lands. The underworld, or fairyland, if you like. There are an infinite number of interpretations.”

Notes jangled again and Lara ducked her head, trying to dismiss the exaggeration of infinite interpretations. “How did they drown?”

“Ah, sure and you’d ask me that.” Heafy got up and pulled a book off the shelves, though he didn’t appear to read anything from it as he flipped through its pages. “One legend says a priestess of a fairy well let it overflow. Another says the man sent to guard the dikes was a drunkard and in his spirits left the sluices open. Here, this is a grand version of the story.”

Lara jolted to her feet as he offered her the book, and glanced through its pages. “Um. I’m sorry. I don’t read French.”

“Oh.” Heafy took the book back, examined it curiously, then returned it to the shelves. “I didn’t notice it was in French. That version tells how the drunkard seduced the priestess and that was why she let the well overflow. In all likelihood, of course, it was only the end of a miniature ice age, and the sea level simply rose.”

Lara sat back down with a sigh. “So there are no stories of magical weapons that broke the land?”

“That’s more an Arthurian kind of tale.” Heafy returned to his own seat, looking thoughtful. “The Arthurian legends come out of Wales, mind, so I can see tangling the two. A sword, I suppose, would be what you’re after?”

“Not Excalibur.” Lara smiled faintly. “No, I was told about a weapon that might have been lost. Something with the power to drown the land and subjugate a people, maybe.”

“Excalibur would have been lost and found and lost again, to be sure, but its mythology is more to unite a land and free a people, wouldn’t you say? No, tell me more, me love, if you know it. Perhaps you’ll shake something loose in this old mind of mine.”

“I don’t know very much else about this version. There are two rival kings, Emyr and Hafgan—”

“Now Hafgan was a king of Annwn, that I know,” Heafy interrupted. “Emyr’s not a name I’m familiar with.”

Breath knocked out of Lara’s chest like she’d been hit. “That’s interesting,” she murmured, the phrase so inadequate as to send dissonant chimes over her skin. “They fought, and the lands were drowned, and this legend says the power behind the drowning was a weapon. Legend says the weapon was cast out of Annwn after that, because it might have the power to heal the land, too, and the victorious king, Emyr, didn’t want that.”

Heafy’s eyes were bright. “It’s not a tale I know, but it has the hallmarks of proper mythology. Who did you have it from?”

Lara exhaled again, as sharply as before. She had managed to skirt lies succesfully so far, but the direct question was hard to avoid. Harder, when Ioan, who had told her the story, was unlikely to be a name to trigger mythological memories. Finally, jaw set against the jarring dissonance of a flat-out lie, she said, “A man called Oisín.”

Heafy leapt to his feet again, eagerly sorting through books. “Oisín the poet. Plenty of lads today carry that name, but I give yours credit for telling a good tale. The first Oisín, though, now there’s a story I know well, and that reminds me of something. He was an Irish poet stolen away by the fairy queen Níamh—”

“Her name was Rhiannon, I think, in this version.”

“Ah, Rhiannon of the white horse, that’s all and well, too. Stolen away and when he returned thinking only three years had passed, three hundred had gone by in Ireland. He returned to Tir na nÓg, that’ll be the Irish name for Annwn, or close enough, to live out his days, but there’s a story I have here, me love, that tells of his second return to Ireland.”

“He only—” Lara bit her tongue. Oisín had only told her of one time he’d returned home, which didn’t mean that had been the only time he’d gone. “When did he come back the second time?”

“Upon Níamh’s death.” Heafy seized a book from the shelves, flipped it open, and plunked it triumphantly on the desk in front of her. “It’s a favorite story of mine, crossing two great legends of Irish mythology as it does. Do you know of Saint Brendan?”

“The one who crossed the Atlantic in a leather boat?” The last word turned into a squeak and Lara leaned forward to study the book. This one, at least, was written in English, but Heafy spoke more quickly than she could read.

“That’s right, searching for the Isle of the Blessed. There’s more than one tradition, me love, where that might mean Annwn or Tir na nÓg itself. Now why, I ask meself, would a Christian priest monk be searching for the fairylands? There are stories that say an angel sent him sailing as punishment for disbelieving the word of God, but a prophet and an angel might be thought the same.”

“And Oisín was a prophet,” Lara murmured.

Heafy beamed at her. “Just so. A prophet from the land of youth. Now doesn’t that sound a wee bit like an angel from Heaven to you? Sending a holy man on a holy quest? But here’s my thought: maybe it’s not to fairyland, but far from it that Oisín sent our man Brendan.”

Lara flattened her fingers against the book, though she was watching the professor. “Away from Annwn with the weapon that nearly destroyed it.”

“And Brendan,” Heafy said gleefully, “came to America.”

Lara laughed out loud. “Would you happen to know where he hid the weapon?”

“Ah.” Heafy sat down, as suddenly defeated as he’d been exultant. “I’ve never thought to sort that, no. You’d have to speak with one of my colleagues in the Native American Studies Department, perhaps. I can ring them up and make an appointment for you, if you like?”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

Heafy nodded and dug out a phone directory from within his desk, muttering and flipping pages until he found what he was after. He lifted a finger to admonish Lara to wait a moment as he dialed, then was clearly transferred twice before getting to the person he wanted. Lara’s search was explained in a few quick sentences, before his eyebrows rose and he offered the phone to Lara. “Professor Cassidy wants to speak with you.”

Lara lifted her own eyebrows, but accepted the phone curiously. “This is Lara Jansen.”

“Hi, Miss Jansen. I’m Ellen Cassidy, one of the department heads. Look, I don’t want to waste your time, so if you’re trying to find pre-Columbian contact in the Americas, you’re going to want to go to Canada. The Viking settlements and trade agreements there are the only halfway verifiable data we’ve got, and that doesn’t go nearly as far back as Brendan’s legendary voyage. I’m really sorry, but we’ve heard this all before and it’s just got no basis in reality. I wish people could accept that the Native American cultures were entirely capable of complex societies and interactions without European interference.”

Uncertain notes trembled under Lara’s skin, finding issue with some aspect of Cassidy’s rant, but she nodded into the phone anyway. “I understand. Thank you for your time, Professor.” Lips pursed, she handed the phone back to Heafy, then smiled wryly. “I hit a sore spot there, I think. I didn’t mean to imply native cultures were in need of Western guidance.”

“Perhaps you can find someone else more willing to talk mythological theory,” Heafy said with a smile. “I’m afraid it’s back to work for me, me love, unless there’s something else I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so. Thank you very much, Professor. This was more helpful than I expected.” Lara took her leave, Cassidy’s words still buzzing in her ears. A phrase stood out: it’s just got no basis in reality. That was opinion, Lara realized. Informed opinion, no doubt, but as with any facts from a prewriting society, it was at best an inference, a leap of logic. It was no more certain to be possible Brendan hadn’t made it to America than it was to be sure he had.

And her immature truthseeking talent, only a matter of days ago, would have taken Cassidy’s firmly believed opinion as gospel truth. Lara climbed into the Nissan and sat there awhile, staring sightlessly through the windshield. The magic was strengthening. Eventually she might be able to do as she’d always thought would be helpful: know the truth even when someone told her its exact opposite with their full confidence behind the telling. For now, though, the sour notes suggested there was still a path to be followed.

Her heart suddenly quick with anticipation, she turned the Nissan on and headed back to Boston. The research she needed to do now could be done in a library, free of most slants of human prejudice.

“Do you have any idea how many sacred Native American sites there are just in New England?” Lara dropped an inch-thick stack of photocopies on Kelly’s kitchen table and put her fists on her hips, as if explosive actions would cause Kelly to have the answers.

She didn’t. Instead she eyed the papers, then Lara, then went to stir the macaroni and cheese cooking on the stove. “Not a clue. Are you going to drive around to all of them and see if any of them sing to you?”

“I hope not.” Lara sat down and flipped through her stack of papers. “I narrowed it down to places on or near rivers, for right now. Brendan came back from his Atlantic journey, so I’m working on the idea he never abandoned his boat anywhere.”

“And that doesn’t make you itch?” Kelly waved the macaroni spoon as Lara frowned at her. “You usually look like somebody dumped itching powder on you when you hear lies. So I figure a badly wrong theory would make you twitchy.”

“I’m counting on the idea that it would.” Lara held her breath, looking at the papers again. “This is over my head, Kelly. I’ve never tried using this power to discern before. What if I can’t?”

“Then Annwn’s screwed,” Kelly said helpfully. “‘Spoken in a child’s word,’ Lar. Your superpowers are just starting to mature. Maybe you’ll be surprised what happens if you push them a little.”

“It’s not a superpower.”

“It totally is. It’s not quite as good as Wonder Woman’s golden lasso, but that’s only because a little bit of bondage can be fun. You’re totally a superhero, and you’re going to save the world.”

“The horrifying thing is you believe every word you just said.”

Kelly grinned as she poured mac and cheese onto plates. “Look, if I can’t be a superhero myself, at least I can be the plucky faithful sidekick. Do you want tartar sauce?”

“With my macaroni and cheese?”

“With the fishsticks I’m about to take out of the oven. Oh, crap, I forgot to make vegetables. I tell you, I should not be let loose in a kitchen. Thank God Dickon can cook.”

Lara got up to root through the freezer and came out with a bag of corn. “You make tartar sauce, I’ll cook the corn. Vegetables will be accomplished. Did you talk to him?”

“Corn is technically a grain.” Kelly laughed as Lara gave her an exasperated look. “You have no idea how much fun that was. All these years of you saying things like that, and now I get to get my own back. I did, yeah.” She took the fish out of the oven and slid the sticks onto the plates. “I said what you suggested, that he was probably right but it seemed safer to let you work through it on your own for a while. He was kind of tense, but then we had great makeup sex so I guess it’s okay.”

“I did not need to know that.”

“Oh, but I think you did. Is that enough corn for two people?”

“It’ll have to be. It’s all you’ve got.” Lara put the pot on to boil and went back to her papers. “I also have this idea that because the weapon was used to drown Annwn it might have an affinity for water. So I think if Brendan brought it here, it would be hidden near a river or lake or something.”

“Look at you, Ms. Extrapolatey. Here, let’s try something.” Kelly came over to pick up the top sheet of paper, then cleared her throat dramatically. “The worldbreaking weapon is hidden at—you actually had to photocopy pages about Niagara Falls? You couldn’t have remembered that one?”

“I was being thorough.” Lara lost her scowl as Kelly laughed.

“Okay, okay. Ahem. The worldbreaking weapon is hidden at Niagara Falls in upstate New York,” she said decisively, then looked hopefully at Lara, who gazed up at her in astonishment.

“That’s one of the strangest things I’ve ever heard. There’s no music with it. It’s completely neutral, like you don’t have any idea of the truth of what you’re saying.”

“Well, I don’t. But damn, I hoped maybe there’d be some kind of inherent truthiness you’d pick up on.” Kelly went back to the fridge, taking mayonnaise and pickles out to make tartar sauce.

Lara shook her head. “I guess the power’s not that well developed yet. It was a good thought, though. It’s okay. I’ll just read all of these carefully and see if anything strikes a chord.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that just means this is the wrong way to go about it. I’ll keep trying to think of other approaches, too.”

“Are you really sure it was only a day, Lara?”

“Of course. Why?” Lara looked up with a frown to see Kelly studying her with an odd expression.

“Because you’ve always been quiet and shy. The only thing I’ve ever seen you strongly opinionated and decisive about is clothing. And here you are acting like”—Kelly shrugged a shoulder and smiled—“a superhero.”

Lara glanced down again, half wanting to hide herself in the paperwork. “Yeah, I know. It’s partly that I was so scared in the Barrow-lands just in those first few minutes, Kel. I had to pretend I was brave so I wouldn’t completely fall apart. And then dealing with Emyr, I kept having to stand my ground, and it keeps getting easier.”

“Well, that’s good. I think that’s good. You’re going to need all the confidence you can get your hands on when we go to court. In the meantime …” Kelly drained the corn and plonked spoonsful onto the plates, then slopped tartar sauce down beside the fishsticks. “In the meantime, a delicious repast prepared by yours truly, and you can spend the next week or two honing your truthseeking skills by finding the worldbreaking weapon.”