Shattered

That’s all.

Thanks, buddy. I turned to Meara and Owen. “Ready to go?”

“I don’t want to go at all,” Owen said, “but I’m ready.”

“Aye, I’m ready,” Meara said.

After I gave Oberon a farewell chuck under the chin, we strode to our familiar trees and shifted into the grove surrounding Manannan’s estate. It was a mixed lot but largely oak, with tame undergrowth and plenty of space to walk between the trees. We were on the west side of the estate, the entrance being to the south, and only three or four trees deep into the grove. Peering underneath the canopy, we could see the pasture stretched out before us, and the gray walls of the castle were visible in the distance.

Normally the birds would be chirping, but it was as silent as a classroom after a student tells off the teacher and everyone waits to see what will happen next.

“It’s too quiet,” Owen said, his knees bending into a half crouch. Meara unconsciously echoed his movement.

“Aye.” I drew Fragarach as a precaution, figuring that I’d have plenty of time to resheathe it before we got to the gates. Under the trees, I’d give my paranoia a nice long leash.

We crept forward with mincing steps in the grass, eyes darting to the flanks and even up into the branches, but seeing and hearing nothing. Past the first rank of trees and then another, all was well, aside from the palpable tension in the air. I didn’t sense the problem until I’d taken a few steps too many.

I’d been cut off from the earth—or at least what passes for earth in Tír na nÓg. As in all the planes, whatever I’m standing on is supposed to allow a strained flow of energy to course through me from Gaia, for all planes are connected to her. I stopped walking when I realized the comforting presence of her energy was not merely strained but entirely absent. Before I could say anything to Owen, he pointed through the canopy at the top of the castle, where a haze of flying faeries swarmed along the tops of the walls.

“Looks like they’re ready for a fight, Siodhachan. She must know that we’ve figured things out.”

“Owen, our power’s gone.”

“What?” My archdruid looked down at his foot, slow to realize that I spoke the truth. No juice was coming up through our tattoos. “Now, how in the name of seven sets of ox nuts did that happen?”

Four Fir Bolgs—giant ugly blokes that weren’t strictly Fae but eked out an existence here now as hired thugs—stepped out from behind large oak trees. They wielded net launchers, tubular weapons with gigantic muzzles, and they shot them at us without so much as a battle cry. I tried to shout a warning, but it was only in time to make Owen and Meara look up and see what was coming. The nets blanketed us, and when they touched my skin I knew that we were in trouble. They practically punched us to the ground, for the links between the intersecting knots were coated with bands of iron. It was far too much iron through which to cast anything, especially considering the iron already dangling around my neck. Cut off from the earth and unable to cast from stored magic, we were essentially powerless humans now.

We struggled to get out from under the nets, of course, and while we did that, the Fir Bolgs dropped their net launchers and grabbed spears, which they had leaned out of sight against the oak trunks. They advanced on us with ugly smiles, and I knew we wouldn’t get free in time.