2010 – San Francisco to Sydney

A noise awakened Joe. There was someone in his apartment. He reached for the revolver in his night table.

The shade of a man appeared in the door. "I hope we didn't wake you up," he said.

"Methos!" Joe said in disbelieve. After so many years, the oldest immortal suddenly stand in his bedroom. As he turned on the light, he saw that his unexpected guest was not alone. Brianna O'Conor stood behind Methos. Or Nemain, to be precise.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Visiting an old friend." Methos said. He tossed his coat on a chair and put off his shoes.

"We have a short stopover in the city. We thought you put us up for the night." He lifted Joes blanket and slipped under it.

"What's that? Go off my bed!" Joe shouted

Brianna had undressed in the meanwhile too and laid down on the other side of Joe. "We have to talk to you," she said.

Joe looked bewildered from one to the other. His bed was rather small for three people. "I wouldn't have guessed that you're the type for such closeness, Methos," he said.

"True. That's rather Brianna's style," Methos answered.

"We heard you sold your bar and want to move in a nursing home," Brianna said.

"A senior citizen's residence," corrected Joe automatically. "How you know that, anyway?" asked Joe puzzled.

"Amy," answered Methos.

Amy was Methos' watcher. She had decided to follow when Methos changed identity and moved to Australia to Brianna. She phoned Joe from time to time, but strictly didn't mention any watcher business. She shouldn't talk to her assignment either. She should know better. Joe missed her.

"We think that this isn't a good idea. You're not the type for a nursing home," Brianna said.

"Senior citizen's residence." He already had this conversation with Amy. But Joe was realistic. He knew that the time would come when he wouldn't be able to wear the prostheses any more. Then he would be definitely bound to a wheel chair and dependent on other people's help. He didn't like the thought, but it was inevitable. Hence, not everybody could stay young forever.

"It's not of your business," Joe answered rudly. He tried to ignore Brianna body close to him. But he must admitted, the warmth of the two bodies beneath him gave him a feeling of shelter. Slowly, he relaxed.

"We think you should come with us," Methos said.

Joe gasped. "Are you crazy? What should I do in Australia?"

"Weather's nice," Brianna said, "Everybody is very laid back. We have a big house. Wheel-chair accessible."

"And Amy is there," Methos added.

"You don't have to decide now," Brianna said, "You can think about it till tomorrow." She slid a bit closer to Joe.

"And you want to stay in my bed till then?"

"Yep, human contact is good for the soul," Methos said, also moving a bit closer to Joe.

Joe didn't really know what to do. He was trapped between the two immortals, but he had to admit to himself that it was really a comforting feeling.

"I'd be totally crazy to move in with you two lunatics," Joe said.


Joe arrived at Sydney airport two months later. He couldn't believe that he was really going to do that. But at the end, the two immortals in his bed seemed to promise more comfort than any senior citizen's residence. He passed migration and quarantine without problem. When he entered the arriving zone, he saw Methos waving at him. Next to him stood Amy, smiling a bit awkwardly due to the close presence of the immortal.

The first weeks were a bit awkward. Brianna had this wonderful house above the cliffs with an astonishing view over the sea. Joe's room was at the first floor, next to the living room and the kitchen with a direct access to the big terrace. Methos and Brianna shared the second floor; the third was used as training room. Brianna was studying mechanical engineering at a local University and did a lot of sport in her spare time. She was rarely at home. Methos had just taken up his medical studies and seemed not to be very tied up with it. He accompanied Joe often exploring the city and the surroundings. When Joe was alone, he made short walks to the close-by beaches or was sitting on the terrace, playing guitar with the waves. Amy was visiting him from time to time and slowly, Joe began to feel at home and get used to his unconventional flatmates.


It was close to autumn and Joe was sitting on the terrace, when Brianna joined him and dropped on the chair next to him. She had just taken a shower, her hair was still wet and she was wearing only a towel around her body.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Great waves," she said. She put her feet on the table and began to paint her foot nails.

"Bree, what the hell is that surf board doing in the shower!" shouted Methos from inside the house.

"It was covered by sand!" Brianna shouted back, ignoring Methos bad mood.

"Yeah, and now all the sand is on the floor. The bathroom is looking like a battlefield." Methos snored, appearing on the terrace.

"I was the goddess of frenzied havoc of war. So what are you expecting?" Brianna grinned.

"Welcome to the twenty-first millennia, when even goddesses have to clean up." Methos said. "And in my memories you were more the goddess of suicide than of anything else when we met."

Joe looked up. Since the night in bar, they had never admitted that Brianna was actually Nemain, even if he had no doubts about it. However, Joe avoided seeing in Brianna something else than Brianna O'Conor, an immortal hardly five hundred years old. But it was not true. He knew.

"I remember," she answered dryly. "And I remember that you weren't really helpful. I jumped off that cliff about a dozen times."

"You were a slow learner," Methos answered and went back to the house.

Brianna grinned. "Do you want to hear the story, Joe? How we met?"

Sure like hell he wanted. There were only very few information on Nemain in the chronicles. But then he was reluctant. He wasn't a watcher anymore. Brianna was his friend. Perhaps even more, family.

She didn't seem to notice his hesitation. "I grew up in the north of Ireland," she began. "Today, it's the county Donegal. My father was a Celtic priest, a druid. He was a powerful man in our tribe. He had no wife, which was why he took care of me, a foundling. He always thought that I was something special, hence I'm pretty sure he didn't know about immortals. He taught me to be a druid since I started talking."

"Beer?" Methos reappeared on the terrace, carrying a six pack. "And perhaps something to take notes for Joe? That's a hell of a story for a watcher."

Joe made a face and took a beer.

Brianna took also a one and continued. She trusted Joe. She'd never thought that it would happen again that she was trusting a watcher. But she thought that Joe deserved the truth. And she was sure that he would do the best with it.

"When I was ten, my father arranged an engagement to the son of the chieftain of a neighbouring clan. It was regarded a favourable marriage, you know. For the clans. It was an unstable time then. The clans used to fight against each other. And an alliance would be of advantage."

"So you were bartered to a man you didn't know," Joe stated.

"I met my fiancé one year later. I felt immediately in love." She looked dreamy, lost in the memories for a moment. "It was love at first sight. For both of us. Yet, I wasn't old enough to get married. We had to wait two more years. It was almost unbearable. Conor used to visit me, clandestinely."

Joe frowned. "Conor?" he repeated.

"Yes, like in O'Conor," assured Methos, "No relationships to Scottish Boy Scouts."

Brianna ignored him. "He was so wonderful. He was a warrior. Brave. Strong. Fearless. He had this peculiar sense of humour. The day we finally married, I felt like heaven." She stopped, sipping beer and remembering for a while, smiling.

"I moved to his village," she continued, "We were so happy, we enjoyed our love. When his father died, he became the chieftain of his tribe. Conor was born to lead. Rumours of the Roman Army spread over the country. Conor knew that we wouldn't have a chance against this army, as hopelessly divided as the clans used to be. He had the vision of the unity of all clans, a strong united Ireland. He was a man, ahead of his time."

She took another sip before she continued. "We travelled a lot. From one clan to another. To bring the chieftains to unit. And often Conor succeeded in persuading them. I was always on his side. We were happy. The only issue was that I didn't become pregnant. His counsellors advised him to take a second woman. Wouldn't be something special, it was quite common for a chieftain to have more than one wife, especially if the first one wasn't able to give birth to a child. But he refused. It wasn't reasonable of him. He didn't want to hurt me. It was insane. He loved me. Too much, perhaps." She took a deep breath. She had made her peace with that part of her past, even if it had taken a long time. She knew, Conor didn't regret. He loved her, and he didn't regret. Like Michael. No regrets for loving her.

"The alliance of Conor grew stronger. Its enemies too. We were betrayed by one of our closest confederates. They attacked us at night. They killed most of our clansmen while they were sleeping. Conor fought as well as he could. They stabbed him in the back. They raped me before they killed me." She looked at Joe.

"Your first death. You revived," he said.

Brianna nodded. "I thought that it was a gift of the gods. That they brought me back from the Afterworld that I can take revenge for Conor. And I took my revenge. I gathered some men who survived the massacre. We hunted and killed the traitors. All of them. And then we killed their women and children, all their clansmen. But then, we didn't stop. I didn't stop. I covered the land with blood and horror. I killed everybody who supported the attackers, everybody whom I thought to be a supporter. And I killed their families, their wives, children and their children. I was sent by the gods to take revenge. And I knew no mercy." She closed her eyes.

Joe looked at the young woman besides him, wrapped in a white towel and who still had her feet on the table, half of the nails painted in pink. It was hard to imagine what she used to be. But he knew who he had in front of him. Not a young woman.

"My men were loyal to me. They saw how my wounds were healing. And one day, there was this warrior. He was the chieftain of a small clan, not important at all. In the battle, he sought to face me. I killed him. And then I took his head. Not because I knew about immortals, just because I liked to hang the heads of my enemies at the door of my tent. It was then I had my first Quickening. My men were horrified, but also convinced that I was a god. I was Nemain, goddess of frenzied havoc of war."

She cleared her throat. "To make it short. At the end, almost everybody was dead. Enemies, presumed enemies, allies, friends. Only I was still alive. I couldn't die. Oh, I wished so much that I could. I wanted to join Conor in the Afterworld. I didn't eat, didn't drink. I died, I revived. It was a nightmare. When I reached the coast I jumped off the cliffs. I drowned, I revived. I repeated it, again and again." She sighed and gestured with her head at Methos. "Then he arrived. He was a Roman tribun, spying for Rome." She took a deep breath and then she tried a grin. "From then, it was just heading can imagine how it is to have Methos as a teacher."

"Brianna was a complete pagan," Methos said, "The problem wasn't to teach her to fight. It was about teaching her manners."

Brianna laughed and made a joke about Methos being a dandy since the Middle Age. Joe grinned too, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Suddenly, he began to understand why Methos had chosen Brianna as a student. They shared a dark past, a past full of killing. And both got tired of the killing and changed their lifes. They were so different at first sight. But Joe learnt today that they had a lot in common.

"Uh, somebody hungry?" asked Methos.

"I am," said Brianna and continued to paint her nails. "There are some steaks in the fridge. Let us have a barbie."


Later, when they had eaten and were drinking another beer, Joe dared to ask a question. "When have you been in your homeland for the last time?"

Brianna took a deep breath. "Thirty years ago. To bury Conor."

Joe looked bewildered. "Thirty years?"


Backflash: 1980 – London to Donegal

It was a lazy Sunday morning. They had been living together for about five years by now. Michael knew that he would never get used to the fact that Brianna was fighting with a sword against other immortals, but he also knew that he couldn't protect her from other immortals. He had had a hard time to learn that but now after five years, he had learnt that interfering would even jeopardize Brianna's life. And he was also slowly getting used to the fact that Brianna seemed to be acquainted with more or less every person of his history book. Even if he wasn't always sure how many of her stories actually were true.

"So, you want me really to believe that you knew Henry VIII?" he said.

"Intimidately," Brianna answered.

"Lucky you that you weren't one of the wives he beheaded," Michael replied dryly.

Brianna laughed and threw a cushion at him. "Haven't you said something about getting croissants for breakfast?"

Michael sighed and bowed theatrically. "Whatever Mylady wishes." He grabbed the unread newspaper which fell on the floor during their intimacy. He threw it back on the bed and left the bedroom whistling.

The trip to the bakery and back took him perhaps a bit more than half an hour. He reentered the apartment he knew instantly that something was wrong. A glance at the bedroom proved him right, the bed was empty. The door of the locker was open, on the bed were lying some of Brianna's clothes. Signs of a hasty departure. No signs of an intruder. She was just gone.

On the kitchen table he found a piece of paper. "I'm sorry, B." was the whole message. Michael roared. He crumpled the note up, threw it at the wall. There was nothing he could do. She was like a leaf in the wind, how could he had ever thought he had something to hold her? He punched his fist against the wall. The pain in the hand didn't succeed to overlap the pain inside. He grabbed one of Brianna's Whiskey's bottles; he had never liked drinking alcohol; it made him only indifferent and dull. But at the moment, the perspective of indifference and dullness seemed to be attractive.


When he woke up, it was dark outside. He didn't know how many hours had passed since she had left him. His head seemed to crack. He didn't care. He reached for the bottle and swore when he saw that it was empty. There must be more somewhere. Brianna had always a good stock of alcohol. In the third attempt he succeeded in getting on his feet and staggered to the living room. Brianna stored her booze in an antic wooden chest. He opened it and grabbed the biggest bottle. He was up to open it when he suddenly stopped. No, drinking to unconsciousness wouldn't solve the problem. He wouldn't give in. Not without fighting. Brianna might be inscrutable, erratic some times. But Michael doubted that she had turned her mind about him in only half an hour and just decided to stop loving him.

He started to think logic. Something must have happened when he had been out. A call, a visit. Something that shocked her so much that it made her leave immediately. He looked at the phone, it seemed untouched but that had nothing to say. He went back to the bedroom. The bed was unmade; he didn't touch it since she had left. His glance fell on the newspaper on the floor. He took it and leafed through it. Politics, entertainment, gossip. Nothing special, just the usual crap. He was in the act of throwing it away when he suddenly discovered a frayed page. Someone had ripped out one half of a sheet.

The newsagent at the corner still had a newspaper from the day before. Back home, Michael searched for the missing page. There were several articles on it, but Michael knew at once which one must have caused Brianna's reaction. It was only a small story, some lines about an archaeological discovery in the north of Ireland. Archaeologists had discovered the tomb of a Celtic king, which was still intact including the bones of the king and grave goods. The excavation director, a professor from Trinity College in Dublin, was enthusiastic about the 'good shape' of the tomb and was sure that it would contribute to the understanding of the Celtic culture. In this very moment, it contributed to Michael's understanding of a two thousand years old woman. He headed for the phone and booked the next flight to Dublin.


The next morning, he arrived in the Irish capital. Without a specific plan, he took a taxi to the Trinity College. There, he found a considerable police detachment and a huge crowd of onlookers.

"What happened?" he asked one of the onlookers who was looking like a student.

"They broke into the institute of archaeology," the guy said, "It's said they robbed the bones of a Celtic king they've just found in Donegal."

"Probably a monkey shine of some graduates," Michael said.

The student shook his head. "Someone knocked down the night guard. Not the style of our graduates. But they were strange thieves; they only took the bones and left all the gold stuff back."

A strange thief indeed, Michael thought, someone who was on a personal campaign and who didn't care about gold. He kept talking to the student for a while and found out where the excavations site was situated. Only one hour later, he was sitting in a rented car, heading north. In the evening, he arrived at Donegal. The site was in the north of the county, close to the coast. It was already too late to get there, so Michael took a room in a pub. The locals in the pub looked at him with suspicion, since he was obviously English and his short hair gave him a military look. Not a welcome guest so close to the boarder to North Ireland.


Brianna wasn't at the excavations site. Honestly, Michael wasn't surprised. It would be worthless to bring the bones back here with the archaeologists still digging. But Michael had no other hint. Brianna told him that she grew up in this region. But still, it was a wide county and Michael wasn't even sure that she had come here. He drove through the landscape the whole day, without a plan, hoping for a small hint. He asked people if they had seen Brianna, but nobody had, or they just didn't tell him. He was an outsider her; Brianna on the other hand would have no problems to adapt since it was her homeland.

Time to start a more systematic search, Michael decided in the evening. Whatever Brianna intended to do with the bones, she presumably needed time and a place that offered her confidentiality. He remembered that Brianna once had told him that she owned several real estates in her homeland. Therefore, the next day, Michael went to the land registry of the district. He knew that – apart from the amount of information in the thick register folios – he had another problem: He didn't know which name Brianna used to hold the land. His chances to find her were small, but he wouldn't give in. He noted land parcels which belonged to companies which appeared to be only shell companies as he knew that Brianna was using such vehicles to keep assets over more than a lifetime. In addition, he noted all land that belonged to people with the name O'Conor. The next days, he spent the mornings in the registry, searching the folios and ignoring the disapproving look of the clerk, and the afternoon in finding the noted parcels to spot Brianna. Three days later, he still had no indication of Brianna. Instead, the locals were definitely convinced that he was a British spy. In evening, when he was returning to the pub, a bunch of guys in ski masks were waiting for him. Michael sighed; there was no way to escape.

The doctor who was patching him up afterwards advised him to go home. "These weren't just some kids, you know," he said, "The English aren't very welcome here, you know."

"I don't care about politics," Michael said, "And I don't go. I'm here to find the woman I love."

"Has ever someone said to you that you are pig head?" the doctor asked.

"Once or twice." He wanted to grin but just grimaced in pain.

"I hope she's worth it."

"Every punch."


Brianna watched Michael leaving the doctor and going back to the pub. At least he was still able to walk. She had a slight hope that he would leave now, but she knew that the hope was in vain. Michael was a pig head. Why was she surprised that he had found her anyway? His stubbornness would cost his life if he went on interrogating the locals. Brianna just hoped that nobody would find out about his SAS past. They would kill him. She went back to her car. She had to do something. Or she would lose another man she loved.


The next morning, Michael followed his routine and went to the land registry like nothing had happened. In the afternoon, he was on his way to a real estate that belonged to a company domiciled in Panama. Or to Brianna, maybe. And then, suddenly, he found her. She was standing at the roadside. Waiting for him, obviously. He stopped and left the car. He was torn whether he should kiss or hit her. Instead, he punched his car. "Tell me that you are fed up with me. Tell me that you don't love me and I'm out of here. But don't try to protect me. I can take care of myself and it's not up to you to decide what I can stand and what not!" he shouted at her.

Brianna made a move with her hand against his swollen face but didn't dare to touch him. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Yeah, you've said so," he replied dryly.

Brianna sighed. "There are things in my life, in my past...what I used to be...what I still am...which are...complicated. And frightening."

"Really?" Michael asked sarcastically, "And I always thought to live with a two thousand years old woman with an affection to head chopping is a piece of cake."

Brianna gave in. She nodded slightly. "Come with me."

Michael followed Brianna's car along small gravel roads. After more than an hour, they stopped at the bottom of a hill near the shore. On the top of the hill, at the edge of the cliff, stood the ruins of a castle. The big tower and the surrounding wall had seen better days but were still resisting the tides of time.

"Do you give me a hand?" Brianna opened the trunk of her car which was full of boxes and bags. Michael helped Brianna carrying her shopping up the hill.

"I presume you know about the grave," Brianna said.

"I suppose it was someone you knew very closely."

Brianna nodded. "I buried him." She led him inside the castle into the great hall. In its middle stood a small wooden shelve, covered by a blue cloth. Brianna took the cover away and under it the missing skeleton appeared. "May I introduce you to Conor," she said.

"Conor, as in O'Conor?" Michael asked carefully.

Brianna nodded. "Conor was my first love. And my first husband." She looked at Michael. "I couldn't allow that they put him in a museum."

That was understandable but no reason why Brianna had left Michael so abruptly. Michael would have helped her to steal the bones from the university and Brianna knew that. But there was more. "When I met Conor, I wasn't yet immortal. He had no choice..." Brianna stopped. It was difficult to put her feelings into words. "I have to know what would have been if he had known...if he regrets."

Michael understood her doubts, but he didn't know how these bones would help her to find an answer. But he supposed that it was not necessary to point that out to her. "I do whatever you want. I help you or I just sit in a corner and don't move. But don't push me away."

Brianna tried a grin. "There're sides about me you don't know yet. I'm not sure if you like them."

"Try me," Michael answered.

Brianna sighed. A part of her was glad that he had come. Even if she didn't know how he would react to the hidden side in her: To Nemain, the druid. "I think I can need a hand," she said finally.


On the other side of the castle was a small valley through which a narrow creek ran. Brianna led Michael through a small forest and suddenly, in a clearing, a stone circle appeared. It had a diameter of about twenty meters and consisted of twenty four stones, all as tall as a man. A bit outside the circle a lamb was tied up at a short stick. Outside the circle, the grass was waist-high, inside, it was neatly cut. Several boxes were lying around. It was obvious that Brianna was preparing a ritual in the circle. A funeral, Michael assumed. In the middle of the circle, Brianna had started to pile a stake.

"I need this stake at least one fifty high. And on the top a stable scaffolding."

Michael nodded. "No problem." He took off his jacket and started working.


They didn't talk much the following days. Brianna was preparing the ritual and Michael sometimes glanced at the peculiar things she was gathering: An array of herbs and flowers were drying in the sun, together with heaps of mushrooms. In a big kettle, night and day a liquid mass was boiling. In the castle, sheets with strange symbols where lying around. Star charts. During the nights, Brianna was outside, observing the sky for hours. Michael watched her sometimes and looked up to the sky with her and wondered what she was looking for.


About a week after Michael's arrival, Brianna approached him with a knife and a small cup in her hands.

"I need some blood," she said.

"Whatever you want."

They sat down and Brianna took his arm and made a quick cut in his forearm. She caught the blood in the bowl. When she had enough she pressed a clean towel at the wound to stop the bleeding. "The ritual will start tomorrow," she said. "You can watch, but please, promise me to stay out of the circle."

Michael nodded. "I promise."

The next morning, Brianna asked Michael to drive her with the pick-up she had hired to a forest further north. When they arrived, Brianna took off her shirt and bra and handed Michael a small bowl which contained a reddish liquid.

"Could you draw this one on my back?" she asked and showed him a sheet with a drawing Michael assumed to be a Celtic symbol.

Michael looked at the liquid. "Does that contain my blood?" he asked curiously.

"The blood of a warrior."

Michael dipped his finger in the liquid and touched Brianna's skin. She shivered slightly. Carefully, Michael copied the symbol to Brianna's skin. When he was finished, Brianna left the car and provided a long spear and a knife from the back of the car.

"That could take a while." she said.

"I'm not going anywhere," Michael said. "Take care," he added.

Brianna nodded and gave him a short kiss on the cheek. The first tenderness for weeks. Then she ran into the forest.

Michael waited and let his eyes wander across the land and wondered how it had looked like two thousand years ago. Sure, the transmission lines wouldn't have been there, neither the roads. But nevertheless, in this remote region of the country, time could have stand still.

It was almost noon, when Brianna reappeared at the edge of the forest. She beckoned him over. "I need some help with carrying." she said when he reached her. She looked exhausted and was covered with sweat and dirt. He followed her into the forest and after a short time, they arrived at a dead stag with impressive antlers. "You killed that guy with a spear?" Michael asked impressed.

"Was harder than I remembered," she admitted.

"Civilisation sissy." Michael joked and Brianna smiled. It was only a small smile, but for the first time since he arrived her face had brightened up. "Let's drag it to the van."


Shortly before nightfall, the actual ritual started. Michael made himself comfortable outside the stone circle. She warned him once more not to enter the circle or to disturb the ritual in any other way. Then she disappeared in the direction of the creek and reappeared about half an hour later, wet and naked. In front of the stone circle, she had placed a basin. Michael had seen that she had mixed there a white powder with water. Now she was spreading the white mass over her body and hair until she was totally covered. Then, she entered the circle and the last glow of the setting sun was lightening her and let her white body shine in red. She raised her arms and suddenly a ring of fire spread inside the stones. She stepped right into it and her body disappeared in a flash of flames. Michael jumped to his feet, but in the same moment Brianna stepped out of the fire and the flames at her body were gone.

Michael gasped and sat down again. Brianna took a dark blue towel from the ground and wrapped it around her hips. The ritual had begun. She began to sing. Michael had heard her sing before. But this was different. Her voice seemed to be deeper than usual, vibrant. The lyrics were in an unknown, presumably dead language. She performed a kind of a dance along the stones and around the stake. She poked the fire under the huge kettle and a strange, sweet smell reached Michael and made him feel dizzy.

After a while, the singing changed into a kind of sprechgesang. She took a long knife and started to cut the stag. She cut off its head and heart and laid both on the scaffold between Conor's bones. Next, she grabbed the lamb and sliced with a quick cut its throat. She caught its blood in a small cup. She took a sip of the blood before she spilt the rest over the bones. Then she finally lit the stake. She stood back and raised her hand to the heaven. Her body was covered with blood and Michael began to understand what she had tried to tell him. No, this woman in the stone circle was not the woman he knew for five years now. Not Brianna. She was someone more ancient: Nemain. The pagan. The druid. The goddess.

An owl landed on the ring stone in front of Michael. He was wondering if it was attracted by the fire when he discovered another bird on the next stone. And then he saw that on every stone of the circle an owl was sitting. And then suddenly a strong wind came up. In a strange way, it seems to blow only around the circle, inside, it seemed to be perfectly calm. Michael looked up to the sky and saw in the glow of the flames that the clouds were moving and opening the look to the stars. It felt as something had wakened up, something powerful and primordial: An old power that rose from within the earth, unleashed. A cold shiver ran down his back. He was a courageous man. But here he was witnessing powers that were far beyond his understanding. Brianna went to the kettle and with a small cup she spilled the boiling lotion over her body. The singing changed again. It was higher now, beseeching.

Michael had assumed that Brianna would perform a funeral ritual. But even without any knowledge of Celtic religion, he instinctively knew that this was something different. What Brianna had said? I have to know if he regrets. And suddenly Michael understood. This wasn't a funeral, or not only. This was necromancy. Michael's rational sense told him that it wasn't possible to contact the dead. But then, his sense had also told him that nobody was immortal.

Michael lost his sense of time. The smell of the lotion made him dizzy and shapes started to blur. Suddenly, a movement near him drew his attention. A dog. He squinted his eyes to see more clearly. No, not a dog. A wolf. Were there wolves in Ireland anyway?


Brianna flew over the green hills. She felt light like a bird. The landscape was so familiar to her like she had never left: The village at the back of the gentle valley, surrounded by the fields full of crops. Sheep were grazing. She headed to the top of the hill. The white stones of the dolmen contrasted to the green surroundings. Conor was sitting on the top of it, carving a bit of wood with a knife. She came to rest next to him. He smiled at her. Like he had always smiled at her. "Nem, I missed you," he said.

"I'm sorry, Conor." she said.

"D'you see the day? It's beautiful," he said, "Beautiful as you, my love."

"I didn't want to leave you."

"You never left," he said, "You're always here." He touched her cheek.

Brianna closed her eyes, absorbing the feeling of his fingertips on her skin. "I wish I could have followed you."

Conor shook his head. "This wasn't your path. It was mine alone. But I'm glad you'd crossed it, my love."

"I love you, Conor."

He smiled again. "D'you see the day, Nem? It's waiting for you." He gave her the piece of wood and Brianna looked down at the carving. It was a dragon. The symbol of strength and impulsiveness. The totem of heroes and guardians.

"I won't leave you again," she said.


The rising sun and the cold woke Michael up. He must have snoozed for a while. The fires had gone out. Michael looked out for Brianna. She was lying in the ring, motionless. Michael was unsure what to do. He was worried, but he also didn't want to interrupt the ritual. He raised, went closer to the ring. The owls were gone; the wolf too, if there had been really one. The memories of the last night were blurred. But he could still remember the power he had felt. However, it was gone either.

Finally, he couldn't wait longer. He entered the circle and knelt down next to Brianna. Her breath was weak, the heartbeat hardly palpable. She cannot die, he told himself. Still, he was worried. The faint sweet smell of the lotion wafted up his nose. It made him dizzy again. He remembered the herbs and the mushroom. Whatever she had put in there, it had a strong hallucinogen effect. And her whole body was still covered with it. Immortal or not, as long as the lotion was on her body, she wouldn't wake up, Michael was sure. Determined, he lifted her and carried her to the creek. He placed her in the water and started to wash the lotion and the mix of blood and chalk from her naked body. She started to move, mumbled something in a language, which Michael didn't recognized. Finally, she said something which could have been Conor. Then, in English and clearly understandable: "I love you." Michael didn't answer. What to say, anyway?

Then, suddenly, she opened her eyes and grasped him. "Have you heard? I love you, Michael Hannah, I really do."

Michael looked down at her and smiled. "I love you too, Nemain."