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“There’s my darling, there’s my love. Such light. So much. Strength, courage still so new, power still growing, such heart. And there’s fierce in it.”
“Is it bad? Is it bad?”
“Bright and light, every part of you. There’s nothing in you for you to fear. Not any more than this sweet boy looking at you with love has to fear the demon dog he sprang from.”
“I forgot. I forgot.” On a wave of relief, she leaned down to hug Bollocks. “My water demon. I forgot. Something else in common.”
“He’ll have another biscuit for it.” Rising, Nan went for the jar, and had Bollocks wagging again.
“You’ll tell Keegan all of this, as it’s more than useful. But first we’ll do some bright magicks here to balance out the dark.”
Nodding, Breen rose. “Yes, I need to practice. I don’t think this quiet time will last much longer.”
“Listen to me, my darling girl, child of my child, light of my heart. Listen and believe. He’s no match for you. I know that with everything I am.”
“I want to believe that.” Struggling to steady, Breen let out a long breath. “Let’s make sure of it. Let’s make the bright.”
Bollocks started the bright by dancing on his hind legs for the biscuit.
PART IILIFE
Life is a pure flame,
and we live by an invisible sun within us.
—Sir Thomas Browne
To be what we are, and to become what we are
capable of becoming, is the only end of life.
—Robert Louis Stevenson
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After leaving her grandmother, Breen called her dragon, and with Bollocks, flew west over the sea. She’d steadied—Marg had seen to it—but needed the flight, the communion with Lonrach and with Bollocks’s unbounded joy.
She circled back, soaring over the hills and the Troll camp. On impulse, she took Lonrach down, landed just above the camp.
Children stopped playing; others around the fires or about their work stopped as well.
Rather than dismount or let Bollocks race down, she remembered formalities.
“Greetings to all. I haven’t come to trade today but hope I’m welcome.”
She watched Sul, tall, arms like battering rams, and the mound of her belly under her rough shirt and trousers, get to her feet.
“Ya are welcome, Daughter of the O’Ceallaigh, Daughter of the Fey, Warrior of the Battle of the Dark Portal.” She angled her head, warrior braid swaying. “As is yer dog. We’ve heard tales of Bollocks the Brave and True.”
“Thank you.” Breen dismounted, told Bollocks to stay by her side as was polite. “Greetings to you, Sul, Mother of the Trolls, and to Loga and all your kin.”
She looked down at Bollocks as she crossed the encampment to the stone huts. “Bollocks would like to greet your young. They have permission to touch him, and we ask he be permitted the same.”
“Granted.” Then Sul held out a hand, gripped Breen’s forearm.“Loga is in the mines. I can send for him if ya wish to speak with him.”
Children, and those not so young, surrounded Bollocks to stroke and laugh.
“I came to see you, particularly. To see how you’re doing. Please give Loga my thanks. I know he and others of your tribe traveled to the battle to fight when they were sorely needed.”
