Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nicole
‘WHAT’S DIFFERENT?’ NICOLE ASKED, HOLDING REMI AT ARM’S length to take her in while her father hugged Lawna.
She looked as quietly glamorous as ever, wearing a delicate shirt of amber and cream that tied over her chest. Her hair was in long box braids that she’d finished with matching beads. She had the same warm violet and honey scent, even the same sparkle in her dark eyes.
But there was something … new.
Remi laughed. ‘Your heightened senses, maybe?’
Nicole nodded. ‘Okay, yeah, you got me there. I’m just so happy you’re here.’
‘Come in,’ said Biróg from behind them, excitedly nudging them inside. ‘The tea is hot and I’ve fresh barmbrack from the oven. I’ll get more cups.’
Dylan threw his arm around Remi as they came into a shadowed dining room with a long, glossy table – showing his first grin in a while.
It was a lovely space with sconces on the walls, a forest-green palette, and antique touches.
Nicole almost expected the room to be bare, but it had taper candles in shades of amber on the mantel of a small fireplace, and a brass fire-guard with supernatural creatures embossed into it.
Her family had been in various states of sitting around the table so resumed their seats.
‘How have you been?’ Bells asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
Callum was leaning against the wall with a cup of tea. Nicole didn’t miss the glance Dylan gave him and the silent tension of an unspoken challenge.
‘Good,’ Remi said, darting around to scoop Bells into a brief hug.
Nicole took a seat as Biróg cut thick slices of what she’d called barmbrack: a dark, savoury-looking loaf with raisins, sultanas, and currants.
It steamed like coils of an ancient Celtic spell and swarmed the room with a delicious spiced, yet sweet scent.
Biróg added pats of butter to each and set a few more teacups down.
‘Milk, no sugar?’ Biróg asked.
Nicole blinked. ‘Er – yes. Thank you.’
‘Wouldn’t be a Hearthea if I didn’t know my guests, now would I?’ she tutted.
Nicole’s lips inched up slightly as Biróg rushed out again and she marvelled at how two creatures with the same abilities could embody them so differently.
Nicole met Lawna’s gaze and warmth filled her at the tentative relationship they’d built over those years in Estwood; the occasional hug Nicole cherished. She hadn’t trusted strangers for so long, but once, when Bells was about six, she had climbed into Lawna’s lap at a brunch and fallen asleep.
Lawna had looked at Ronan to check it was fine, but Nicole, still young herself, had been so paranoid to have her sister out of their father’s arms that she’d sat next to Lawna the whole time, her fingers wrapped around Bells’ ankle.
She’d slowly begun to relax throughout the meal and even let her head rest tentatively against Lawna’s arm, toned but so silky and warm.
Remi had been fascinated with Bells, stroking her cheek and offering Nicole a strawberry from her plate.
Nicole had felt this deep, shuddering relaxation at the thought that they had, despite every other time they’d run, found somewhere. Found people they could be safe with.
For a while at least.
It choked her up now, so she disguised the feeling by taking a sip of tea.
‘Kyan,’ Remi said, as she accepted a cup from Biróg, then did a double take at the dark violin on the wall. ‘You play?’
‘Oh, no. My cousins were the musicians, not me.’
Nicole’s ears perked up at the speck of information.
‘You’re welcome to use it. Biróg keeps everything in perfect condition. The place is as much hers as it is mine.’
The little Hearthea made a prim noise and Nicole smiled.
‘So tell us,’ Bells said, leaning on the table, ‘what did you find?’
Remi stood at the head of the table, Lawna taking a seat against the wall behind her, between the fireplace and the door in a protective position.
‘You’re going to love this,’ Remi said, pulling out a file from a sleek, tan bag.
‘So, while you’ve been looking for the three “goddess-blessed” items – one down, two to go.
Well done, team.’ She winked at Bells who promptly flushed dark pink and Nicole glanced to where her father had propped up the portrait of their mother – now even more precious than they’d realised.
‘I’ve been researching your mum’s clue about the Siren’s Instrument,’ Remi continued. ‘And I think I know what it is. I was hoping someone at the Speakeasy would be able to help me get close enough to confirm.’
Remi let the file spill open onto the table with a flourish, revealing images of paintings, notes, and pieces of sheet music.
‘There are Sirens all over the world who have myths about sacred instruments thanks to the differing cultures and mythologies,’ she began, illustrating her words by pushing forward paintings of different Sirens throughout time and their instruments: relief sculptures of Egyptians, the Lyres of Ur from Mesopotamia, and what looked to be a highly decorated gold conch shell from India.
‘But,’ Remi continued, ‘the clues keep coming back to Ireland. Particularly one Irish instrument called “Ooh-hnya”, is that how you say it?’ She shot a checking look at Kyan, pointing to the word at the top of a page.
He nodded.
Callum’s eyes glittered with intrigue as he took another sip of tea.
‘Well, úaithne was supposed to be the harp of the Irish god, the Dagda,’ Remi said.
‘No paintings of that one?’ Nicole mused, looking for an illustration.
‘Interestingly, no,’ Remi said. ‘Which has been part of the mystery. I’ve had to cobble together what it might have looked like from the old myths and stories. Some say it was made of oak, but that could be because the Dagda was also the God of Druids, and oak was the tree of the Druids.’
Kyan had crossed his arms, silhouetted by light from the window. Did he think the same as her – that the recurrence of the Druid here couldn’t be a coincidence?
‘Some translations say it was made with the “oak of two meadows” but another means something more like “murmur” and “sweet apple tree”.’
‘Manannán is said to have lived on an island of apple trees,’ Bells said, perking up. ‘He was the Irish God of the Sea and it’s said that he guards the passage to the Otherworld where the gods came from. Perhaps it’s apple wood? I don’t know …’
‘That’s what I thought as well,’ Remi said with a smile. ‘But then I was faced with what it might look like. Some translations suggested it was a “quadrangular” instrument.’
‘Which gives it four sides?’ Dylan asked. ‘Like this one?’ He pointed at the Lyres of Ur.
‘Exactly. The problem is, the harp we recognise today as the Irish harp has three sides.’ Now she did slide a photograph forward.
The classic symbol of Ireland that was seen on so many things – the Guinness logo being the most famous.
‘This harp has a curved top, which sits across the other pieces to form a “V” shape.’
‘So you don’t think it looks like a modern harp?’ Nicole asked.
Remi shook her head. ‘No, but I’ve realised that putting all my hope on old sources might not be useful and my best bet is checking any possible candidates myself.
Which leads me to one of the oldest Celtic harps we know of: the Brian Boru Harp, currently in the Library of Trinity College in Ireland. ’
She slid a final picture across. This fit the classic three-sided shape and its dark, inscribed wood gleamed against a moody, extravagant library.
A whisper of fascination trailed up Nicole’s spine.
‘You think it’s the harp you need, even though it’s not four-sided?’ Bells asked, twisting the ribbon at the end of her braid around her fingers.
‘Honestly, I don’t know, but it’s worth checking to start somewhere. This harp was only made – according to humans – in the medieval period. But if it was really the harp of a god, it would have been made much earlier, thousands of years earlier. Maybe a million years, I don’t know.’
‘But if the gods left the world to humans and creatures that long ago, it must be varnished or magical to have survived?’ Nicole asked the others.
The Irish gods were gods of the arts. Craftsmen who dealt in magic, in life and death, and the primal powers of nature. The sun, the earth, the sea. Was it possible that items crafted in celestial forges or made by divine hands could have remained? How magnificent they would be …
‘The gods still visited in mine and Kyan’s time,’ Callum said, voice like a spell. ‘So not that long ago.’
‘They did?’ Bells asked, a glitter of excitement in her dusky eyes.
Callum grinned. ‘Oh, yes. They could come and go from the Otherworld for many years.’
‘If they left it here, wouldn’t someone have found it already?’ Nicole asked.
‘I wondered that,’ Remi said. ‘It’s likely it’s been hidden, which is why I want to find out if the one in Trinity College has been varnished to just look like a medieval harp. I read that it’s been restored several times.’
‘So, someone could have used that process to smother its true power,’ Nicole realised.
Remi nodded. ‘It’s a logical part of the conservation process, and a place to start. So I want to check it out.’
Dylan leaned his elbows on the table. ‘Remind me about the Dagda, then, if we’re looking for a harp associated with him?’
‘The Dagda,’ began Callum, his mouth quirked with a hint of amusement, ‘was one of the most powerful of the Old Gods of Ireland who were known as the Túatha Dé Danann, or, more accurately, the Túatha Dé.’
‘The former,’ Kyan explained, ‘translates to the “people of the Goddess Danu”. Long story short, the translations may have more to do with the arts than naming a particular goddess. In our time, the gods were more commonly known as the Túatha Dé, which means “tribes of gods”.’
‘Did you meet any of them?’ Dylan asked cautiously.
Kyan seemed uncertain. ‘Let’s just say, I’ve seen enough to believe enough.’
‘Ominous,’ Remi murmured.