31. The Fallen #2
Her voice grows quieter, as though the very air might betray her words.
“For centuries, the Fomorians have sown chaos across the Celtic regions. Their presence isn’t random—it’s deliberate.
The havoc they wreak fuels a poison, an insidious corruption that seeps into the land itself.
This poison feeds them, strengthening them while the land grows weaker. ”
“Our once-mighty Tuatha held them at bay, their light and power countered the darkness of the Fomorians, maintaining a fragile balance. But when the Tuatha retreated into the fairy mounds, the chaos of the Fomorians grew unchecked, their poison spreading through the veins of the earth, choking the life from ériu and her people. ”
“They are not mere myths, Triona,” she states, her voice firm now.
“The Fomorians are still here, lurking in the shadows of this world, feeding on the discord and suffering that plagues the land. Manipulating events to weaken the land further. Every war, every famine, every moment of despair—they thrive on it. And the longer they endure, the closer we come to losing our connection to the land entirely.”
“The time is coming when their poison will threaten more than just the land. It will threaten everything, and it’s more urgent than you know,” Amelia cautions, her expression darkening further.
“They’re setting the stage for something catastrophic.
If we do nothing, in twenty years’ time, the land will wither beyond recovery.
Crops will fail. The rivers will run dry.
And famine… what we’ll call ‘ The Great Famine ’ will sweep through Ireland like fire through dry brush.
More than half of the country’s population will starve or be forced out. ”
My dreams of the poisoned glen resurface in vivid detail—the disease creeping through the land, unstoppable. The kind of devastation that leaves scars not just on a person but on the soul of a place.
My stomach churns as the enormity of her words sinks in. “I’ve dreamt of this…” I reveal, my voice barely above a whisper.
Amelia leans closer, her gaze piercing. “I had wondered when you might share that bit of information.”
Casey titters from behind me. “All this time, all those dreams ye’ve talked to me about. They’ve had true meanin’,” he states.
Amelia nods her agreement. “See… you have a purpose in this. You can stop it. That is why you must be prepared. Why you must understand what is at stake.”
“Where would I even start?”
Amelia’s hands grip mine tighter. “You start right now by believing. Believing in yourself, in the connection that still lingers, faint though it may be. By remembering who we are. By rekindling the bond with ériu herself. The land has not forgotten, Triona. And neither must you.”
“Why me?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, laden with fear and doubt. “Why am I the one tasked with this? I’m just… me. I don’t have the strength of the Tuatha or the wisdom of someone such as you. How can I possibly do this?”
Her face softens, a flicker of understanding breaking through the sombre lines of her expression.
She leans closer, her voice low but firm.
“Do you think the events leading up to this very moment were happenstance? You, Triona, were born with a connection to ériu. Your existence is no accident. The blood of kings and guardians flows in your veins; it’s what makes you different—what makes you capable. ”
“You were right to believe I would doubt your words,” I whisper, the weight of her expectations pressing heavily on my chest. “It sounds unreal.”
“Let me do my best to convince you,” she says, her grip on my hand grounding me. “You carry a legacy older than you can imagine. You were chosen, not because you are perfect, but because you will fight for it. Despite all hurdles, all pain, you care .”
The fire pops, startling me into the quiet room. How can I believe this? It feels as if I’m going mad. I should have long since stopped questioning the impossible. I’ve seen the impossible, and somewhere deep inside, I can feel what she’s talking about. The stirrings inside me.
The faintest ember of resolve stirs within me.
“It’s not just you who has been tasked with this,” Amelia says, pulling me from my thoughts. “There are others… others who carry their own pieces of this fight. Together, you are meant to stand against what is coming.”
I furrow my brow, the words barely sinking in before she continues. Her voice drops, becoming almost melodic, her eyes distant as if she is recalling something from deep within her memory.
“You journey now with sun-born kin, To find the spear, the battle’s twin. The warrior bold from Gorias’ might, Seeks the blade of eternal light. Two hearts entwined, a cauldron they crave, A vessel of plenty their fate will pave…”
As the words linger in the air, the door creaks open, and Mannie walks in, his voice carrying the last line as if summoned by fate.
“And you, my child, seek what’s been torn— The shard of your soul, to be reborn.”
His tone is grave, and Amelia’s eyes cut to him as mine widen in recognition. “That…” I stammer, feeling as though the floor just dropped from beneath me. “That’s what the maiden in the tavern recited to me. Weeks ago. Word for word.”
Finn stands straight, looking me in the eye. “Triona, why are we just hearin’ about this?” His voice is low, raw, but not angry. “When I asked, you said she’d approached askin’ for coin.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Callan’s sharp voice cuts through the space before I can form words.
“Ye didnae think this was worth mentionin’?” His hands rake through his dark hair, frustration radiating off him like heat. “What else are ye hidin’?”
“I wasn’t hiding it!” I snap, my voice breaking. “I—I didn’t even know what it meant! I didn’t think—”
“You didnae think,” Callan interrupts bitterly, his voice dripping with anger. “That’s just it. Ye’ve got strangers in taverns and gods know who else comin’ to ye with riddles, and ye think it’s nothin’ worth sharin’? Should’ve told me the moment it happened!”
My face flushes with frustration. “I was still reeling from our parents’ deaths, Callan! It made no sense, and I didn’t want to worry anyone. Least of all you! At the time we hadn’t met a bloody feckin’ banshee, and you’ll have to excuse me if I’ve been a little muddle-brained since then!”
“That’s enough, Callan. You willnae speak to her in anger,” Finn says. Callan’s glare cuts toward Finn, and it looks as if he’s contemplating laying Finn out where he stands.
Amelia stands to walk to Callan. When she places a gentle hand on his arm, his posture seems to loosen.
“Settle, dear,” she says softly. “I know a rage grows inside your heart, but there is no enemy among you.”
Callan exhales sharply, clearly still brimming with restraint, but he gives her a tight nod.
Amelia turns her gaze to Finn. “Finn, please. Share what you heard.”
All eyes settle on him.
Finn hesitates, furrowing his brow. “How did you…”
“Amelia is a Pastseer,” Mannie supplies smoothly, his voice even and deliberate.
Finn’s jaw ticks, and suspicion flashes across his face as he shifts his gaze to Mannie. “Aye, and what about you? How would you know any of this? Why are you even here? ”
But before Mannie can answer, I interject, eyebrows raised in alarm. “Wait—she talked to you too?”
Finn glances at me, still rattled. “Aye… though it was after Bran said she’d approached him at the door like a ramblin’ fool.”
Bran, sprawled like sin itself in a chair, lifts a lazy hand. “I said no such thing,” he retorts, tone lofty. “I said she was touched in the head. Big difference.” He pauses, then squints. “Though, in fairness, she was muttering about eyes meeting light, and time and... revelations, I think?”
He turns to the room at large, expression caught somewhere between bemused and deeply unnerved. “Are you actually suggesting that the batty maiden—appearing out of nowhere at a crumbling tavern in the middle of nowhere—has something to do with all this?”
Silence follows.
A charged, prickling silence.
Then Amelia, perfectly calm, sips her tea. “Not suggesting, love. Confirming.”
Finn’s brow furrows, and he tears his gaze from Bran to pin Mannie with a glare sharp enough to draw blood.
“I’ll ask again,” he snaps, voice low and dangerous. “How do you know any of this? And why in the seven hells are you here?”
Mannie’s eyes settle on Finn, steady and measuring.
There’s no jest in his expression now, no trace of the playful irreverence he so often cloaks himself in.
“I am what they call Sí uaisle —Noble Fae, in your modern tongue. My… ancestors have walked this earth longer than you can fathom. They have seen empires rise and crumble, their ashes scattering to winds that carry whispers of truths long forgotten. The threads of fate have woven a path that leads here—to you. This moment is no accident; it is the culmination of a purpose forged before your ancestors drew breath.”
Amelia steps forward, her voice soft but steady.
“I owe you an apology,” she says, looking at each of us.
“I should have told you more, but I thought easing you into this world might make it less overwhelming. I see now that withholding has only deepened your confusion and mistrust. Mannie and I have been aligned for longer than you can imagine. Trust that his presence here is no coincidence—it is necessary.”
Casey’s brow furrows, his frustration spilling into his voice. “What does that have to do with any of this? How does this help?”
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “The past weeks have been naught but chaos. We are struck repeatedly, without reason or sense, to guide us. Our world—it’s turned upside down, and now we are expected to simply abide this madness as if it were the natural order? Tell me, how.”