34. Strangers
Strangers
The little town was a mix of jagged mountain and rocky terrain.
The taste of salt clung to the air while the bite of coal and iron spun in the coastal breeze.
Small terracotta-colored rooftops scattered along the ocean’s edge.
Clay tiles and sea glass littered the walls of the homes, perfectly blending together to create beautiful mosaics, in their own right, works of art.
As the group walked closer into the heart of the city, Sorcha could hear the crashing waves as merchants and boaters shouted to one another in morning greetings, others calling out directions as their workday began.
A large net was being pulled up from the ocean floor.
She could see seaweed tangled in the ropes and black ooze leaking from the cross sections.
Dead crabs and fish slapped onto the boat deck.
She took it all in, watching closely the dead Sea life and familiar darkness that dripped out of the netting.
“Damn it,” a man said aloud as he pulled off his cap and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“It’s the same thing, every damn time.” He looked at the others on his boat.
“We have to go further out next time.” He turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Boys, clean this mess up. I want it off my ship.”
The large man shoved his cap back on and started up the dock.
Niall stepped into his path, smiling as he opened his arms.
“Fergal!”
The man stopped, muttered “Shit” under his breath, then grinned.
“Niall! Old friend, what can I do for ye?”
Niall wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulder and pulled him close.
“Let’s start with some lunch.”
Sorcha scanned over Fergal. She took notice of his large stature; he was about 6’2” with sandy blonde hair that draped over his shoulders.
His features seemed carved from stone, from his jawline to every muscle she could see.
He wasn’t overly muscular, but she noticed his eyes mirrored the clouds.
He walked with confidence and an uneasy grace, the weathered planks of the dock creaking under his boots as he neared.
“What’ll it be then, folks?” Fergal looked the group over before his eyes settled on Niall.
Niall smiled. “Let’s head to the Clover. I’ve missed the food and songs dearly.”
Fergal groaned, rolling his eyes. “You mean you miss Leighis?” He eyed Niall. “Anyway, she’s long gone.” Niall shrugged. “She headed for Dunmara.”
Niall looked surprised for a moment before smiling wide. “Of course she did.”
Niall turned to Sorcha and spoke low. “She’s different. Like us.”
Fergal’s eyebrow raised as he tried to make sense of the conversation. “Is there something I should know?”
Sorcha caught the silver glimmer in Fergal’s gaze. The cloudy white swirled gently with molten silver. She grabbed Niall’s arm and pulled him aside, her boots thudding softly against the dock. Whispering low, “What do you know of Fergal?”
Niall looked at her hand still on his arm and spoke low.
“That he’s… he can be an arrogant prick.
” He looked at Kyron and Maelan, who were standing awkwardly in front of Fergal as they stared at them.
He sighed. “But he’s always trying to save everyone, which is why he’s always getting into fights. Why?”
She shook her head. “Fergal is also one of us.”
Niall stepped back and laughed. Not a normal laugh, but a full belly, absolutely hysterical laugh.
The kind that made onlookers wonder if that person was unwell.
He nearly doubled over, bracing one hand on a salt-stained post, his laughter echoing across the water.
Tears formed in his eyes from laughing so hard.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, her face scrunching in confusion.
“Fergal. Fergal is a half-god? Of course the self-righteous bastard is a half-god.”
Sorcha was beyond confused. She also noticed that Kyron and Maelan were just as concerned and confused. Fergal looked like he might leave at any moment. “Niall, this is serious. Let’s go talk to him.”
“What god?” Niall asked.
“Why does that matter?”
“What god, Sorcha? Humor me.” he pleaded.
“I think the Dagda. He looks so much like him.” She replied.
Niall looked insane now as he howled with laughter. He wiped his tears and turned to Fergal. “Come here, ya beautiful bastard!”
Fergal and Niall walked side by side toward the seaside tavern.
The tavern sign creaked in the wind, swaying in the salty ocean air.
Sorcha could make out a fish, its mouth open, swallowing the words The Sea Hag.
All Sorcha could think of was the Bog Hag.
Her body tensed. It’s just a name, she told herself, though the Bog Hag’s crooked smile flashed in her mind as she twirled and danced after stabbing Kyron.
Niall glanced back at the three, matching their pace, then smiled while pushing open the tavern doors.
The tavern opened into a two-story chamber.
An iron-curling staircase led to iron-railed balconies.
A massive chandelier made of sea shells hung in the center.
At its core, an iron-sculpted mermaid held it up with raised arms. Sorcha’s eyes moved with the conversations, the swaying lanterns, the rush of sea air.
Polished wood gleamed beneath their boots.
Gilded lanterns swayed from dark beams above.
Large double doors opened to a wide balcony above the ocean.
More tables stood outside, arranged to face the open water.
Glasses clinked and voices rose in chorus.
The scrape of stools on the floor mixed with the faint hum of sea shanties.
Sorcha’s fingers twitched at her side, nerves still awake from the memory.
Oyster-shaped stools lined a driftwood bar, its top carved from ocean green granite.
The stone shimmered in the light, its veins holding the history of long-buried tides.
Scents of yeasty beer, warm whiskey, and grilled fish mingled with the faint perfume of citrus and wood smoke.
A fire roared in the back hearth, sculpted from sand and sea shells, casting golden light along the walls. Niall and Fergal stepped to the bar and spoke to the women behind it. One smiled, warmth and kindness shining in her face.
Sorcha made her way to one of the tables outside, watching ships drift in and out of the harbor.
Out where the shore met the sea, she noticed something strange, an odd darkness swirling just beneath the surface.
At first, it looked like seaweed had washed in, but the shape twisted unnaturally, creeping onto the sand in silent rolls.
From below, voices carried up from the docks.
Sailors spoke in hushed tones. She leaned forward, straining to catch their words.
They spoke of sea creatures, strange and unseen.
One man claimed something had swallowed an entire ship, taking twenty men with it.
Only one survived. A chill crawled up her spine.
Sorcha knew she needed to learn more. She leaned so far over the railing she nearly lost her balance.
Just as she straightened to listen closer, a hand clamped firmly between her shoulders.
Kyron’s breath brushed her ear as he whispered, “What’s so interesting you’d risk falling into the sea?”
She startled, tipping forward, but Kyron caught her in one quick motion. He pulled her back against him, spinning her around so they stood chest to chest. His grip lingered, firm and deliberate, his breath warm at her cheek.
“Careful,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers.
From behind came a trio of pointed throat-clears. Maelan, Niall, and Fergal stood at the table, arms full of plates and cups. The dishes clattered louder than necessary as they set everything down.
Kyron didn’t move right away. Then, slowly, he let his hand slide down the curve of her back before turning to join them-smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing.
She rolled her shoulders back, forcing her feet to move, and joined the others at the table like nothing had happened.
Kyron didn’t look at her, not directly. But the corner of his mouth tugged upward as he reached for a drink.
All eyes flicked to her as she sat down. She grabbed a piece of fish and spoke like she hadn’t almost gone over the railing. “I heard something down by the docks.”
That was enough to get everyone’s attention. They leaned in and listened. She recounted the conversation from the voices drifting up from below, the sailors whispering about a ship swallowed whole, only one survivor. Silence settled for a beat.
Then Maelan spoke. “And we’re still going into it?”
Sorcha nodded once. “We have no choice.”
Kyron leaned back in his chair, studying her now. “So what’s the plan?”
Sorcha pulled her bag into her lap and unfolded the list. The parchment caught the sea breeze, edges flapping until she pinned them with her fingers. She looked at Fergal.
“Your name is on this,” she said. “Not in Ironridge. Not anywhere near here.”
Fergal frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means someone was trying to hide you…” she met his eyes.
Niall raised a brow. “And?”
Sorcha slid the list across the table. “Your father is the Dagda.” Fergal blinked. “Say that again.”
“It’s true,” Sorcha said. “And we need you. Your knowledge of the sea, your power... We can’t reach the far corners of Eadartha without it.”
Fergal let out a slow breath, the wind tossing his hair across his face, but his eyes never left the list. “You’re crazy,” he said, shaking his head. Then he looked at Niall. “And you’re even crazier for believing any of this.”
He stood and walked toward the bar. Sorcha moved to follow, but Niall blocked her path. “Let me,” Niall said.
Fergal asked the barmaid for a pint, landing on the stool with a thud. He was rubbing his temples when Niall appeared beside him. “Make that two,” Niall told the barmaid and slid into the seat next to Fergal.