Again he nodded. “There is a rhyme of sorts that I remember from when I was a boy. You have to understand, it was a silly rhyme, one that meant nothing to me then, but perhaps now it might help you find your way to them.”
“Over the hall,
Through the fall,
Cross the vale,
Between the shale,
There the Smiths of three prevail.” He let out a cough, and the only thing I could think of was how bad a rhyme it was. But if it helped us find the Smiths then it didn’t matter how bad or how corny it seemed.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You will try to save her, won’t you?” Tears streamed down his face as he lifted his eyes to mine, a father’s tears for his only daughter.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do all along,” I said, my voice gentle. “I will do everything I can to save her from Chaos.”
A hiccupping sob escaped him and Bres finally dropped to his knees. He helped his father lay down. “Pa, what happened?”
“Chaos attacked me and took control of the Fomorii. I couldn’t kill her. Not even now.” He turned his head to me. “I love her, she’s my daughter. Tell her that, when you save her.” I nodded, unable to speak past the catch in my throat. His next words chilled me. “And don’t go to Nuadha, if you can help it. He’s out for your blood, Quinn.”
Lifting his hand to Bres’ face, he whispered, “I was always proud of you, my boy, even when you rebelled. You are a better man than I could ever be. Don’t let anyone change who you are.”
I put a hand on Bres’ shoulder as Balor’s violet eyes closed, his breath hitched once, twice and then his body went still. I wanted to give Bres time, time to say goodbye, time to make his peace. But there wasn’t any left for us. No time, no peace, and no more chances.
“Bres.” I sat beside him and hugged him, holding him as tight as I could. “I’m sorry.”
He said nothing, just held onto me. I leaned back so I could see into his eyes. They were dry, not a single tear had fallen. “I cannot cry for him, not after all he’s done.”
Pushing up, he pulled us both to our feet. “We need to go. If Chaos has control of ta Fomorii, I’ve no doubt that she sent someone to watch where Balor went.” And just like that, our fortunes shifted again.
A Banshee swept into view, her skirt swirling around a pair of cloven hooves instead of feet. “Fomorii have breached the forest outskirts.”
Bres grabbed my hand, and I put on the brakes. “Wait!”
I waved at the Banshee. “Over the hall, through the fall, cross the vale, between the shale, there the Smiths of three prevail. Does that mean anything to you?”
“The Hall of the Dead is the place where we rest our souls. It’s that way.” She pointed to the northeast.
That was all we needed. Sprinting, we followed her directions, fear driving us. While we were both strong, I wasn’t fully trained, and the Fomorii were no longer ruled by someone who loved Bres.
The deep-throated howl of Fomorii’s undead hounds spurred us on faster.
If we get to the three Smiths . . . I let the thought hang between Bres and me.
He answered, and it was what I was hoping. If we get to them, ta Fomorii won’t be able to pass their gates.
It was all I needed. We burst through a thick patch of huckleberries and right into the Hall of the Dead. Calling it a hall did not give me the true understanding of what it was—a graveyard. The land had been stripped as if cleared by hand, and then burned to the ground, the dirt beneath our feet —ash and bone. Everything within the hall was black, and our feet left little puffs of smoke as we ran the length of the Banshees’ final resting place.
A screech behind us made me look over my shoulder. Hounds of the undead skidded to a stop at the edge of the hall, sniffing the ground. Heads on bodies that didn’t match, limbs protruding at weird angles, they snapped and snarled at each other. Even at that distance, I could see their teeth, razor sharp like all the Fomorii. In a sudden boiling mass, they pushed forward, only to have the forerunner sucked downwards into the graves with barely a yelp.
“They’re undead; they can’t get through ta hall,” Bres said. “They’ll have to go around.”
Another glance showed me that, indeed, the hounds had figured out that going around was their way to us. It bought us a little time, not much, but more than we had.
Now, we only had to look for the fall. That is if what Balor had told us was right.
9
Leaving behind the blasted ground of the hall, we had a short lead on the hounds. Their howls though, were growing ever closer despite them losing members to the Banshees’ graves.