Undone Deeds

“Isn’t it? You’ve been accused of terrorism by both the Guild and the Consortium, yet neither of them has arrested you. How much is that due to politics and how much to the power in your head?”

“You know I don’t believe the Wheel of the World cares that much about me, or anyone else, for that matter,” I said.

She eyed me with the stern manner of a teacher. “That’s a mistake I’ve tried to correct in you for as long as we’ve known each other, Connor. You’re right. The Wheel of the World doesn’t care about individuals, but it does work through individuals to accomplish Its purposes.”

“So what do you think Its purpose is with me?” I asked.

She lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug. “Maybe exactly what’s happening—the Guild and the Consortium are on the brink of war. If the faith stone is with you instead of someone like Donor and Maeve, maybe that keeps war from breaking out. It creates doubt on both sides about the success of their respective causes.”

“Is that why you gave me the dagger?” I asked.

She seemed startled by the question though why I wasn’t sure. “I gave you the dagger to protect yourself.”

“Really? You didn’t give it to me to get it out of the way?” I asked.

She didn’t meet my gaze but got up and poured herself more coffee. “You were powerless in a dangerous situation. I didn’t want to see you die, Connor. Why are you making it seem like I did a bad thing?”

I removed the dagger from my boot and placed it between us on the counter. As usual, a few runes reacted to the essence around it—the ambient stuff in the air, a powerful being like Briallen, and, no doubt, the resonant energy given off by the stone in my head. “Because you refuse to talk about it. What is this dagger—this sword. Where did it come from?”

“It’s an enchanted blade from Faerie. It has powerful protection wards on in it,” she said.

“Stopping dancing around my question,” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she said.

“Brokke said he recognized the sword when he saw. He said it was one of the signs in his vision that everything might be destroyed. I don’t believe for one friggin’ minute that you don’t know more than you’re saying.”

Briallen’s eyes went cold, and I remembered why people feared her. I had never spoken to her like that, other than juvenile outbursts when I was a teenager. When I was a kid, I did it to test the bounds of authority. As an adult, I realized I was pushing the bounds of rivalry. “I did it to keep it out of Maeve’s hands. She already had the spear. I was afraid if she acquired the sword, it would tip the balance of power between the Seelie Court and the Consortium.”

Her words settled on me like an understanding wrapped in an insult. “I didn’t matter, so I was perfect.”

She scowled. “Don’t put words in my mouth. The fact that the sword responded to you means you were meant to have it. That’s how the Wheel of the World works. Just because it suited my purpose doesn’t mean it’s not what the Wheel of the World wants from you.”

I pushed the blade toward her. “I don’t want it then.”

Briallen stared down at the dagger. “You can’t give it back. You still need it.”

“No, I don’t,” I said.

She shook her head. “Yes, you do. You know it. You said you would only give it back when you didn’t need it anymore. You bound yourself with that condition. Want and need are two different things, Connor. Put the dagger away.”

She was calling my bluff and knew it. I didn’t want her to take it back. I wanted answers. “What did you think would happen when you gave it to me, Briallen? Did you think something like this would have no consequences?”

Her eyes became moist. “I didn’t think it would harm you. I thought the Wheel of the World would turn without you, and the sword would find its place with someone else. You want me to say you were nobody? Fine, you were nobody. Maeve had never heard of you. I thought the sword was safe. I thought you were safe.

“Yeah, well, that brilliant plan didn’t work out so well,” I said.

Briallen went to the kitchen sink and rinsed her mug. She stared out the window above the sink. “I never intended anything bad to happen.”

“How do I use this sword?” I asked.

She kept her back to me. “You’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

I picked up the blade and shoved it back in my boot. “You know what? I was angry at that old man upstairs for ignoring me after my accident. Now, I’m kinda glad he did. Thanks for nothing, Briallen.”

8

I left the house pretty steamed. Briallen had dumped the sword on me. I didn’t ask for it, and now that I had an ominous warning from a dead dwarf who saw the future, she wanted to let the Wheel of the World decide what I should know.

Despite Meryl’s advice to take a break, I couldn’t. It was literally impossible when I was carrying around a dark mass and a faith stone in my head. It wasn’t like I could turn them off and think about them some other time. They were always there—unavoidable, unignorable, and uninvited.

Brokke said that the appearance of the stone, the spear, and the sword were signs of a coming cataclysm. He hinted that one more element needed to appear but hadn’t. It had, but he didn’t know about it. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that another stone ward I had hidden—a stone bowl that produced more essence than it absorbed—was part of the package. Somehow, these things had gravitated to me. I needed to understand them.

Back in the Weird, I picked my way over fallen debris on Calvin Place like a cat walking on a wet floor. Public works trucks couldn’t make it through the narrow lane without scraping the walls of the adjacent buildings, and the people who owned the buildings cared little whether the hazardous stretch inconvenienced anyone. It was an old road, one block long, from a time when horse-pulled carts serviced Boston businesses. Only one occupied storefront had held on through years of change. The dilapidated sign across the length of the building was missing letters, and soot obscured the remaining ones. It didn’t matter in terms of finding the place. Everyone in the Weird knew BELGOR’S NOTIONS, POTIONS AND THEURGIC DEVICES.

The bell over the door rang with one dull clank. Heat wrapped itself around me, too much heat, the kind an ancient boiler the size of a trailer truck pumped into old building radiators. Why it was still on so late into spring, only the gods and absentee landlords knew. The dampness accentuated the smell of the store: moist dust, old incense, and the burnt-cinnamon tang of Belgor’s body odor. A murmur of voices drifted from the rear, where the counter and cash register were.

I lingered in an aisle, listening. Sensing pings touched me as the people in back checked to see who had entered. My essence didn’t intimidate or concern them, and they continued their conversational chatter, locals bumping into each other and shooting the shit to delay venturing back to work or whatever passed for work. At the end of the aisle, two brownies and a tall forest elf lounged near the soda case. Belgor sat next to the counter, his bulk threatening to make his stool disappear. He spared me a cursory glance, affecting disinterest, while he listened to the conversation.

I picked up a copy of the Weird Times, the neighborhood rag, and leaned against the wall to read about a rise in assaults along Old Northern Avenue. The police had no comment. An editorial implied that the crimes weren’t being investigated by the Boston P.D. or the Guild. Nothing new there. When priorities were made at either organization, things like the Weird fell to the bottom of the list.

The brownies griped about the ID lines at the police checkpoints at the Old Northern Avenue bridge into the city. They seemed to be some kind of service staffers for downtown hotels and faced the daily annoyance of starting out for work an hour early to account for security delays.

Belgor nodded and hummed as he listened, filing the trivia in his mental archive of all things Weird like a bloated spider sitting on a vast web of information, to be used for barter and gain. Sometimes he made money, and