Page 31 of The Gods Time Forgot

Thirty-One

Rua wafted in and out of consciousness as the world rattled around her. She was in a carriage, but she hadn’t quite figured out why.

Her body was no longer hers to control. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t lift her head or her limbs. Reminded of how C ú Chulainn had died, tricked by the three sisters into eating the cursed meat that drained him of his strength, she knew that this was retribution.

Rua had killed the love of her life, her soul mate, all because her sister wanted to, and she could do nothing but participate.

Rua had almost drifted back into her unsettled slumber when the carriage jerked and startled her awake.

She tried to sit up, but her head was still too heavy to lift.

A hand touched her shoulder. “There, there,” came Mara’s voice. “We’ve a good distance left to travel before we arrive in Conleth Falls.”

“Conleth Falls? Why?” Her words tumbled out of her mouth.

“That’s enough questions,” a stern voice cut in.

Dopey, Rua rolled her head to look at her. Mrs. Smith.

“What’s going on?” Rua slurred.

Mrs. Smith clucked. “Your mother has finally come to her senses.”

Rua’s mind raced to catch up, and then it hit her—the asylum on Boa Island.

She closed her eyes, the pain of trying not to cry mounting in her head. But she wouldn’t give them her tears.

When they thought she’d dozed off again, they spoke.

“We’ll spend the night and be rid of the wretch by morning.” Mrs. Smith let out a big huff. “I don’t know what Mrs. Harrington was thinking, letting it go on this long.”

“I suppose she put too much stock in the Lord of Donore’s interest,” Mara said. “For a time, I thought he was truly interested in her.”

Mrs. Smith laughed. “You’re na ? ve, girl. That wicked child never stood a chance against someone like Miss Fitzgerald.”

Rua’s chest burned with hate. She wanted to throw Mrs. Smith from the moving carriage, but she was too weak, her body reduced to nothing but a lump of unusable appendages.

“I suppose,” Mara said quietly.

This time Rua did slip back into oblivion.

“Careful she doesn’t stir. Lord knows what she’d do to you,” Mrs. Smith shouted over the howl of the wind.

Rua shivered as a bitter gust whipped her hair into her face. She wasn’t in the carriage anymore. She peeked through the hair in her face to see that it was nighttime and she was being carried indoors.

They had reached the Harringtons’ estate in Conleth Falls.

“They’ll be around to collect her first thing in the morning.” Mrs. Smith voice echoed in the foyer.

“We’ll keep her in the staff’s quarters tonight. Good enough for her.” Mrs. Smith laughed. “It’ll be luxurious compared to where she’s going.”

“Put her in the room with me,” Mara offered. “It’ll be easier to keep an eye on her.”

“You must be joking if you think I’m going to fall for that,” Mrs. Smith snapped. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re no better. I don’t need the pair of you sneaking off into the woods in the middle of the night. She’ll be in my room, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

Mara said nothing as they continued downstairs. Rua presumed it was the driver who was carrying her, as their voices floated away.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty house. The cold had seeped into her bones and tightened its grip on her heart. There was no warmth, nothing to coax her from this icy void.

Impressed that Flossie had followed through on her threat, she wasn’t bothered by Mara’s betrayal. It wasn’t really a betrayal, after all. Mara was friends with Emma, not her. What she was bothered by was Finn and the last conversation they’d had. Would they truly never meet again? They’d learned what they’d learned and then parted ways. Again? Though she’d wager she was getting what she was owed.

Even still, there was unfinished business between them, perhaps because she had never told him how she truly felt. But maybe, if she had told him she loved him instead of quizzing him and asking him to run, he wouldn’t have walked out of her room.

Had she shared anything worthwhile with him, he might’ve seen Mara’s farce for what it was, and she wouldn’t be a few hours away from a lifetime of imprisonment.

She heard shuffling while they paused a moment, and someone opened a door.

They traveled down an endless hallway, the Harringtons’ house being too large for anyone, until finally, a door creaked, and she was set down on a bed.

She kept her eyes closed, not wanting them to know she was awake. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t do anything to them, despite how much she might wish it.

“Give her another dose now, and it’ll last through the rest of the night,” Mrs. Smith said to Mara.

“I’ll be right back,” Mara said, and Rua wondered if Mrs. Smith noticed the strain in Mara’s voice. Maybe she was having second thoughts.

Rua kept her eyes shut as she waited miserably for the sting of another needle. She smelled the light of a match as she focused on planning the demise of everyone who’d had a hand in delivering her to Conleth Falls.

She was a far cry from the girl she was when she’d murdered the man on Greene Street. That was an act of survival. This would be payback.

Now that she had regained many of her memories, she knew all the divine ways she and her sisters had killed before. First, she would kill the driver. His suffering would not be prolonged, as he was likely just doing his job.

Next would be Mrs. Smith. Or perhaps Rua would stick the old bully in the asylum, since she seemed absolutely giddy at the thought of Rua in one. In truth, that would be the best place for every last one of them. Flossie and Mara especially. Death was too kind. They deserved to know that crossing her had consequences. They deserved to suffer for their actions.

“Ah, there you are,” Mrs. Smith muttered as someone opened the door. “I—”

There was a sputtering sound and a great thud.

Confused, Rua turned her head to the side to see the commotion, only to find a terror-filled Mrs. Smith slumped on the floor, held up by the wall. Her hands clutching her throat as the life bled out of her.

Rua propped herself up on her elbows and found Mara standing beside Mrs. Smith’s dying body, holding a knife, looking lost in the firelight.

She wasn’t frightened of Mara, merely curious. “Why did you do that?”

“You’re not going to the asylum,” Mara answered, her eyes never leaving Mrs. Smith. Rua watched as the hand holding the knife shook uncontrollably and the other worked to stop it.

“I-I had no other choice,” Mara said, her voice breaking.

“I’m sure. And what of the driver?” she asked, suspecting Mara’s list was growing.

Mara spun around, her deranged eyes on Rua. “He’s dead too.”

Her strength not having returned yet, Rua’s elbows gave out and her head fell back on the bed. Still, she asked, “What is your plan here, Mara?”

“When I get Emma back, I’ll figure it out,” she said, pacing, her words riddled with anxiety.

“And when you do get Emma back, do you really think Flossie is going to let her come home? She’s supposed to be in the asylum. And never mind how you’re going to explain Mrs. Smith to her. She’ll think Emma did that too.”

“Stop talking.” Mara waved her arms in the air. “I can’t think in this room.” Mara glanced sideways at the slain Mrs. Smith, and her body lurched. “Are you well enough to walk?”

“No.” Rua’s body felt like jelly.

Mara came over and put her arm around her, pulling her upward. She groaned as she lifted Rua off the bed.

Rua’s head was heavy and her legs wobbled, but she could stand with Mara’s support.

Not trying to make things easier for her, Rua did nothing to help, letting her full weight to rest on Mara’s shoulders. She dangled around Mara’s neck as they shuffled around Mrs. Smith into the hallway.

“If you stick another needle in my neck, I’ll rip your throat out,” Rua warned.

Mara said nothing.

Together they hobbled down the dreary hallway, back upstairs to the grandeur of the summer home.

“How do you know where you’re going?” she asked Mara, who was guiding them without any light.

“I’ve worked for the Harringtons for years. I know my way around,” she said spitefully.

“Where are we going now?” Rua asked. “I’m starving.”

“Stop asking me so many questions,” Mara snapped. “Feeding you is the last thing on my mind.”

The moonlight filtered in through the windows, providing enough light for Rua to recognize that they were in the foyer. The air was cool. The furniture was covered with sheets. There were no servants milling about. The house was hollow.

“You seem a bit frazzled, Mara. Perhaps you should have thought twice before you committed a double murder.”

Mara let out a whimper. “I had no choice.” Her voice dropped lower. “Really. I had no choice. This is the only way. It will all have been worth it once I bring her home. Mother will reward me.”

“Do you think so?” Rua asked sarcastically. From the small bits she could remember, her sisters were not the gifting kind. They were vengeful and vindictive and always had an ulterior motive. “Can you imagine if you did all of this and Mother was lying?”

Rua didn’t know which of the goddesses Mara was talking to, but regardless, it was not going to go the way she hoped. She’d be lucky if she even found a way to get Emma back, but Rua didn’t care. She was going through the hellmouth one way or another; what happened after was not her concern.

Emma and Mara had meddled in affairs so far beyond their purview that the consequences could only be cataclysmic. Though Rua did feel a bit sorry for Emma, who likely never would’ve gotten involved with the Morr í gan had she not been influenced by Mara in the first place. In truth, wherever Emma was, she was probably better off. Her homecoming would be met with a fierce manhunt once Flossie realized she’d never arrived at Boa Island.

“She’s not lying,” Mara grunted, adjusting her grip on Rua as they began up the stairs.

“I can do it myself.” Rua shrugged her off, leaning against the thick marble railing. She remembered her shock that first day she’d walked out of Emma’s room and gazed upon the stunning opulence of the well-appointed mansion. Now it was nothing more than the vacant remnant of the Harringtons’ ruinous aspirations.

By the time they reached the second landing, Rua could hardly stand. Mara noticed and propped her up once more, and they walked down the hall, past the pedimented doors to Emma’s room.

Mara set Rua down on the chair and lit the sconces.

Rua hated this room and its pink upholstery and flowered walls.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Mara said, helping Rua.

“When are we going to the hellmouth?” Rua asked.

“Tomorrow,” Mara said. “For now, you can rest.”

Rua didn’t trust it, but she was too exhausted to fight.

“Do you know who I am, Mara?” Rua asked, realizing that they’d never discussed it. Mara had acknowledged that she wasn’t Emma, but where did her awareness end?

“Do you?” Mara rebutted.

That was answer enough. Whichever goddess Mara had been conversing with, whichever of Rua’s sisters, they’d told her how to handle her.

“No matter,” Mara said, pulling the chair up beside the bed. “I’ll tell you a story, since you seem to have forgotten everything.”

“I’m not interested,” Rua warned.

Mara ignored her. “Centuries ago, there lived a warrior born of man and god, the bravest in all of Ireland. His name was C ú Chulainn.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” Rua cut her off, shaking her head side to side. The one thing she had remembered, she was trying hardest to forget.

“But you must,” Mara continued. “He was handsome, blessed with all the gifts of the gods. His conquests drew the attention of a most fearsome adversary, the Morr í gan. Badb sought him out, thinking to get him on her side. You see, she liked to collect special things.”

Mara was telling the story as though Rua hadn’t lived it. Hadn’t felt the sting of the very details Mara didn’t want to leave out.

“In the meantime, C ú Chulainn continued winning battle after battle, fighting on the side of the righteous. The warrior was good hearted, but he was arrogant. One eve, C ú Chulainn was woken to the sound of roaring cattle, and he went to investigate. He found Badb on her chariot and a man driving a cow. He accused her of stealing the cow, but a goddess cannot steal what is already theirs.

“Badb taunted C ú Chulainn and told him that his opinion meant nothing to her. Taking great offense, the warrior leaped onto his chariot and threatened Badb with his sword. She turned herself into a crow and landed on a branch. C ú Chulainn realized then who she was, but it was already too late.

“Amused and unfazed, Badb returned to form and recited a poem to the hero, foretelling his doom at the T á in. C ú Chulainn did not take kindly to learning of his death and threatened to defeat Badb.

“Thinking only of her own interest, Badb did not intercede when she found out that her own sister, Macha, had fallen in love with the hero. In fact, she thought it would only sweeten her victory over him when he found out that the woman he loved had a hand in killing him. Because an oath made by one sister is an oath made by all.”

Rua felt ill. Her breath slowed, the sweat beading on her forehead. She didn’t want to hear anymore.

“One day, C ú Chulainn found himself fighting a Goliath of a man. True to her words, the Morr í gan attacked three separate times. C ú Chulainn just barely survived his first opponent thanks to the Morr í gan’s violence. Macha was torn apart by her guilt, but she could not bring herself to leave him. Her love for the warrior was too strong. Never once did she consider that her sister had deliberately instigated her torment.”

Mara’s words played out in Rua’s mind as if it had happened only yesterday.

“On his final day, the warrior was tricked into believing that there was a great slaughter of innocents underway at Emain Macha. C ú Chulainn, being the valiant hero of the weak, rode out against Queen Medb’s army. He was almost at the battlefield when he was stopped for a final time. And who did he meet?” Mara paused as if Rua might answer.

“The three Morr í gan sisters disguised as hags, cooking taboo meat over an open fire. They offered C ú Chulainn a bite. Seeing tears in one of the women’s eyes, he took the meat and bit into it. But as the food touched his lips, the strength in his limbs disappeared. Confused, C ú Chulainn left the old women, immeasurably weakened.”

Mara’s voice softened. “Poor Macha, bound by the ties of her sisterhood, was forced to participate in the slaying of her one true love.”

“Stop,” Rua whispered, not wanting to hear any more. The pain was overwhelming.

“As the hero traveled down the road to Emain Macha, he came upon Queen Medb’s army. He knew he wouldn’t survive, but he refused to retreat. He still managed to strike down a great number of men, but C ú Chulainn was struck fatally by a spear, his intestines spilling out of him onto the ground.”

Rua’s tears slid down her face, onto the pillow.

“C ú Chulainn tied himself upright to a large stone so that he could die upright and face his enemies. His enemies did not approach the warrior until a crow—Badb—landed on the shoulder of C ú Chulainn. It was only then that the men knew he was dead. And so they came and took his head.”

The ache in Rua’s chest was unbearable. “Why couldn’t I remember any of it?” she breathed.

“Perhaps because you don’t deserve to?”

“Excuse me?” Rua’s irritation overtook her sadness.

“You’re a disgrace to your sisters,” Mara said. “Look at you.” She gestured toward Rua in her weakened state. “Utterly powerless. It’s disgusting.”

“You would think someone as devout as you would speak to me with a bit more respect,” Rua snapped.

“Anyone who would renounce their life as a Morr í gan to chase after a mortal is not someone deserving my respect.”

“What do you mean, chase a mortal?” Rua sat up on her elbows.

“You killed C ú Chulainn, yes? He was then expelled from your realm, as was deserved. And now you’re here for Finn, the earthly version.”

“But what am I here to do with him?” Rua asked, wondering who Mara was getting her information from.

She watched as Mara realized she might’ve said too much. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? It was a fool’s errand. He chose someone else. You failed,” she backtracked.

Rua bristled at the reminder. He had made a choice, but he needn’t try to protect her any longer. As she thought more about his selfless decision to save her by marrying Annette, she wondered now if it was just as much a decision that saved him from Rua. His subconscious protecting him from their past. Choosing Annette wasn’t a choice at all; it was an out.

“What happens now?” Rua asked.

“You go home. Let Emma return. Simple as that.”

Nothing was ever that simple.

Rua laid her head back down with the disquieting feeling that something important was being left out. A pivotal piece of information, like the conditions under which she had come to New York in the first place.

She must have known—made the conscious decision to come to a place where she would not have her powers. That was a risk she was willing to take for Finn? To what end? To appease her guilt? There had to be more.

She didn’t feel ready to leave him yet. She’d only just gotten him back, but not in the way she wanted. She wanted all of him, and she wanted him to be selfish with need for her. She didn’t want his noble sacrifices any longer. They had never been for her anyway. It was Emma’s reputation he was protecting, but now she needed him to focus on her. The real her.

But how was she going to get to him now? He was in Manhattan, and Samhain was tomorrow.

As if reading her thoughts, Mara said, “If you stay, you’ll be stuck here without your powers, locked away in an asylum, or you’ll be out on the street. Do you know what choices there are for women of limited means? Servitude or prostitution.”

Rua shivered at the reminder of her run-in with that animal on Greene Street. Mara could add prison to her list of choices. Was staying for the possibility of Finn worth losing her freedom? Especially when he was going to marry someone else anyway?

He’d soon build a family with Annette and there’d be little Finns running around, and his time with Rua would fade from memory.

She shut her eyes, trying to block the pain of imagining his happy life with Annette, the hateful bitch.

What reason did she have to stay here, then, if only to make herself suffer?

“What about you, Mara?” she asked, staring up at the bed canopy.

“What about me?”

“What was the point?” Rua asked. “I’ve read your diary. What was it you wanted from the Morr í gan that was worth dragging your friend into it?”

Mara didn’t answer for a long while and then said, “Sisterhood. A powerful sisterhood that could in turn make me powerful. And I wanted that for Emma.” She sniffled.

“You did all of this for magical powers?” Rua was incredulous.

“You don’t what it’s like to be me, born to cater to the whims of the wealthy,” Mara said. “And Emma, well, she’s much softer than you. Kinder and more open hearted. She wouldn’t have lasted a week in the city after those devil-worshipping rumors spread. Flossie was harsher than ever; Emma would have crumbled.” She shook her head. “I should have caught on sooner when you didn’t.”

Rua was not insulted by her description of Emma. It was the same one she’d conjured in her mind for the young woman too. The only difference was that Rua wasn’t sure Emma was coming back.