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“Please go.” Now it was my turn to beg.
He rose, and relief coursed through me. Badb and Macha were on the rise. I couldn’t hold them back.
“Don’t let anyone in, no matter what you hear,” I said. “And don’t let me out.”
He moved toward the door, but then paused and turned. He lifted a glowing yellow stone from his pocket.
And started to sing.
O’ how the light plays on the crest of the wave,
that crashes to the briny shore,
Where a young maiden fair awaits,
Wishing for so much more.
When yonder afar a ship then buckles,
Under the waves so blue,
And the young maiden fair flies apace,
Seeking forto rescue.
Power drifted from the stone, filling the room with Dagda’s baritone voice. The words wove through me. Soothing away the panic, the pain, the whispers. I leaned back in the chair, my legs and arms loosening.
Her wings of grace oh so noble and true,
Flash o’er the somber waves,
For one survives among the rabble,
Who calls for the maiden to save.
She carries him leaning on her breast,
To her home along the shore,
And there they entwine in love afresh,
Salt slicked clasp on a sand-kissed floor.
I slumped farther into the chair. The strain of keeping my eyes open became impossible. In a last ditch effort not to end up in a limp puddle on the floor, I drifted to my feet and crawled onto the bed.
Dagda's voice faded out. He stared at me, the stone still held in his open palm.
“Is that the end?” I murmured, collapsing onto my back.
“No.”
I lifted my weighted eyelids. “What did you do to me?”
He ran a finger over the stone. “Since faeries have no magic of their own, they often fill stones with latent magic.”
“Magic to be used later,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “This particular one is filled with power from a siren. It is activated when a song is sung, designed to lull the listener into whatever state the singer intends.”
