The Stag Lord (20 page)

“Yes, that's right.” The
weight
of their conversation, a variation on similar conversations between parent and child for countless generations, was
sláinte
brew to Bann's heart. “Now repeat after me.” As he spoke each line, Cor's boyish voice echoed his:

I am a wind on the sea
,

I am a wave of the ocean
,

I am the roar of the sea
,

I am a bull of seven battles
,

I am a hawk on the cliff
,

I am a teardrop of sunlight
,

I am a gentle herb
,

I am a boar enraged
,

I am a salmon in a pool
,

I am a lake in a plain
,

I am the vigor of man
,

I am the meaning of poetry
,

I am a spear on the attack, pouring forth combat
,

I am the god who fires your mind
.

17

“W
E NEED TO MAKE
a grocery store run,” Shay announced at breakfast the next morning. “Cor. Hand me the pad and pencil by the phone.” Taking the items from the boy, she pushed her plate to one side and began writing. “What kind of cereal do you like?”

“Can we get some—” Cor began.

“No, we cannot.” Bann rose. He gathered up a stack of dirty dishes, carried them to the sink, and began rinsing.

Shay waited until the Knight's back was turned before mouthing at the boy,
What
?

Using the shoosh of running water to drown out his voice, Cor whispered. “…ucky…arms.”

“Yucky Arms?”

Choking on a laugh, Cor leaned so far across the table toward Shay, he almost wiped his plate clean of leftover pancakes and syrup with his shirt. “No, Lucky Charms.”

“You do realize that's incredibly cliché.”

“What's
that
mean?”

“It means,” Bann said over his shoulder, “a certain boy who asks Shay for something after I've told him no will be spending the day in his room.”

A knock at the front door prevented Shay from a tweet-worthy retort.
Hashtag killjoy
. She rose and followed Max, who had trotted over to the door with a
friend, not foe
woof and tail wag. A perfect Indian summer morning, along with her cousin, Rory, greeted her when she opened the door.

“Hey, Shayster.” Rory stood on the front step. He was dressed in a dark green rugby shirt that had seen far too many scrums, and a pair of battered jeans. A sheathed hunting knife hung at his hip, the leather-wrapped hilt worn smooth from decades of use. Behind him in the driveway, Hugh and James were rummaging in the bed of Hugh's truck. “We're going goblin hunting this morning. Think Bann's well enough for a little search-and-destroy?”

The hunter in her cheered at the idea.
I haven't been on a hunt since last month
. The Healer in her hesitated for a moment. “I think so. He'd probably go even if I said no.”

“Go where?” Bann appeared behind her, drying his hands on a dishtowel. He flung it over a shoulder as he clasped Rory's forearm in greeting.

“Hunting. James ran into another Knight yesterday and found out from her that there's a new pack further back in the foothills. They've established a den in one of the old gold mines. We need to go thin their numbers before their breeding gets out of control.”

“I've not hunted for close to a year—I might be a bit out of form. And I don't know what to do with Cor.”

“Shay can watch him.”

“Hard to do,” she said coolly, “when Shay's coming on the hunt, too.”

“Bring Cor along.” Hugh strolled up the walk, a cardboard box under one arm. He, too, was dressed for hunting, in a faded flannel shirt and jeans. “There's more than enough Knights here to keep an eye on one small boy.” He passed the box to Shay. “Ann sent this over. She thought Cor might find a use for them. Just a few odds and ends from when Robbie was his age.” A faint shadow crossed her uncle's face at the mention of his middle son, killed years ago on a hunt gone wrong.

So many of us die young
. “Thanks, Hugh.” Impulsively, Shay leaned forward and kissed the man on the cheek. “Are you sure?” she whispered in his ear.

“We are, lass. ‘Twill be a twice-blessing. Once for the giving and once to see these things used by another child.” He looked past Shay at Bann. “Will you accept them? It's not charity, you know. I do not wish to give insult,” he hastened to add.

“And none taken. Thank you, Hugh Doyle.” Bann took the box from Shay and stepped aside as the clan gathered in the living room.

While the three Doyles headed for the kitchen in hopes of a free cup, Bann and Cor set the box on the coffee table and began rummaging through it. Shay hovered nearby.

A couple of sweaters, out of fashion and a size too big but hardly worn, appeared first. A pair of hiking boots, with the price sticker still attached to one sole, followed. The bottom of the box was heavy with books. They were mostly paperbacks, although Shay spotted a few hardback copies, ranging in subjects from fiction to history to natural science, all geared toward young boys. Shay noticed a few of them were brand-new and bore the titles of classic dog stories. Pretending to study the cover, she picked up
Old Yeller
before Cor noticed it and hid it behind a couch cushion.
I hate books where the dog dies
.

While the boy clomped around the living room, trying out his new footwear just like Dad's, Bann repacked the box and carried it into their room. Shay trailed behind. “You okay with Cor going along?” She leaned a shoulder on the doorframe. The thought of hunting with the Knight set butterflies a-fluttering in her stomach.

Setting the box on his bed, Bann shrugged. “Most of us begin accompanying our parents around this age. To get a feel for the hunt. And, as Hugh said, there are five of us to watch over him,” he said, as if trying to convince himself.

“True.”

“I tend to be a bit protective of him.”

“You have a reason. Look, if you want, I could stay behind and baby-sit.”
Please say no
. “He's safer here with the wards than out in the woods.”

“Aye, he would be. But still…”

Shay could see the indecision on Bann's face. “It's hard to know when to risk and when to play it safe,” she added softly.

“It is. I wish I knew—”

“Dad!” Cor burst into the room, boots making a satisfying clump-thump with each step. “James and Rory said I get to be their partner on the hunt! The three of us are going to kick goblin butt.” He beamed as he began digging through his backpack and yanked out a grungy T-shirt. “James told me to change clothes because we're gonna get dirty,” he added with an eight-year-old boy's glee.

Shay and Bann exchanged a smile over the boy's head. “I'll let you two get ready, then. C'mon, Max.” She called the dog, who had followed Cor into the room. Closing the door behind her, she punched a fist into the air, then hurried to her own room.

After slipping into a pair of worn jeans, the hems frayed and the knees ripped out, she changed into a sports bra and heavy, long-sleeved T-shirt. Over it she pulled on a black fleece vest with zipper pockets; in those, she stored her moonstone, cell phone, a few bandages, and a tube of lip balm. Darting into her bathroom, she peed, brushed her teeth, tied back her hair, and finished with a quick slather of sunscreen to her face and neck.
I wonder if Bann and Cor want some
, she thought, holding the bottle in her hand.
Although they've both still got a bit of summer tan to them
. The memory of Bann's naked body flitted through her mind.

Tanned. All. Over.

“If I tried something like that, I'd be one giant freckle.” Making a face at
that
image, she pulled on her new pair of cross-country runners, sacrificing the sturdiness of hiking boots for the speed and agility of running shoes. “Okay, Max.” She opened the crate. “In you go.” The dog hesitated, then walked in slowly, circled once, and lay down with a huff. “I know you want to go, but I need to keep a close eye on Cor. I don't want to have to worry about two of you, okay, big guy? It'll just be a few hours.” The gate clanged like a jailhouse door when she shut it with the twinge of guilt she always experienced. After checking that he had water and a few toys, she tossed him a doggy treat and left.

Hugh and her cousins were still lounging at the table. Nearby, Bann worked at the counter. Dressed in jeans, work boots, and a cheap gray T-shirt that looked like a million bucks on him, he was sharpening an unusual blade, almost too big to be a knife, with Shay's whetstone. A bottle of oil sat next to his elbow, and his worn canvas barn coat was draped over the back of a chair. As she walked closer, she noticed he wore a double sheath belt; one holster already held a simple bronze knife. Speaking over the
sweesh-sweesh
of blade on stone, he indicated the supplies. “I dinna think ye would mind.” He kept his eyes fixed on the blade, occasionally checking each side to prevent a burr from building up. She knew from experience how difficult it was to put a lethal edge on a bronze weapon.

“Of course not.”
His brogue comes out at the oddest times. I wish he wouldn't try to hide it, but I understand why
. Shay remembered her own parents, whose accents were still distinct even after more than a century of living in America, cautioning her and her brother to keep a low profile.
Foreigners are not exactly welcome. And we Tuatha Dé Danaan need to keep our identities secret
, her mother had said.
Mortals outnumber us. And if they discover that they share this world with beings other than themselves, they would hunt us down. We may be some of the finest warriors in the world, but we can be killed
. “Interesting weapon, that.”

He held up the knife. The handle was wrapped in leather and designed with a slight curve that fit perfectly into his hand. The bronze blade, straight and long and with a wicked sharp point, gleamed. A Celtic rope pattern ghosted from tip to hilt like ribbons of flames along both sides. It reminded Shay of a miniature sword. “A gift from my master. He presented it to me on the day I became a Knight.” Bann smiled in fond memory as he examined it. “He was the only one willing to apprentice me, the old sod.”

“You're kidding.”

He shook his head as he wiped the blade clean of oil, then slid it into the empty sheath. “We never knew when the shapeshifter would appear, so my family was shunned. Oh, a few were friendly enough, but most avoided us as if we carried the plague. The legend of Cernunnos's madness had many convinced that they would be killed if they had anything to do with us.”

Like Weston Tully and his clan's attitude
, Shay thought.

“Incredible that they'd turn their backs on the royals of our people.” James, dressed in a puffy vest over a hoodie, was busy sliding a leather sheath onto Cor's belt. The boy hovered by him, jiggling from foot to foot. “There you go, squirt.” He passed it over and waited until Cor threaded it through the belt loops before giving the boy the small, plain hunting knife Bann had handed him a few minutes earlier. “Now, you stay right with Rory and me, got that? We're going to need your help.” James leaned forward and said in a loud whisper, “Especially Rory. He sucks at hunting.”

“Hey!” Rory leaned across the table and threw a mock punch at his cousin. Coffee sloshed from mugs when his hip caught the edge and scooted it a few inches.

“Enough of your shenanigans,” Hugh growled. “Outside. All of you.”

After a debate on which vehicle to take, they decided on Shay's SUV. Hugh squeezed into the backseat between James and Rory. Bann took the front seat with Cor in his lap. He grimaced when the boy shifted about, having trapped his sheathed knife at the worst possible angle between himself and his father.

“Mind what you're about, son. You're a bit close to the family jewels with that blade of yours.”

“Hugh?” Shay looked back in her rearview mirror as she drove along the state road leading into the foothills west of the city. “Why didn't Ann come this time?”
Would've been nice to have another female along
.

“Book club meeting.”

“Oh.”

Fifteen minutes later, they turned off the highway and onto a graveled road. Heading south, they followed the contour of the steep hills higher and higher with each switchback. The dirt road was a red slash through the pines and dried scrub oak. Shay winced every time her SUV slammed into another rut or pothole. After ten minutes of teeth-clacking travel, she sighed in relief and pulled over to a wide spot on the shoulder.

They spilled out of the vehicle, Hugh complaining about the tight quarters and declaring Rory could ride on the roof on the way home. While the Knights double-checked weapons, Shay watched as Cor whispered something to his father. Bann glanced around, then pointed to a thick stand of pines a few yards away.

“Quickly, now.” He made a gesture of apology when Cor jogged over the trees and disappeared. “Nervous piss.”

“We've all been there,” Rory said.

James clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “In your case, last week.”

“Okay, I'm ready!' Cor dashed back, still zipping up. He started for the younger Knights when Bann snagged him by the shirt and reeled him backwards. He handed the boy a pullover hoodie and some last-minute instructions.

“You're to stay with one of us at all times, Cormac Boru,” Bann said, bending down to lock eyes with his son. “I find you ahead or behind or not obeying when a Knight gives an order, and I'll tan your backside. In front of everyone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do not drop, lose, or break that blade.”

“No, sir, I won't.” Cor practically turned himself inside out trying not to fidget.

“Right, then.”

Shay melted when the Knight leaned over and pulled his son into a rough hug, kissing him soundly on one cheek, and then the other. “Good hunting.”