Earth's Requiem(54)

“What others?”

“The other gods, of course.” He chuckled. “The Celts had many gods. Well over a hundred at the apex of our strength. Once I knew everyone’s name, but not anymore.” He looked sad, his eyes pinched at their corners. “Many have faded out of time and memory.”



What the fuck have I gotten myself into? Aislinn slowly crossed the room and sat on one of the cushions piled against a wall. She propped her head on an upraised hand and tried to use her Seeker sense to see into him. Something stopped her, though.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out if you’ve told me the truth.”

He nodded, looking serious. “Try again. I’ve dropped my wards.”

Aislinn slid effortlessly into his mind. She started sifting through his memories. The first one had men—lots of them—on horseback, riding across a heavily forested plain. When she saw their banners, she did a double take. The Crusades. He has memories of the Crusades. It can’t be. Must be another war. Fascinated, she figured out which one he was. He didn’t look all that different. Not really. His hair was longer, down to his waist, and he rode a huge, black horse with some sort of armor trappings. It looked like he was a king, or at least a commander, since he rode at the head of a large company.

In the next memory, Fionn was in a squalid cell. Rats ran up and down the walls. Water dripped incessantly. He sat on a raised platform against one wall. When she looked more closely, she realized he was chained. Dirt streaked his bruised face. His head had been shaved.

Shivering, she hunted for a better memory. And found one. This time, he was in a lavishly hung bedchamber. A woman with long red hair done up in intricate braids, and very little else on, rode atop him. Her back was bowed in pleasure. His hands cupped her breasts. Feeling like a voyeur, Aislinn watched their lovemaking until the woman shuddered on top of him. His hands came round to her hips then, shifting her so she faced away from him. Seemingly understanding what he wanted, she ended up on her knees with him behind her. When she raised her face, Aislinn gasped. The woman looked so much like Aislinn herself that she could have been a twin.



She dropped that memory fast, sifting for another. Time passed. Maybe hours. She heard his voice, but thought it was in the memory she held before her now. He was in a vast library, hunched over a leather-bound volume that had to be a foot thick. Monks glided up and down the aisles between bookshelves, chanting. It sounded Gregorian. Must be the Middle Ages sometime.



“Aislinn.” A brisk shake pulled her back into herself. “I said it is enough. You have been in my mind for hours.”

She felt woozy, as if she’d had too much to drink. She tried to remember all the things she’d seen. One stood out. “Who was the woman who looked like me?”

At first, he looked shocked, then he began to laugh. “Moira. You must mean Moira. I’d nearly forgotten about her.” He cocked his head to one side. “Now that you mention it, the two of you do look a great deal alike.”

She sucked in a breath to steady herself. And then another. Somehow, she thought it was more than that. Maybe some sort of reincarnative thing, but she didn’t have the energy to pursue her line of thought.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked, settling next to her.

She nodded. It wasn’t possible that he could hold all those memories if he hadn’t lived through them. “The Crusades?” she managed. “Did you fight in the Crusades?”

A confused look screwed his features into a question mark. He shook his head. “Those were on the Continent. They started in France and Italy. No, I’ve been in plenty of battles, but I never rode in the Crusades.” He laughed. “I’m a Celt and a god. Why would I want to lay myself on another god’s altar?”



Why indeed? Now that she thought about it, she understood he’d have had little interest in a Christian war. She described his horse and the banners the men had been carrying.

“Oh aye, I remember now. ’Twas one of the times the Vikings had landed. Pesky souls. Mostly, they simply marched across Ireland. Or sailed around it. But not always. I was truly young then.” He smiled reassuringly.



“When was that, and how old were you?” Her heart beat too fast. Both her trip through his mind and this conversation unhinged her.

He rolled his eyes. “I think that battle was around 1250, maybe 1300. Let’s see. That would have made me about a hundred and fifty, give or take a few years.”

“Wh-What year were you actually born?”

His eyes on her said, give it a break, woman, but he finally answered, “Near as I can tell, 1048.”