Magic Burns(81)

He whistled. A shaggy shape trotted from the dark and flopped at his feet. A huge, black dog. “Got Conri here.”

The dog raised his paws into the air, turning to get his belly scratched. Bran obliged. “If I get bored, I sleep. For years sometimes, until she wakes me up.”

I offered my bone to the dog. He took it out of my hands very gently and settled to gnaw it at my feet. I thought I was alone. At least I could go out and talk to other people. “You must’ve been here awhile, but you speak with no accent.”

“The Gift of Gab. One of three gifts she gave me. Gift of Gab: I speak any language I wish. Gift of Health: my wounds are healed fast. And Gift of Aim: I hit what I see. The fourth gift is my own. I was born with it.”

“What is it?”

“Admit it was the best kiss you’ve ever had and I’ll tell you.”

“Sorry, I can think of a couple better.” Or at least one…

“Then why do I waste time with you?”

I shook my head. He wasn’t a real person. Just a shadow of one with no memories, no ties, nothing but a sex drive, good aim, and wild eyes.

“Where are you from?”

He shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

“Okay, when are you from? How long have you been here?”

“I don’t remember.”

I grappled for something, some sort of marker that any person would know. “What’s your mother’s name?”

“I don’t remember.”

I looked at the stars. This mission was doomed to failure from the start. Who was I kidding?

“Blathin,” he said. “Her name was Blathin.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come! I’m going to show you something.”

We ran along the edge of the lake into the trees. Ahead a wooden cabin rose, nestled among the greenery, connected to the lake by a long dock. Bran dragged me inside.

A fire burned in the fireplace. To the right a simple bed stood against the wall, to the left a row of chests sat. Carvings decorated the walls: a tree, runes, and warriors. Many, many fighters twisted by the battle spasm and carved with exquisite detail. Under them on the table lay a scroll, depicting a man with a long staff wearing a monk’s cassock. He sat on a rock. Beside him mermaids played in sea waves. The Shepherd…

Bran grabbed my hand, pulled me to a chest, and swung the heavy lid open. A white cloth covered the contents. He jerked it aside. Human heads filled the chest.

“Oh God.”

He scooped a mummified head from the chest by a scalp lock and thrust it at me. “All of them are mine.”

This was officially the weirdest version of “come down to my place and I’ll show you some etchings” I’ve ever been hit with.

He threw open another chest. I saw a World War I Kaiser helm next to a black motorcycle helmet splashed with painted flames. How old was he, exactly?

The third chest: blades. Turkish yataghan, a katana, a marine officer’s saber with Semper Fi engraved in Old English…

“That’s nothing!” He tossed the head into the chest, snatched my hand, and pulled me to the back door. It flew open from his kick and he drew me onto the porch.

Behind the house rose a spire of skulls. Taller than me, bleached white by the elements, it bristled with spears thrust through the bone. “See!” He waved his arms, triumphant. “There is more to me. Nobody has that many! My father would shit himself if he saw this!”

No kidding.

“I’m a great warrior. A hero. Each one of those was a fight I won.” His face shone with pride. “You’re a warrior. You understand, yes?”

So many lives…The pile of skulls towered above me. “How old are you?” I whispered.

He leaped over the rail, took a skull from the pile, and put it in front of me. “My first.”

The skull wore a Roman helmet.

I sat down. It was too much to take.

He came to sit next to me. We looked at the skulls. Bran hung his head.

I touched his forearm. “What is it?”

“Nobody will ever know. Nobody but you has seen this. Nobody will ever know what I’ve accomplished. When I finally die, the only one who’ll remember me and all this will be Morrigan.”

“She’s not the sentimental sort?” I guessed.

He shook his head. “It was a fool’s bargain we made. I saved her bird, and she told me to choose my reward.”

“What did you ask for?”

“Some would’ve asked for long life, strong sons. I asked to be a hero. To always have plenty to drink, plenty to fight, plenty of women.”

The skulls glared at us with empty sockets in eerie silence.

“If you asked for strong sons, she would’ve arranged for them to eventually kill you,” I said. “You can’t win.”