Maeve Cruinn
The Dagda swept past us as he made his way to Manannán mac Lir.
His words echoed through my skull, though they made no sense.
Daughter?
My mother had told me many stories when I was young. Some were more fantastical than others. Stories of gods, and the birth of the Aos Sí. That the Dagda’s song was so beautiful, Belisama’s tears flowed at the sound of it and formed the Twilight Lake.
The Dagda had once been the ruler of the Tuatha Dé Danann, just as Nuada had ruled before him.
His cloak dragged on the floor, his long dark hair rippling in the sunlight. His steps were sure as he approached Manannán mac Lir at the head of the Quorum.
The Dagda held out his hand, waiting. No one spoke. No one moved.
The sea extended as far as the eye could see. The platform in the arid sun, perched on an orange mountain. There were no clouds, and not a bird in the sky.
A dark spot grew closer on the horizon, whistling through the air. The Dagda snatched his staff as it shot toward his heart like an arrow. The gnarled stick, burnt on one end, and flowering on the other.
I had heard of Dagda’s staff. One of his three tools. The staff, the cauldron, and his harp.
His staff was made of light and dark.
Life and death.
The Dagda turned to face the other gods, his eyes entirely grey. Stone.
Cormac spoke first. “Eochaid Ollathair.” He cursed.
I remembered the words, but the memory was obscured by a veil, and I struggled to grasp it.
The Dagda nodded once. “Yes, Mer.” His stony eyes softened. “I was cursed, just as you were.”
My mother stood, her hands to her mouth. Her chair squeaked against the stone platform before falling over. The noise was awkward, imperfect. The superior image of the Tuatha Dé Danann and the gods was dissolving further by the minute.
Belisama let out a sob as she rushed toward Dagda, her arms outstretched. “My love.” She cooed. “I searched for you, from Boyne Valley to the Blackwater. We had such a short time together in the Aos Sí. But a glancing visit.”
The Dagda closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to steady himself. He reached out and cupped my mother’s cheek. “I never left the Aos Sí, though I had to leave you.”
A year rolled down my mother’s cheek. “Far be it from me to question you—”
“Just as you were killed at the hands of Balor, I too was a victim of her wrath.” The Dagda’s brow furrowed. “My vessel, a young Undine named Calder Drip, had left behind a mate.”
Belisama gasped. “Yes. Yes, I think I remember.”
“It was the heartbreak of Calder Drip’s death that allowed Balor to worm her way into Elaine Abyssal’s heart. Though you know her as Elaine Cruinn.” The Dagda shook his head. “But it was Elaine who chose the punishment.”
“You were punished for taking a vessel?” Taranis stood, his face puce with anger.
The Quorum grew loud in outrage.
A shrill laugh cut through the din.
Brígid stood, her fingertips brushing against the back of her chair as she approached the basin in the center of the audience. “The Deep wanders in darkness. Their mind twisted and gone. The only mind a monster claims, it’s broken, hurt, andwrong.” Her cloudy eyes gazed up at the sky, and her voice was remarkably childlike, despite her elderly appearance. “The Deep took Dagda’s eyes, and forced him, beak and claw, for only blood can break the curse, and open the Gods' door.”
“The Kraken,” I whispered, my hands shook.
Dagda met my eyes. “Yes.” He stated unapologetically.
